The Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse

by TreeHugger

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

9. Chapter 8 Final Conversations

Alagaith is standing in front of the printer, silently muttering to himself in various languages; a listener well versed in the tongues of the different peoples of Middle-earth could understand very... unusual curses in Sindarin, Eastern Orcish and even Quenya levelled at the innocent machine.

One listener certainly hears and understands them. "Is something the matter, Linlote?" Tanglinna asks with a grin. "Is the printer giving you a hard time?" His grin widens at this thought.

The 'skulking cutpurse' looks up with a frown, but manages to grin then. "If I understand the subtle and difficult language of printers correctly, it wants the attentions of *your* gentle hands, Mordil..." he replies, inclining his head ever so slightly. "It does not like me any more." This said, he straightens up and steps back to allow Tanglinna access to the troublesome printer.

The Master Archer continues to grin as he moves to stand by the computer and kneels before the printer, looking back at Alagaith, eyes alight with merriment. This joyous moment of seeing Linlote defeated by a mere printer must be enjoyed, and so, it is lovingly dragged out while Tanglinna gently strokes the top of the printer, murmuring to it in Silvan, not swearing at it, but putting his old language to better use.

Very slowly, his fingers move to the PRINT button and he gently presses it and waits as the printer comes to life, neatly beginning to print out the reviews. "You must be kind to them, Linlote...speak softly to them, encourage them," he explains, sounding every inch the oh-so-patient Master Archer explaining a very simple thing to a somewhat dense youngling. Giving the printer a final pat, he stands and smirks at his companion.

Alagaith inclines his head again, more deeply this time. "I bow in awe! Your skills are most amazing, o tamer of printers and fell computers." Winking at the valiant peacock, he reaches for the printed pages.

'Mordil' continues to smile, feeling a little too pleased with himself - taming that wild beast of a machine was not easy!

He is allowed to enjoy this lovely feeling for some further moments, as Alagaith starts to read the reviews now and is occupied for some time. Reading, he frowns, and he finally puts down the pages with a rather unhappy expression. "I fear I made a grave mistake when I chose to... talk to you down in that dungeon and left you chained to the wall a bit longer than necessary... we should not have told them about that part." He sighs, looking genuinely saddened and even a bit disappointed – how could he have known that the readers would not consider this part of the story as most entertaining?

"Whyever not?" Tanglinna enquires. "It was something that Oropher might have done if he were feeling in a particularly...hm...merry, mischievous mood. I was in no danger at that point in time and well...you had your fun and it is over and I admit that I might - might, mind you - have thought it funnier if it were happening to someone else and not me. So, cheer up! That part is past. If it helps, I would have been angry with Oropher too."

He gives his friend an encouraging grin, wondering if he will have to "be kind, speak softly" and encouragingly to Alagaith to make him continue with his work at the present moment.

If Alagaith was aware that sulking a little longer would lead to a lot of attention and kind and comforting words, he would doubtlessly consider leaving the melancholy expression in place for some further minutes, but self-pity and whining have never gotten him anywhere until now, and so, the dejected face quickly turns resolute again. "Very well... Let us start, then! I guess I can be quite glad that kingmaker decided that our last conversation redeemed me somewhat... It was kind of him to... reconsider what he had said earlier."

Tanglinna smiles at his companion. "Most of us speak in haste, my dear Linlote. You and I certainly do...and well, so do adars on occasion...well, speaking and acting are not quite the same thing, but you know what I mean. When one's blood runs hot on certain things...sometimes there is no stopping what you say...or do...unless you get hit over the head with a bow." Now, he looks decidedly uncomfortable. "Yes, you are redeemed...somewhat." He grins, trying not to look behind him to see if, by ill chance, another Noldo has appeared there, one that looks remarkably like Alagaith, only older and. . . scarier. "Well, WeasleyTwinsLover1112 thought that it was funny...if mean...but funny! See?"

At this, Alagaith smiles quite happily. "Yes! And Miss Aranel understands that the opportunity to joke was just too good to pass up..." Hearing Miss Aranel's whisper, he winks at her a little and whispers back: "Thank you, mellon-nin!"

Hoping that Tanglinna has not understood too much of the little private conversation, he continues aloud: "And, as Ptath points out, we managed to make up, after all. By the way, you should really answer her question... I would like to hear about the other times you spend in the dungeons as well - that would certainly be most interesting." He grins, doubtlessly seeing most interesting images before his inner eye now.

Tanglinna looks inscrutable. "They are very boring tales, Linlote. No one would wish to hear them...trust me." His cheeks redden slightly, diminishing the effect of the famous inscrutable gaze a little. "It seems Ptath knows me only TOO well!" He mutters under his breath. "How embarrassing!" Then he clears his throat, frowning again. "It seems that Venyatuima knows me too well also. The fireworks are...arriving soon...in a story near you. Hmph! They know me too well, Linlote!" Not exactly pleased by this observation, he folds his arms over his chest and sighs.

'Linlote' chuckles. "They do indeed... Poor Mordil! So does the evil witch queen, by the way - she seems to know very well what that orcish brandy might do to you..." The amused gleam in his eye might indicate that he knows even more than the evil witch queen in this regard, but he chooses not to elaborate and merely continues with a grin: "But look! Hel has a most interesting suggestion... She says we should paint the dungeon walls together!"

Tanglinna laughs at this thought. "Yes, that would be most fun, don't you think? But I suspect that if we did it together, some of the pictures would be even less likely to be ... appreciated by the king."

Although he chuckles, he is only too aware that this is very true; Thranduil would NEVER let them out until they had whitewashed over all their lovely portraits...about 1,000 times, that is, and working with nothing more than a tiny paintbrush. And there is yet another terrifying prospect attached to this dreadful vision: "We would never see orcish brandy again! And then we could not share it with Dis Thrainsdotter, who is wondering what it tastes like!"

"You are right - that would be most distressing..." Alagaith solemnly agrees. "Perhaps we should send her a bottle before we get into trouble, don't you think? Oh, and amlugwen? Take the orc and the elf out of your clothes chest again, please! I am sure the poor things can hardly breathe if they have been in there for weeks now!"

The Master Archer laughs, hoping that the orc and elf have not strangled one another after being in such close quarters. "I am not afraid of a little kiss, orc - what is your name? But I did not want to be kissed by that...kisser...that is all." He grins slightly. "Did you want to kiss the elf you were closeted with? Probably not!" He decides not to pursue that subject any further, though – who knows what sort of secrets might be uncovered if he asked too many questions? Smiling, he adds: "Hel, you are quite right! I should tell Thranduil about the storeroom with all the wonderful Dorwinion and wines. He will be quite jealous that they have so many!"

Alagaith grins widely, fell glee shining in his eye. "Yes, tell him about it!" he eagerly agrees. "I do wish to catch that king breaking into a storeroom...." At this point, he realizes what he is saying and blushes a little. "Oh, very well. I fear I am very bad again, daw the minstrel is probably right in her description of me..." He does his best to look contrite, but not for very long.

Tanglinna laughs again. "You are fooling no one, Linlote. You are irrepressible and you know it! And you like it! I think you would like to catch Thranduil breaking into a goblin's storeroom! Hm...I wonder if chocolate goes best with orcish brandy or Dorwinion....What do you think, Karianua?" He smiles at her. "She seems very glad that I let you go, mellon." Turning to grin at Alagaith, he continues: "She said that the readers would never forgive me if I had not and if you had lost your hand, it would have marred your perfection." His eyes sparkle with delight. "You are quite the charmer after all!"

It is Alagaith's turn to laugh. "Again - I did not realize that... And if there was ever perfection, it has already been marred for a long time..." He briefly lifts a hand with a branded wrist to touch an eye patch covering a terrible scar. "I will rather agree with Lutris and say that the important thing is that we are friends again... Hm, again? Were we friends before?" He contemplates Tanglinna rather earnestly now.

Tanglinna ponders the question for a moment. "That is ...difficult to say. We had an uneasy alliance, I suppose, and I believe I had some ...not so evil thoughts about you...when I did not want to strangle you, that is." He grins again. "But the important thing is that we are friends now." Looking slightly peacocky, but chuckling a bit, he informs the poor cutpurse: "If ever you DO bicker with Thranduil again, you will need me to be your friend!"

Alagaith smiles. "If you decide to be my friend just then, we *will* end up painting the dungeon walls together, I am quite sure! But that could be... amusing."

"Amusing is good." Tanglinna decides with a grin. "So...how are you with a paint brush?"

Alagaith grins back. "Wait and see, Mordil.... But on with the chapter now!"

Chapter 8 – Final Conversations

Never had I expected such kindness, nor did I deserve it. I had stolen, Tanglinna knew this very well, and even if he had generously chosen to forget under which circumstances we had first met, there was no sensible reason to let me go; I had not behaved impeccably, and even if there had been some moments of unexpected closeness that had, perhaps, caused him to pity me, I was amazed and moved that he was ready to incur the king's wrath and all unpleasant consequences merely to spare me just punishment.

His decision to let me escape could not have been as simple and natural as he claimed, especially since he seemed to be aware that what he was doing would not remain unpunished, and remembering three rather grim years spent in Mithlond under circumstances I will not detail here, I could well imagine what he was in for. I could only hope that they would choose to be lenient with him; he was a respected warrior of some importance, after all! Surely they would not simply cast him into some dank and gloomy hole and forget about him? By this time, I felt rather ashamed for my less than thoughtful joke down in the goblin lair.

We had walked through the darkening woods for some time, Tanglinna leading the way and, hopefully, knowing where he was taking us, when my companion stopped in a small grove, a pleasant place to sit and talk for a while under the starlit sky.

Tanglinna took off his cloak and spread it for us to sit on; at this time of the year, the ground was already chill, as I knew rather too well. Taking a seat and gesturing for me to do so as well, he said: "I have a question, if I might ask it." Polite and casual as these words sounded, I could see the curiosity in his eyes.

Sitting down next to him, I nodded, secretly hoping that he would not enquire about things I preferred to remain safely locked away in a dark corner of my head, but resolved to answer honestly in any case; there would probably never be a better way of showing him my gratitude, so I would not treat him as a stranger, but as a friend entitled to ask whatever question came to his mind. "Ask away!"

Fortunately, Tanglinna's question proved to be not too indiscreet, but rather flattering; for while I was placing the bottles on the ground in front of us, he began: "I realize now that you were performing for Gurshak when you acted as though you had never handled scimitars before. Obviously you are a master with them. How is it that an elf would know how to handle orcish blades so very well? Was it your orc friend that taught you? I was . . . most impressed."

He then smiled, not at me, however, but as if some amusing thought that he would not share had crossed his mind, and reached for one of the bottles to open it.

I found myself smiling as well, delighted that he had noticed my skill with a blade, after all, and had chosen to comment on it. I took pride in my swordsmanship, and seeing it appreciated by someone who had termed me 'skulking cutpurse' with some measure of disdain not very long ago was pleasant, although I had to admit that in the kind of life I led, being less of a swordsman, but more of a skulking cutpurse would have been useful at times, as that Mithlond episode long ago had proved only too well.

"Thank you." I replied. "Seven taught me, yes.... And I tried to teach him to use a straight sword." There may have been the slightest emphasis on the word 'tried' – Seven had certainly been a willing student with a sound grasp on the theory of swordplay, but he would always remain an archer at heart, wielding a sword or scimitar only because his crippled hand would not allow him to use his chosen weapon any more. Forcing myself not to get lost in dismal thoughts, I added with a chuckle: "But apparently, I fooled both Gurshak and you in the first place!"

Tanglinna snorted, his smile betraying that he was not quite as offended as he pretended to be, and handed me the brandy bottle he had managed to uncork, starting to open the second one while he answered: "I was indeed impressed. I am . . . admittedly not a great swordsman myself, but I have seen some in my lifetime. You are very good. I suspect that you would even have impressed my father-in-law - no mean feat that!" Turning to smile at me, he continued: "You are a much better actor than I am as well. I was fooled indeed!" He laughed then, not bitterly, but in an amused manner, and I was glad to hear the merry noise that indicated that the horrors of the past hours were receding, giving way to a calmer way of viewing the situation in all its glorious ridiculousness.

I briefly wondered what kind of father-in-law Tanglinna had had if he spoke of him in such a manner now, but although he had mentioned him out of his free will, I hesitated to ask about family matters. I did not want to appear too inquisitive, and for once in my life, I remembered that Seven kept telling me that I usually asked rather too many questions once someone or something had caught my attention. So I only replied with a wink: "You were convincing enough... Gurshak was very pleased with you, that was all that mattered."

Studying him for a moment, I added: "Even if you claim not to be a great swordsman, you have a good sword... I bet you only need some lessons."

Tanglinna laughed at this, apparently not convinced at all by my kind words. "I have had some lessons! And hard lessons they were! My father-in-law had no patience with what he saw as my utter lack of talent in handling a sword. I do not recall how many sharp blows to my wrist I received during those 'lessons'. As an archer, my wrists are a bit important, so the lessons only continued so long before...they stopped...less than an amicable parting." With a wry smile, he lifted his right hand, contemplating his wrist. "He did make me that sword though. So perhaps he thought that if the weapon were impressive enough my enemies would flee before I had to fight them." Chuckling slightly, he went on: "Your friend...Seven? ...he must have been an excellent swordsman...or scimitarman?" Chuckling again, probably at this daring neologism, he sniffed the brandy.

I, for my part, snorted with laughter, and not at the interesting new word. "Seven, an excellent swordsman? Well... he can handle a sword... if he must. But he was an excellent archer once." Realizing that I was telling this somebody who was probably a very good archer himself – would the other Mirkwood warriors have called him 'the Master Archer' if his skills had only been average? – I grinned a bit; I seemed to attract archers for some inexplicable reason, but as experience had taught me that archers make the very best friends for equally inexplicable reasons, I was quite content with this observation.

"An archer?" Tanglinna enquired, amazement mixing with curiosity on his face and finally giving way to a smile. "I...I think I might....might like to meet your Seven at some point," he continued, and, hesitantly as these words were uttered, they sounded honest and sincere nonetheless. "Where did you meet him?"

Without waiting for an answer to this question, he turned his attention to the brandy bottle he was holding. "Orcs made this?" he enquired, gazing up at me again and not looking entirely comfortable with the thought of sampling the brandy. I did not blame him; the first time I had been confronted with this wondrous beverage, I had been sceptic, even suspicious, as well.

Now, I simply nodded. "Yes.... But it is usually very good.... Elves don't die from it, I can testify to that!" Oh yes, I could – trying to estimate what an amount of orcish brandy I had consumed since Seven had coaxed me into trying a sip of it back in the First Age, I miserably failed and chuckled at the futility of my attempt. "As for meeting Seven, well... that was near a farmhouse on the outskirts of the forest of Brethil." This sounded perfectly harmless, and remembering how dangerous the situation had been at first, and what had finally come of it, I shook my head in amusement. "Not a happy meeting at first!"

"Brethil...." Tanglinna murmured with a little smile; perhaps, he, too, had memories attached to this name. The moment of nostalgia passed quickly, however, and he chortled: "I can well imagine that any meeting with an elf and an orc would not be happy...at first."

As if these difficulties of forming an acquaintance did not only exist between elves and orcs, but also between elves and orcish brandy, he frowned at the bottle again.

It probably was the right time to prove to him that neither the orcs themselves nor their brandy were quite that terrible. "Oh, he actually saved my life back then...." I answered, able to think about that scene quite calmly now, although I had been very scared when I had been in the situation; unheroic as this may be, I had not wanted to die, and if dying had been inevitable, I would at least have preferred not to die at the hands of two frightened robbers. "The man he was travelling with would have preferred to cut my throat." Having stated this, I took a first sip of brandy, doing my best to look completely nonchalant.

Tanglinna's eyes widened. "Truly? An Orc wanted to save your life from a Man who wanted to take it?" He appeared quite puzzled by this unexpected revelation, but I did not tell him that I had been equally surprised back then. "Why would he want to save your life?"

It was probably a good thing that he decided to take a small swallow of brandy then after a last suspicious glance at the bottle, choking at the strength of the unfamiliar beverage. Once he was full of orcish brandy and feeling warm and contented, my friendship with Seven would seem less peculiar and disturbing to him – and there was hope that he would drink on. "That is much stronger than Dorwinion!" he remarked with a grin, and apparently, this observation did not deter him from taking a second careful, swallow. "It is quite good actually. Are you certain orcs made it?"

I did not quite manage to hide my grin and replied. "I am quite certain, yes.... Imagine lovely orc ladies if it is easier for you, then." Pondering the question whether Tanglinna would be able to imagine a lovely orc lady – or a female orc at all – I took another sip of brandy, enjoying the rich taste and admitting to myself that, in this one respect, Gurshak and his companions had likings that I shared. Remembering the question I had been asked, I added: "And Seven wanted to save my life because he saw no good reason to take it."

This was true indeed, and although, tied to my tree, I had found it hard to believe that there should be an orc who would only harm another creature when dire necessity was given, I had not doubted Seven's sincerity for a single instant, even though his reasons had remained obscure to me at that time. He had meant what he had said, and with that sudden, almost frightening eloquence of his, usually well hidden by his quiet nature, but put to good use when it mattered, he had convinced Strongsword to spare me.

Smiling a bit, I added: "I told you he was kind and noble... Just believe me!"

Tanglinna blinked a bit at this, whether at the "lovely orc ladies" or at Seven's being "kind and noble", I did not know. I was relieved to find no disdain or fear, but only curiosity in the keen silver eyes studying me; finally, he smiled kindly, and, most surprisingly, replied: "You have been very fortunate in your friends then. I...will believe you."

I could tell that he had not spoken lightly, and as if he felt amazed and troubled by his own words, he frowned a little. His generous statement was hard to reconcile with what a warrior of his rank and standing believed and had to believe, raised to consider orcs as his sworn enemies and as wretched creatures.

I knew very well how it felt to be utterly convinced of this only to be confronted with something that did not fit into this familiar, comforting pattern of thoughts and beliefs, and remembering very well how suspicious and wary I had remained during the first days spent in Seven's company, fearing to discover the true, wicked orc behind his apparent kindness at any time, I chuckled a bit. "Do not be polite! I did not trust him completely at first, either... But that changed after I had travelled with him and Strongsword - the charming man who wanted to see me dead at first - for some time."

Those days of initial distrust and hesitance seemed far away now, but thinking back, they were fairly amusing to remember, and many good memories came back to me then, the astonishing discovery that the strange orc who had saved me could sing, and quite well, at that, first conversations, and, more importantly, getting used to Seven's silently studying people for a long time, and, in turn, sudden and surprisingly blunt remarks – "I thought I knew a lot about elves, but I was not aware they could write!" – shared laughter, shared danger, and, most importantly, the timid beginnings of friendship.

It is a rare and special thing to find understanding and kindness in someone you have not met under circumstances that invite comradeship and easy trust, but it does happen on occasion; and those enigmatic archers who can make it happen make the very best sort of friends.

For a moment, the bitter thoughts of the last days were forgotten, and gazing up at the stars, I felt like a very lucky, happy elf. I had good friends, a son and a father; I was free again, with both my hands, and I had new clothes, two beautiful scimitars and an almost full bottle of brandy. Taking another sip, I smiled to myself.

Tanglinna stared at me in amazement. "You travelled with the Man who wanted you dead?" he asked, his voice breaking my peaceful reverie, and turning to look at him, it struck me that, for all his prowess with weapons and experience with warfare, he had probably led a protected, secure sort of life at least in one sense. What did he know of rapidly shifting alliances, of learning to trust someone who had wanted your head, or of fearing that a friend would be ready to fight you because of a seemingly small thing, an item desperately needed discovered on the battlefield by both of you at the same time?
Fortunately, he did not seem to expect an answer, but went on: "How many...how many of you are travelling together? Is it just you and your son and ... Seven?" He hesitated the slightest bit before he used this nickname, and hearing it spoken in such a voice, I understood how odd the fact that someone was referred to by a word that was not a name, and not even a term commonly used antonomastically or obviously describing some distinctive trait.

"Seven' is only a nickname, short for 'Seven fingers'," I explained. "His real name is Sharhur. - Apart from him and Alagant, there are three others, Well-Armed and Half-Dead and my father."

I listed them with a smile, feeling some pride that these people, and no others, were my closest friends and family, and briefly, I wondered whether it would provoke an amusing reaction if I told Tanglinna their real names; in the end, I decided against revealing who they were, for not even taking into account that Half-Dead and Well-Armed would not have been overly pleased with me, it was unlikely that Tanglinna would have believed me. I did not want him to assume that I was boasting and making up fantastic tales.

Tanglinna suddenly frowned. "Seven fingers?" he enquired, sounding somewhat puzzled. "Why is he called that?"

I met his gaze calmly, unwilling to turn the answer to his question into the telling of a tragic story, even though it was one. "He lost three fingers on his right hand - that is why he is not an archer any more."

While other things – our chosen names, or the friendship between an orc and elf – must have seemed strange and puzzling to Tanglinna, this was something he instantly understood; eyes flickering with emotion, he held up his right hand, the one holding the brandy, and studied it for a moment before he frowned again, brows furrowing. "I am very sorry to hear that." he began, and he sounded as if he meant it, in spite of the fact that we were talking about an orc, a creature not worth very much in his eyes. "I...I don't know what I would do if I lost the fingers of my draw hand...."

He gazed at me, studying me once more, and for a short time, before his eyes moved away again, I believed to read a silent question in them, but he did not ask, and I did not tell him that, unable to wield a bow any more, Seven had had no choice but to become a guard in Morgoth's mines, hardly the right place for anybody, but least of all for kind, gentle Seven, albeit I had reason to be very glad that he had been there for some time.

Tanglinna cleared his throat and then took another swallow. "Well-Armed and Half-Dead?" he asked, probably preferring a slight change in topic after having come close to pitying an orc. "You do have odd nicknames for your friends. What is yours?" He drank some more brandy; it appeared he had gotten used to it rather quickly!

I smiled a little at his question. "'One-Eye' - what else?" It was a rather dull and boring name, in fact, but then, more remarkable things had happened to my companions, so their right to claim a nicely eccentric name was greater than mine.

Tanglinna chuckled. "Yes, appropriate, I suppose." With a sudden smile, he raised the bottle. "To good friends. May they never be in short supply." It was hard to tell whether the fact that he took a particularly large swallow of the liquor then indicated that this toast was to be considered as most solemn, or simply that he was developing a liking for orcish brandy; his grin seemed to indicate the latter.

"To good friends." I repeated and drank as well, contemplating this new friend and realizing that I would have liked to ask him at least as many questions as he had asked me. For the time being, I decided to limit myself to a very simple, unobtrusive one: "Do you like the brandy - even if it was made by orcs?"

~*~*~*~*

Did I 'like the brandy – even if it was made by orcs"? I had never in my life been asked such a ridiculous question – or thought to have been asked such a question, for who would think I would even drink anything brewed by orcs? So perhaps it was not a ridiculous question after all. I nodded and laughed, thinking that my answer was unexpected – at least to myself. I *did* like it...even if it was made by orcs. Orcs?? Hm.... I would not think on that for too long. How odd!

"Very much so," I answered, grinning a bit at the odd image he had planted in my head of lady orcs – lady orcs?! Was there even such a thing?? – making brandy or how I supposed brandy might be made since I really did not know how it was produced. "I am quite amazed by it really. I think even Thranduil would be impressed with it. He sees himself as an expert in this field." I grinned again, thinking of Oropher's son, and wondering what he *would* make of this orcish brandy. It was indeed stronger even than Dorwinion, which meant I should watch how much of it I consumed on my rather empty stomach. I settled back against the tree, taking another small sip.

I found that I was a bit surprised by how at ease I felt sitting here with Alagaith. I am usually a very private person, not one given to being open or candid. I did not make friends with just anyone. There were, in fact, very few people that I have ever considered truly close friends – friends that I could tell anything to, share any thought or feeling that I had without wondering what they would think of me. I usually guarded both my tongue and my thoughts in regard to private matters, holding everyone at arms' length, not sharing much of myself with them. I was the 'Master Archer' to nearly everyone and that was what and who I was and nothing more. My private life was just that – private. I had not discussed this aspect of myself with anyone in a very long time...not since Oropher had died on that ash-choked battlefield in the last Age. When Celair had died, and then Oropher so soon afterward, I had decided that I did not want anyone to be that close to me again; though I was friends with Thranduil, it was not the same type of intimate relationship that existed between his father and myself, nor that of Celair or even Malhesie, my sister. No one was allowed to be that close to my heart or who I truly was.

Yet sitting here, feeling the chill breeze that spoke of the approaching winter, hearing it sigh in the tree tops, stars sparkling down through their bared branches, I felt oddly relaxed and a strange swell of kinship filled me. Perhaps it was because Alagaith had seen me at my worst – angry, afraid, desperate, ridiculous, struggling to maintain a fast shredding dignity in that most undignified situation with Gurshak. Or maybe it was just the relief I felt for being *out* of that situation and back in control...or maybe it was this orcish brandy. But whatever it was, and I hoped that it was the first reason, my grin widened.

"Now, Oropher could drink his son under the table," I continued in a bemused manner that fills one when you are recalling pleasant memories. "Not that the occasion arose that often," I added, not wanting him to think ill of us, and our grand revelries. Who knew what those Noldor thought of us mere wild Wood-elves?

But grand revelries they had been. There had been some glorious times before Dagorlad changed us all – wild merriment beneath the sparkling stars of Elbereth. Music skirling upward on the sparks of the bonfires - pipes, drums, voices blending in the strange, fey harmonies that were uniquely ours – the Wood-elves of Greenwood. Dancing, whether fast and frantic, a challenge and enjoyment, or slow and intimate that lead to even more intimate things in the arms of loved ones, clapping hands as the musicians improvised even more complicated melodies or creating ones as delicate and ephemeral as spider silk. Wine and elvish brandy – not orcish – had flowed freely, and our golden Sindar princes did enjoy this part of our festivities.

I chuckled, recalling these happy, carefree, grand days fondly.

"I remember a time, soon after Celair came to Greenwood," I began with a grin at his particular memory of two blurry eyed, golden haired idiots sitting across from one another, swaying rather precariously on their benches as they continued to down one glass of Dorwinion after another, waiting to see who would be the first to fall beneath the table in defeat. But as I spoke Celair's name, the desire to see her face became overwhelming. In my little house, across the river from the palace, I have a picture of her on the wall that always greets me when I return home, whether it is from a journey or merely returning from a day spent with younglings shooting arrows awry. Soon I would be home to look upon that picture of her, but....

I gazed appraisingly at my companion, noting that he appeared as relaxed and happy as I was, a gentle, interested smile on his face as he regarded me. It was this smile, this sense of kinship between us that made me reach into my tunic and take out the small leather tube nestled safely there. I never did this. I did not share this picture with anyone, but I wanted Alagaith to see her, my magnificent Celair.

I opened the tube, gently pulling forth the picture, carefully unfurling it, smiling at her, for her.

This was merely a copy of the original, which was preserved, carefully pressed within the pages of one of her books from Gondolin that she had managed to save that fateful night when her city fell. The original picture was too ragged, torn, and old to carry with me, so I had painstakingly recreated it...more than once over the years.

She had been my one love, my life. I smiled at her likeness; grateful for the measure of peace this small reminder of her brought me...my bright lady-wife, my beautiful Celair with her soft black curls, her infectious laughter that made her eyes shine like fallen stars.

I held the picture out slowly, offering it to Alagaith. I hoped that he understood that I did not share this picture of my wife easily or unthinkingly. There were very few even in Gladaran Thamas that even remembered that the Master Archer had a wife in the past Age. I wanted him to know that this was a show of my regard and respect for him...my first true, tentative step toward friendship. But how could he know any of this?

I smiled faintly, hoping that he would understand on some level.

"This is Celair," I said. "My wife."

He took the paper from my fingers, curiosity shining in his grey eye. I watched silently as he studied the drawing, then he looked up at me.

"This is a very beautiful picture," he said quietly, "and it seems very lifelike."

His countenance grew melancholy then, his features written over with a sorrow that I recognized instantly. He was thinking of his wife....

Then his eye moved back to the paper, almost with a start, a sudden return to now and not some distant memory of his lost lady. It is always a jolt to return from reveries of them, whether happy or sad.

"Your wife was not from here?" he asked, sounding a bit hesitant and uncertain, but from his most tactful approach that framed this question, I knew what he did not want to say. He probably feared my reaction if he were to be more blunt in its execution and say what he truly wanted to: "So, Mordil, you married a *Noldo*? How shocking!"

I chuckled at the carefully schooled expression on his face.

"No," I answered with just as much nonchalance as I could muster. "She is not from Greenwood. She and her father lived in Gondolin before its fall."

When one dark brow winged upward, though his expression managed to stay nearly impassive but not quite, I smiled slowly, then laughed, giving up my own battle.

"Yes, my dear Linlote." Odd how that nickname, once spat out in sheer derision suddenly had an endearing quality...rather like its owner. "She was Noldorin...as was my lady-mother. This is not something that I think on much," I admitted with just a tinge of chagrin. To be honest, I did not think on my Noldo blood at all. "But," I laughed, "I suppose I should not have called you a 'Noldo' with such contempt. I am a bit of a hypocrite, I fear. Not all Noldor are terrible...some are quite...tolerable."

I smiled at him, thinking that he seemed to fit into the 'tolerable Noldo' category. He, in turn, stared at me with what looked suspiciously like amazement. Whether this was born of my admission to having a Noldo wife or because of my confession to having that same blood in my veins...or maybe it was my confession that I was rather hasty and judgmental at times, I do not know. But then he laughed.

"Do not worry, Mordil," he began, eyeing me speculatively. "I was not very offended." He smiled a bit then.

He was being much too kind to me. I am sure he was highly offended by my somewhat offensive behaviour earlier. I certainly would have been! He must have seen my disbelief at his words, for he grinned a bit, eye sparkling.

"If it helps to assure you," he began, then paused, his grin widening just a bit, "my wife was Silvan." His grin widened again at my incredulous stare, then he took another sip of the brandy.

It was indeed my turn to stare in amazement, but then the irony of this situation took hold and I laughed in delight.

"It seems that Silvans have certain...weaknesses when it comes to love and marriage," I chortled. "Or maybe you Noldor do." I hesitated then, covering my uncertainty by taking a swig of the brandy. I was nearing my limit, I could tell, as a pleasant buzzing tickled at the edges of my mind. "Where...where did you meet your wife?" I asked, hoping that this would not be too painful a subject for him. If his son was a mere twelve years old then it had not been that long since his wife had died. I do not know how I would feel if someone were to ask me to speak of my wife...but then no one had in a very long time; I only hoped I had not crossed some line that would send him into pain-filled silence.

But after a moment's silence he smiled, his eye growing soft with some pleasant memory.

"Under a clothesline," he said, in a tender voice, another smile playing about his lips. "I tried to steal a shirt from it, and she was not too pleased."

I stared at him, torn between thinking that he was quite incorrigible or how nice it was, seeing him looking so relaxed and contented with his memories moving blissfully through his mind's eye, not with the pain I had feared my query would have aroused.

"Why does that not surprise me?" I laughed, the image of him attempting to steal a shirt, only to be confronted by a lovely Silvan lass. "It seems that more than a shirt was stolen that day," I remarked, smiling at him. "You must have been quite a charmer if you managed to get the lady to fall in love with you after trying to rob her." I settled against the tree trunk once more, taking yet another swallow of the brandy. It truly was quite good!

"I did not realize I was anything close to a charmer," he laughed softly, shaking his head a bit, as if he still was amazed by her reaction to him. "*She* was lovely....She managed to make me regret that I had tried to steal from her before even as much as a word had been exchanged." He grinned and I smiled slightly. "What made her fall in love with me, I do not know....She usually had good taste, it must have failed her in that special matter."

I laughed at this sentiment. I knew it only too well myself.

"I admit I do not understand the workings of female minds in that 'special matter' either." No, females are a wondrous mystery; my wife had been more so than any others. But I fear my curiosity had been piqued. What sort of Silvan lady would fall in love with a Noldorin elf who had tried to take a shirt from her clothesline? "What did she look like, this lovely little Silvan of yours?" I asked as he handed Celair's picture back to me.

I studied her face once more, smiling at her once again, before curling it back into a roll and replacing it carefully in the tube, which was tucked inside my tunic once more – against my heart.

"Does your son resemble her or you?" I finished, my fingers brushing over the comforting lump at my left breast. I hoped he would not think my questions too forward, and it was with relief that I saw him turn toward me and smile; his eye filled with memories of his wife and his son.

~*~*~*~*~*

I had to smile at Tanglinna's questions. The brandy was starting to work, as it seemed! But perhaps my assumption that his curiosity only showed because the liquor loosened his tongue was not quite right.

We had gone from open hostility to something very close to friendship in a single day, and the time we could spend together was running out quickly; questions that might have been asked and answered after weeks, months or years of knowing each other under other circumstances had to be pressed into short hours now.

And, to my own surprise, I wanted to answer his questions and felt that my answers would be understood; he had readily shared his wife's portrait – and what a gem of a picture it was! – with me, and I felt that whatever I told him now would be safe with him.

So when I spoke, it was not with much cautious reserve.

"Alagant? He is clearly mine, I fear..." I began and winked. "But he has her hair, gentle curls of light brown..."

These curls, tumbling over Belegweth's shoulders in a merry cascade, always somewhat messy, but endearingly so, were not even a bad starting point for a description; in their glorious untidiness, they had surrounded a pale, gentle face with eyes bright with wit and a sharp mind, with dark brows that I had seen raised in mild doubt very often, and with soft lips ever ready to part in a lovely, quite unique smile that mere words cannot capture.

Reducing Belegweth to a mere few words was a difficult task, anyway, and although I had meant to be succinct, I found myself adding more and more details to the invisible picture I was trying to paint for Mordil, the most marginal things seeming important enough to be mentioned....

I talked for a long time, how long, I do not remember, and finally realizing that I had gotten lost in memories that had to seem unimportant, even ridiculous, to anybody but me, I fell silent with a guilty expression. "Sorry... I did not mean to talk quite that much. It must be the brandy!" Hoping to hide my embarrassment a little, I took another sip.

Tanglinna chuckled at this. "It is quite understandable," he replied, smiling and sounding as if he understood indeed. "I don't mind in the least, brandy or not. Wives do have a way of staying in touching your heart, every little thing they did, ever word that fell from their lips, the way the sun looks when it glistens in their hair...even when they are... no longer here."

His smile wavered slightly, and he took another swallow of the all too tempting beverage.

I hesitated a little, but deciding that he had asked fairly intimate questions himself and that he could not be too loathe to talk about his lost wife if he had shown me her picture, I said: "Tell me about your wife... What was she like?"

At first, I feared that I had gone too far now; Tanglinna only gazed bleakly ahead of him. But then, before the silence could become awkward, a slow smile spread over his face and he began to speak, describing the wife he had lost after entirely too short a time with great fondness, his words weaving a tapestry of memories.

Falling silent again after some time, he smiled slightly at me. "You see?" he asked quietly and with a hint of sadness. "One cannot help but speak of them in such a manner." His smile then vanished while the pain he so clearly felt was lingering, so very visible in his eyes, and I suspected that, when he raised the bottle to his lips again, it was mainly to chase his dark thoughts and his sorrow.

Studying him in silence, I could not help wondering how and under which circumstances he had lost his wife if thinking of her still hurt him that much.

The death of a loved one always brings different kinds of grief. The pain caused by the mere loss may be agonizing in itself, but as time passes, you learn to cope with it more or less; but there is another kind of sorrow, the grief, perhaps even horror, brought about by the manner in which the one you lost died, and if you have reason to assume that someone suffered greatly or died believing or knowing something that caused them terrible pain, the wound will never heal.

I knew this quite well, for while I hoped that Belegweth had at least known or felt in her last moments that her son was well and would live, I had feared for most of my life that my father had died believing that I had abandoned him to his fate, and I had only learnt recently that it had not been like that. Admittedly, I might have come to that conclusion earlier if I had been aware that he had not died at all.

I dared not ask Tanglinna about his wife's death; instead, I only remarked quietly: "You miss her greatly."

"Too much." The answer was swift in coming, honest and unguarded, and, perhaps realizing what he had said, Tanglinna quickly shook his head, forcing a smile. "This brandy is indeed rather strong," he said, but he did not sound quite convinced or even fully serious, and as if he had decided that pretending nothing was wrong would not do now that he had allowed so much of what he felt to show, he hesitantly added: "It...it has been a long time since I spoke to anyone about her...." He shook his head yet again. "It...it...I should be over this. I am sorry."

He turned away to stare out into to quiet darkness, and for a moment, we were both very silent. I had been correct when I had surmised earlier that he was not used to sharing his grief with others, but it saddened me to learn that he felt bound to apologize for what had transpired. Did he really believe that it was best to lock his sorrow away inside, leaving it to fester?

Feeling a surge of pity, I softly placed a hand on his arm, ready to withdraw it again if he should consider this an inappropriate gesture. "Do not apologize... How should you be over it? Such a wound never heals... not completely."

He turned to gaze at me, his eyes flicking to my hand on his arm, but he did not move to push it away. "No, I suppose that it will never heal...." he confessed. "How could it? I feel as though half myself has been ripped from me, leaving me scarred and hurting more than I ever though was possible." As if he had said too much and was not pleased with himself for having done so, he frowned, and there was another moment of silence.

"What is past is past," he muttered at last. "And we must live with it as best we can." True as this was, I doubted whether he lived very well with what had happened in his life. But as if he wished to show that he was grateful for the small measure of comfort I had tried to offer, he gently placed his hand over mine for a moment with a slight smile before he looked away again, taking another swallow of brandy.

Taking another sip as well, I remarked: "But even though it is past, we cannot pretend it never happened and that it does not hurt at all."

"No", Tanglinna agreed. "It is impossible to pretend. There are times when...." He stopped himself, shaking his head once more, apparently deciding that getting lost in these depressing thoughts would do us no good. "You are fortunate to have a son to remind you of your wife," he began. "He must be a great comfort to you." These words were accompanied by a warm smile.

I smiled back, thinking that Mordil read me quite well. "He is indeed.... He has been from the beginning." Repaying truthfulness with truthfulness, I chose to be frank: "If he had not been there, and lived.... I do not know. Perhaps I would have gone mad or would have done something foolish...." Smiling wryly, I added: "But he did not allow that - he was wiser than his father even then."

Although this assessment was less ironic than it could have seemed, it made Tanglinna smile. "I am very glad that he was there to stop you from doing anything foolish or to keep you from madness." he replied, looking down and doubtlessly remembering the difficult time immediately after his own loss. "I suppose the Valar know what they are doing...." he continued. "Something or someone is always there, leading us down another pathway...giving us reason to live...though it is hard at times...."

Again, we sat in silence for a time, and Tanglinna took another generous swallow. The content of the bottle he was holding was vanishing quite rapidly, in fact....Perhaps I should have pointed out to him a bit more clearly that this was strong orcish brandy, not some light wine.... Now, however, it was too late anyway, and at least, Tanglinna still seemed capable of conducting a conversation.

"Your son must be a wise fellow indeed and he is an excellent carver already", he said with a smile.

I was proud indeed of Alagant's skills in that respect, and it made me quite happy that Tanglinna was so impressed by them. "He is...." I confirmed, and, gazing up at the stars that were visible between the dark trees, I went on: "Perhaps that will be useful for him one day... I hope so, at least... It would be quite sad if he... if he...."

Realizing where I was going, I chose not to say more. Speaking of sorrows and joys of past days was fine, but this was dangerous territory; mentioning present worries would only cause Tanglinna to remember what I was, and I did not want this short, yet precious friendship to be overshadowed by my less than honourable profession.

To be perfectly honest, I did not even want to remember what I was myself just now; I had pushed One-Eye the thief into a corner of my mind some time during our conversation, and I did not want him to resurface before I had parted from Tanglinna.

Alas, my dear Mordil knew how to finish the sentence I had broken of. "If he were to live the life you do?" he quietly asked, turning to look at me.

Defeated, I nodded, dreading what was to come now; he would be very right if he told me that subjecting Alagant to the life he was forced to lead was wrong of me.

~*~*~*~*

It seemed that my sudden insight into the fears that Alagaith harbored would have been better left untouched, yet my curiosity forced me ask, "Why do you continue in this life if it is not to your liking? Is there some reason why you live this way? How long has it been?"

It appeared to me that he had lived this desperate sort of life for a long time, long enough for stealing to be as natural as breathing, else why would he have taken this most excellent brandy with what seemed to be no thought at all? As he turned his head away from me, I could see that his memories were not pleasant ones. I thought again, that perhaps I had been too inquisitive, digging into things better left buried in the past. But he spoke, softly, almost reluctantly.

"It has been...a long time...some years before the Fall of Nargothrond. I...well, I suppose you would not believe me, and it is a long story anyway. Suffice it to say that I had to leave Nargothrond, and somehow ended up...like this."

He laughed then; a low bitter noise and I felt my heart go out to him.

"Back then," he continued, his words still colored by his bitterness, "I thought it would end at some point, pass like a nightmare, but then...."

His voice died away as he lifted his right arm, his eye dark as he stared at the cam tehta mark marring his wrist.

"Then I did not have a choice anymore," he finished abruptly, not looking at me, but staring quite intently at the night-darkened grass by his feet. I could see him clasp his wrist in his left hand, rubbing at it as though he wished it would vanish beneath such ministrations.

I could have told him that scars did not vanish no matter how much you wished them away or tried to atone for what they represented; neither did the feelings that such marks gave you vanish away into time, forgotten and put behind you...no, they remained...a constant reminder of something you wished had not happened – either of a misdeed, a battle, or even a failure....

I studied him for a moment, trying not to feel a pity that I knew he would not appreciate, for though it was born of sympathy and understanding, it was still pity. I knew that he must be feeling defeated, lost, without hope. I reached out and gently extricated his abused wrist, running my thumb over the black mark that had brought him to this point of despair.

"Is this why you have no choice any more?" I asked quietly, studying the cam-tehta mark; the elegant twining Elvish letters were beautiful, yet so very ugly. "This mark?"

He did not look at me for a moment, no doubt feeling embarrassed by my speaking of this. Then he did turn to me, his eye bleak, and he nodded.

"There was a time when I tried to...change," he began in a most hesitant voice, and I knew that he had probably not discussed this with anyone in a very long time.

Tried.... Yes, sometimes the things we want most are the most difficult to obtain...or to keep.

"It did not work...they would not believe me – that I was sincere."

His dark brows winged down, his grey eye filling with what looked to be annoyance at himself, probably for being so candid with me. This was undoubtedly painful for him. Discussing ones personal failures was never an easy thing; one that I did not indulge in often...I could not and would not. Yet he trusted me enough at this point to be honest that his attempt to become honest again had not worked exactly as it should have.

"'They' who?" I queried, wondering whom else he had trusted with this dream of his, this wish, this great desire. I released his wrist and studying him carefully. Why hadn't 'they' given him a chance to become what he wanted to be? It was a noble goal, one that should have been encouraged and nurtured. And yet...did we not all doubt those that we saw as something less than ourselves? Those less fortunate in their life circumstances were often disbelieved and looked down on.

"My parents-in-law," he said with a bitter smile that twisted his lips. "But then, no one had reason to believe a branded thief...I understand that."

He may have understood this, just as I did, but he should not have accept it!

Parents-in-law....

I leaned back against the night-cooled tree trunk thinking that of all the people he could have started with – people he wanted to trust him, help him forge a new life from the ashes of what his life was – he would choose his wife's or perhaps it had been future wife's parents. That explained his entire problem!

I felt a rather unseemly giggle rising in my throat and before I could stop it, it emerged sounding utterly out of place in this most solemn conversation. I hastily clapped my hand over mouth, thinking that for all my good intentions to not imbibe too much of this orcish stuff, I had somehow already managed to do just that! Insidious orcs! But did it matter? There was nothing I could do about it now.

"I think," I began with what I feared was a ridiculously silly grin, "perhaps it is because they *were* your parents-in-law that they did not believe you. It has been my vast experience," and here I giggled again, sounding like some foolish youngling, "that parents-in-laws were made for only one reason – to make one feel highly unworthy of their daughters, and thus torment them in any way they could."

This seemed only too true – at least to my 'vast' experience, which was comprised of Riwmegor and only Riwmegor...not so very vast an experience after all. I turned to grin at him, but then I smiled kindly, trying to let him know that I did, in fact, understand.

"Perhaps you merely tried with the wrong people," I finished, lifting the bottle to my lips once more, but I did manage to pull it away before I tasted any more of that stuff, feeling rather chagrined by the brandy- induced strangeness in my head.

Alagaith laughed slightly at my mention of what parent's-in-law had been created for, but then his expression became one of puzzlement, and he shook his head.

"No.... It is simply that I am unlucky.... Nobody ever believes me when I tell the truth!"

As if he regretted this mild outburst, he took a rather large swallow of his brandy.

"That is how it started," he said quietly, his expression filled with brooding.

"How it started?" I repeated. "By no one believing you or ill luck? I fear ill luck comes to most of us...." Yes, it did. Ill luck was just a part of life, not always something we brought upon ourselves...not always. "So it must be that no one believed you...." My voice trailed off and I frowned, not happy at all that my mind was so fogged and fuzzy. "Did your wife believe you when you said you wished to become honest?" I asked, forcing myself to concentrate. "Sometimes, one is all it takes to encourage us to rise above our circumstances... it is a beginning anyway."

I frowned then. Beginnings are very hard. They can be terrifying, making you feel overly vulnerable.

"You said that we cannot pretend that things that are painful did not happen, and yet we must continue the best we can, bearing the pain – often in silence and alone. But if we have someone who does believe in us...someone who *believes* us...."

I shook my head, wishing again that I had not drunk so much or that it had not affected me so quickly – truly, it had not seemed like so very much! – I wanted him to realize that what he wanted – to become honest, to leave the 'skulking cutpurse' behind – should not be abandoned because two people, who probably did not want to believe in him in the first place, had not been willing to support him in his decision.

"Perhaps things can change," I continued, gazing earnestly at him. "We can rise above our situations and be better...be...ourselves...."

I paused then, fearing I was sounding ridiculous or, at the very least, unclear. How very hard it is to truly be ourselves! We all wear the appropriate masks to suit the moment we are in, the people we are with. We did not wish to upset people by being truthful, so we nodded and smiled, hiding what we truly felt, not wanting one to look askance at you...or - Valar forbid – challenge what they knew or thought they knew about certain beliefs or cherished ideas. How hard it is indeed! And first impressions are very lasting! Yet we needed to see beyond this if we were to truly know the truth of something, did we not? Or to see the real someone that lay hidden behind the outer shell? I sighed slightly in exasperation at my inability to speak what I was feeling, knowing that I would never be able to articulate this so it was...articulate....

Alagaith sat in silence for a moment, probably thinking his companion was merely a drunken idiot of a Wood-elf who could not take a few swallows of brandy without succumbing to them.

"Yes, perhaps," he said at last, his voice tight and bitter with sarcasm...yes, I was a drunken Wood-elf idiot.... "It is a nice dream anyway....A very nice dream." He raised his bottle in mock salute and took another sip.

I scowled then, staring at the bottle in my own hand. I had not made myself clear at all! Ridiculous brandy! I would have to try again, taking a risk that he might think even worse of me for my overly active tongue, but this was too important to abandon merely because I sounded slightly befuddled.

"Dream?" I asked, sounding just a bit harsh, the well practiced 'Master Archer' coming to the fore. "So you think that bettering yourself is just a dream? That is rather a pessimistic attitude. Why do you think we moved here to Greenwood? A dream. A dream that life could be better - less...complicated than what we had before. A dream. A dream that we realized when we came here, expecting to be turned away or ignored by the inhabitants of this wood."

We had not been certain of our reception when we few had finally crossed the river, leaving behind all that was familiar and comfortable to chase after a chance at a new, better life. We had been scared, though we all did our best to hide it, even deny it; our brave masks firmly in place. There was so much we risked by this bold move to the east, breaking away from the long-forged ties with those still in the west of Arda. And when the Greenwood Silvans had met us at the southern edge of their great forest, seeming feral and fierce to our 'civilized' eyes, they greeted us....

"They took us in, welcomed us, believed that we - and they! - could live out Oropher's grand dream. Our life is a testament to a 'nice dream' that was realized. It was not easy, do not misunderstand me; we had many hard times and many sorrows...many things happened that were not part of what we dreamed for this land, or for ourselves. Yet we made our dream come true, as true as it could be...."

I paused - thinking that I sounded too much like Brethil Bronaduion with that tumbled, yet passionate, flood of words. I meant every one of them, wanting him to realize that if one were determined enough and were willing to venture into the unknown, a dream could be achieved. And, as I had told him, it was not always easy, things did not always go the way we wanted or thought they should. But if we had never decided to travel to Greenwood, we would have lived out our lives wondering what life *might* have been – the dream that was ignored and regretted.

Oropher had been filled with his dream of a life away from the Noldor, away from the Dwarves, away from everything that we had come to despise as the destroyers of our former lives. We had dared to move away from the past, to start life over; and our life here had been good – was good still – having brought us unlooked for dreams of happiness and content as well as our share of sorrows and failures.

Alagaith said nothing for a moment, merely sat quite still, studying the stars. When at last he did speak, it was in hushed tones.

"There are always hard times and sorrows...As long as there is hope, or something like hope, that is not too bad." His gaze dropped then to the cam-tehta mark, his face filling with melancholy. "But...you had not done anything wrong.... Those living here before you could welcome you."

"What makes you think I have never done anything wrong" He certainly could not think that everyone but himself were totally innocent! "I may have never stolen from anyone and been caught at it...." I hesitated then, frowning, then my eyes widened with sudden guilt...guilt that I would not necessarily have felt were I with anyone but him. "Um...well, stealing from...orcs does not count, does it?" I stammered, knowing that it did count... now as it never had before when sitting with this elf whose best friend was an orc. "We were not caught, but...." I shook my head, not wishing to incriminate myself further, and he did not care to hear about that old escapade when I was much younger, and following Oropher's lead. "Do you wish to be welcomed?" I began again. "You seem to have a rather pessimistic and bitter outlook on your fellows. Perhaps not all of us are so hardened that we cannot look beyond the surface to see what lies beneath it. The things that are worth the most to have, cost us the greatest....I think you are afraid to try!" I declared, eyeing him in a challenging manner, hoping that he would forget my own hasty judgments about him in the not so distant past. "What did Greenwood's inhabitants see in us? Kinslayers we were...after Doriath. We brought with us a past that was not untroubled, yet they managed to see beyond our bloodstained hands, our dark history. Perhaps someone would do the same for you some day...but you will not know until you try."

~*~*~*~*~*

Some people will fall silent under the influence of orcish brandy, to brood and sit lost in their own thoughts; others will grow very talkative, and it seemed Tanglinna belonged to the latter group. Perhaps I should have dismissed what he said as the foolish babbling of a drunken archer, but to my own astonishment, I found that I wanted to listen.

There was a sincerity about his words that was oddly touching, not only when he spoke about his own experience, but also when he urged me to try again and not to think that I was the only one who had ever done wrong – and this was what made me think.

In all those years ever since my quick descent into this sort of life had begun, no one had ever offered me hope or spoken so passionately to prevent me from continuing on a way that would lead nowhere at best, but to more despair and suffering in the worst case.

No one who was not what I was had ever even cared, not counting Belegweth, whose valiant efforts had been brought to nothing by her parents', most notably her mother's, intervention. I still believed, and believe to this day, that it had been wise of us to leave the small settlement my wife had come from; if we had insisted on staying and managed to stay indeed, unlikely as it was that all those most decent and respectable elves would have refrained from simply throwing me out of their dwelling by force, the few years we had been able to spend together would have been poisoned by contempt and distrust.

But Belegweth had loved me, and this love had undoubtedly coloured her judgement a little; no one else had ever believed that I could be quite serious about wishing to change my life, and no one seemed to have thought that I was even worth being encouraged to do so. A thief and robber of the dead was nothing but that, a creature almost as bad as a kinslayer, and even when I had found some pity and mercy in the past, it had never been more than just that, eyes kindly turned away when I had been found stealing something of limited value, a chance to escape arrest offered with a wink, a punishment lessened.

There had never been anything that close to an invitation, and no kind thought that went past the immediate future. I had underestimated Tanglinna quite a bit; his concern for me was not merely superficial. As drunk and befuddled as he may have been, he wished to understand, and he understood, too well, perhaps....

I, for my part, knew myself well enough to be certain that, if we pursued this subject any longer, I would give in to dangerous thoughts, and used to making unpleasant decisions swiftly, I might have said and done things that I would have regretted, especially if it had turned out later that Tanglinna, in his happy haze, had been sincere as far as general feelings and opinions were concerned, but had not thought about the possible implications of his exact words.

Therefore, I only took another sip of brandy and replied: "You obviously do not know what you are saying... Stop it, or you might regret it."

I wished a line of thought could have been broken off as easily as a dangerous exchange of words, but even while I searched for a fitting question to change the topic, rather too many thoughts beginning with 'what if' or 'perhaps' were racing in my head.

"You are from Doriath?" I finally enquired.

Fortunately, Tanglinna accepted the new direction of the conversation and nodded. "Yes...well, my family moved there when I was but a mere youngling...after...." He stopped himself, either because this was a part of his past that he did not want to revisit or merely in order to stop himself from breaking into a ramble of childhood memories. Suddenly, he grinned. "Surely, you are not going to say you were in Doriath?"

I shook my head. I had never ventured there indeed, and this was not the time to tell Tanglinna that I had almost ended up there at one point, although it was most amusing to imagine that, if one lady had made a different decision in a wintry forest long ago, I might have met Tanglinna much earlier, in Doriath.... Perhaps we could have become real friends in that case, and perhaps I would have been living in Greenwood later... Vain thoughts!

"Do not worry.... "I answered. "We dared not go near there back then, even though the loot to be found there might have been promising."

Tanglinna's brows shot up. "'Loot'?" he repeated. "It seems that the 'treasure' in Doriath is what brought about its fall. Not all treasure is of the good kind, you know. Some things are more important than mere objects, regardless of how pretty and alluring. Loot!"

He laughed, apparently amused by what I had said, but then, his face grew serious again, and he took a swallow. "Perhaps it is best you were not there. It was not a pleasant time....Elu Thingol died not long after we arrived in his grand hall and his wife left us nearly defenceless...."

"I am sure it was not a pleasant time for you", I answered, and for the first time in my life, I felt vaguely grateful that I had already been an outlaw when Nargothrond had fallen; to witness the ruin of one's home was probably much worse than merely learning about it.

I contemplated Tanglinna with pity. "If you were there when Doriath fell, it must have been more terrible than words can describe..." It had probably been more terrible than even thoughts could grasp; I knew how silent and pale Well-Armed would still become now, after so many years, when the Sack of Nargothrond was mentioned. "I only came upon the aftermath of the Teiglin massacre, and that was bad enough."

Tanglinna nodded slowly, and without knowing the details of what he remembered, I could imagine what he saw before his inner eye now; and unlike me, he had probably seen atrocious things done instead of only staring at familiar faces frozen in death, numbing shock giving way to sorrow but slowly, the horror seeming too great to grasp.

"History has not been kind to any of us, it seems." he remarked. "Yet..." – and here, a smile returned to his face – "We made the best of what we were left with...though it was some time before things seemed to be 'normal' again...not till we came here; not until our lives were made over completely by what we forged here in our green fastness." His smile grew very fond then, and, love colouring his voice, he continued: "It is the most wonderful place I have ever been in...my one true home...."

I returned his smile, thinking that it was quite endearing to hear him talk about his forest and his home with such fondness. "Tell me about your home... Where do you live?"

It had been a spontaneous question, and a foolish one; asking about his home made me feel quite sharply that I had none, not any more, and I my attempt to chase unbidden memories was futile. Memories swept over me like a wave apt to drown me, memories of home, my father humming to himself while he was busy making an overstuffed little kitchen even more untidy, my favourite corner with a bench made comfortable by a whole pile of cushions, some of them old and embroidered by my mother's hands, some new, made and decorated by me, long evenings spent sitting by the fire, and even memories of how it had felt to be out in Talath Dirnen, silently cursing the pouring rain and secretly exchanging a look and a swift wry smile with my captain, knowing very well that he dreamt of already being back in his beloved kitchen, although he would never have admitted that, not even in private....

It was a good thing that Tanglinna started to speak then with a happy smile. "I live not very far from here. I have my own little house just across the river from the palace. It is in the trees, so it is always green and the breeze that flows through it scented with the river's crisp water. It is not fancy, I am not like some elves who," - he grinned, making me suspect that 'some elves' were not quite as anonymous as they sounded – "like the more sparkling aspects of life. I enjoy it there. It is peaceful...if a bit lonely at times." He shrugged as if he wished to make this admission seem pretty unimportant.

Nevertheless, I had noticed it and had my own thoughts on how important it was, but I only smiled. "It sounds like a very good sort of home.... You are fortunate." Even while I was speaking, I wondered how true this really was; he had a good home, yes, but no one to share it with.

Tanglinna shrugged again, but he looked quite content. "It is a good life here in Greenwood...Hmph! Mirkwood! Ha!" He laughed slightly. "I believe anyone could be happy here...if they truly wished to be." I was glad he gazed up at the stars then, and not at my face; what he could have read there might have disturbed him, and I was quick to force an impassive expression when he turned to look at me again. "I suppose you do not have a home in any one place...."

I shook my head, but grinned a bit then at a sad, but somewhat ironic thought; he had a place to call home indeed, a place I lacked, but I did have a family. "Home is where Alagant is... and the rest of the family... in a way. But having a place to call home would be good indeed. I suppose I shall have to try."

I am not sure if he knew how very serious I was; in any case, he smiled and replied: "I think you might like living in one place for more than a short period of time. Your own little house.... You are most fortunate that your heart has a place to call home though...in your son and your family." His smile grew wistful, and I felt sorry for him.

He was right that living in one place, having a house, would have been pleasant, but without Alagant capering about in it, ready to set new standards of untidiness, and my father instantly starting to think about the proper place for a herb garden and about the amount of cooking spoons, pots and pans we would need to live like civilized people, I would not have enjoyed even a house as lovely as the one Tanglinna had described.

"You do not have a family?" I asked, but it was not really a question.

Tanglinna shook his head. "No. They are all dead...have been for some time now." There was such grief in his voice that it was painful even to listen to him, and doubtlessly more painful for him to speak. "I had a dream as well," he continued softly, "much more impossible than your own. I think you are very fortunate that all you need is a house for your family. I am sure that could be arranged some day...."

I had to smile that he assumed that such a thing 'could be arranged' so easily; he was clearly drunk, but telling him this would not have been very kind. "Maybe." I only replied. "What kind of dream did you have?"

I studied his face in the starlight, but he did not look at me; his eyes were watching the light of the moon and the stars on the grass before him. "I nearly had my dream come true...." he began in a low voice, sounding very vulnerable. "It was so close." He held up two fingers, a mere inch apart. "We were going to have a son, you see. Cubell....my little strong bow. We were so happy...too happy...." Here, he hesitated, probably dreading to utter what was to come now even more than I dreaded to hear it. "They were killed...on my conception day...just before....just before I could get there." Overwhelmed by pain, he closed his eyes and paused; when he spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled: "Some dreams are impossible, it seems." Drawing up his knees, he placed his forehead on them like an elfling finding some measure of comfort in closing the cruel world out. I tried to think of something, anything, to say or do, but I knew that his was a sorrow that could never be cured or lessened. Yet, when he slowly looked up at me again, I felt my inability to help like a failure. "Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to...Your dream is not impossible. You should try to achieve it, if you truly want it."

How could he think of my petty worries, my foolish little dream, just now? He told me he had lost his unborn child to violent death and expected me to have nothing but my lack of a roof to sleep under in mind after this? Perhaps it was only an act of self-protection, of keeping greater grief at bay by speaking of different things, or fear that what he had said had undone the success of his efforts to convince me that there was still hope... I did not care. While I had suspected that his life had not been happy, I had never feared that so great a loss, and brought about in a terrible manner, with the added irony of happening on a day that should have been one of joy and merriment, was behind his grief.

There was nothing to say, and little to do; I only put an arm around Tanglinna's shoulders in a gesture of comfort, knowing that this would hardly lessen the pain he felt, but hoping he would see that I understood.

For a moment, he just stared at me, brows furrowed, but then, he smiled, gratefully so, if I was not mistaken. "You do not ever know how much time you will be given with your family...you must never waste a single moment of that time for it can be gone in a heartbeat." His smile turned rueful then. "We can only do the best that we can for them while they are here...make their lives wonderful, make lovely memories of them...for them....that is all we can do at times...perhaps that is enough."

Looking away, he chuckled slightly, obviously making an effort to cut the painful moment short. "What a tale you will have to tell them when you return to them! Will *they* believe you?" He laughed, and had I not been too affected by what he had told me before, I might have joined him in his sudden mirth; the tale of our adventure was an unusual and fantastic one indeed, and even those close to us would have difficulty to believe that we had not embellished the story a little.

"Hug your son for me when you see him." Tanglinna added with a smile, and I smiled back, feeling more than ever that I had been gone for far too long a time, and grateful that I would be able to return now and whole, not only in a few months and crippled.
"Alagant will believe me, of course," I answered. "If ada says it was like that, then it was so." Alas, Alagant was quite the only being in Arda who trusted me that unconditionally! With a grin, I added: "But my father will probably assume that I had entirely too much brandy... Which might be true."

I should have stopped here, allowing the conversation to take a more harmless turn; but Tanglinna's obvious sorrow still troubled me so that I felt I had to say something, even if it was an awkward thing to say and would not be received kindly. "But... listen now. Your dream..." I hesitated slightly; Tanglinna would probably only wish to throttle me if I kept poking at that unhealed wound now. "Do not call it 'impossible' - there is hope... always."

I did mean every word of this, for while I did not have great trust in the kindness of my fellow elves and the possibility of finding forgiveness, the Valar and Eru Himself had chosen to be merciful with me at times. I had been certain that my father was dead and gone, yet I had found him again after long years; I had seen Half-Dead survive wounds that could easily have been deadly under the limited care Strongsword had been able to offer. If such miracles did happen, who said that there would be no such luck for Tanglinna? Admittedly, I did not know how his dead wife and son could be brought back, but there was no certainty that it would never happen.

Tanglinna did not indulge in such hopes, and he did not want to hear about them.

"Not in this world...."he answered, shaking his head as if to rid it of all melancholy thoughts. "You *have* had too much brandy...as have I!"

Winking, he took another swallow and continued: "Do you know, I have never thanked you for saving my life? I have been utterly remiss..."

Clearing his throat, he set the bottle aside and studied me so seriously that it looked almost comical in his present state; yet his words were heartfelt. "I do thank you for saving me down there. It was very noble of you to risk yourself for me, when I am sure I did not deserve such kindness and generosity. And never let me hear anyone say that you are not good with a sword...or scimitar or they will be very sorry to have done so." And, with a smile, he held out his hand.

~*~*~*~*

"Do not call it impossible – there is hope...always."

Clearly, he did not know what he was speaking of. Hope exists only if things are possible, but some things are not.

I could have told him that a mere moment before, *he* had been the despairing one, seeing no hope for a changed life – a new start – something that was possible and therefore hope could exist – should exist. His dream could be realized if he persevered and was willing to work for it. Mine on the other hand had died the day Celair and Cubell had been killed. There was no hope...it was over. My dream could not be realized on Arda; I had lost my only chance at it. I would not waste hope on what was never meant to be.

But I did not want to think on this anymore. Enough moments of my life had been spent on this meaningless, too painful contemplation of what might have been, what should have been - but was not. Therefore, I was grateful when I felt him grasp my outstretched hand, a firm grip - warrior's grip. I could see his eye shining with amusement or some other emotion I could not fathom. I did not know.

"Now, do not get that dramatic and formal," he declared wryly. "*I* wanted to get out of there as well. And then," a smile flitted over his lips, "It was the least I could do.... You were very kind." He hesitated before saying, "Thank you."

I suppose I should have been gracious and smiled, tipping my head in acknowledgement, but I fear I snorted at his lovely, heartfelt words. Not at him, mind you, but at myself.

"If you think my behaviour toward you has been kind, I do not want to know what sort of people you have been in contact with if you think this was kindly done. I was most rude to you, and you certainly did not have to stay and let me out of those chains when you could have escaped and freed yourself. In fact, "I studied him in an appraising manner, feeling pleased that my mind seemed to be functioning mostly as it should, "you thought that I was going to take you back to Gladaran Thamas for trial, and the smart course of action would have been to leave me. Now, who is being the 'kind' one?" I smiled warmly at him for indeed he had been the kind one to free me regardless of the cost to himself. "Thank you," I said, gripping his hand a moment more before releasing it and sitting back down.

One of his brows rose at this pronouncement.

"Leave you, down there? The smart course of action indeed," he said in retort, shaking his head, a look of disbelief on his face. But then he smiled. "And then, you *were* kind - you put this," he touched the somewhat ragged eye patch, "back where it belonged; and you restrained those younglings a little. That was more than I could expect."

Now it was my turn to stare at him in disbelief as he leaned back against our shared tree, his gaze moving to the stars overhead – bright pin pricks in the fabric of the night.

"I merely did what anyone would have done," I protested. "There was nothing special in that act. Even if you are a thief, you deserve to retain your dignity. What those younglings did was unforgivable. They will not be pleased when I return and reprimand them properly for their inexcusable behaviour."

Oh, yes. Laebrui and Nimdir would not be happy when Master Archer Tanglinna decided to speak to them about their treatment of the prisoner and what should be done about it.

I chuckled then, wondering if I would have time to speak with them before Thranduil decided to 'speak' with me about my behaviour and treatment of the prisoner.

"Don't be too harsh with them," Alagaith said, interrupting my thoughts. "I have seen worse."

I turned to look at him, thinking he must have had too many unpleasant times in his life. Those two young warriors had been very rude, stripping him of what little dignity he had left. He was not looking at me, but appeared lost in thought, then, slowly, he turned to me.

"Speaking of reprimands.... Are you sure that you will not be in trouble?"

He appeared rather worried by this thought, so I smiled at him in reassurance.

"Any reprimand I receive will not be harsh. I am actually looking forward to it. It will be a rather nice...quiet interlude." Quiet indeed as I suspect that no one would be allowed to 'converse with the prisoner'...if Thranduil threw all his usual stipulations into the deal. "A time of rest and relaxation really. Do not worry about it," I finished. There was nothing to be worried about. I had survived stays in the dungeon before, the hardest one being the first one and that had been many, many years ago after an ill-fated trip to Imladris.

I pictured a blank wall of stone somewhere in Gladaran Thamas' depths just begging for some... creative attention. The last few days – nay, months leading up to these last few days! – had certainly provided me with enough inspiration to fill all the days that I would have to spend there...or months...or however long I awaited the king's pleasure.

I grinned at this thought, taking another swallow of brandy before I realized I had done it. I was supposed to *not* drink anymore!

Alagaith's brow rose again at my very nonchalant comments and took another sip as well. He looked entirely unaffected by the orcish spirits! Well, I certainly was not. I grinned again.

"Don't you think we could come up with a good story to explain...this?" he asked, his eye filled with sudden creative calculation.

My brows rose in turn.

"If you think I should try to make up a 'good story' then I will, but I warn you! Thranduil is not easily fooled...not by me anyway. You know my acting skills are a bit...questionable," I finished with a grin at this Oh-So- Astute observation of mine. Questionable indeed!

Alagaith chuckled, no doubt agreeing with me wholeheartedly.

"And I imagine, he is not as willing to believe you as Gurshak was?"

"Hardly," I snorted. "He will suspect that something is not as I said it was. But, as I said earlier, perhaps I will tell him the truth. At least, I will not by lying though he may believe I am. It does make an excellent tale."

Now that it was over! But I did not give this voice.

We both grinned, feeling quite companionable...now that it was over.

"If he really locks you up, will you need anything?" he asked. He truly was a bit of a worrier! "Food, a warm blanket? Orcish brandy?" he chuckled as he eyed his own bottle, which was nearly as empty as mine.

Orcish brandy! That made me chuckle. What would Thranduil make of that if he were to find a bottle of brandy – Orcish no less! – in my cell!

"Orcish brandy might be nice," I agreed with a grin as my king's somewhat enraged face – quite red, making his blue eyes stand out nicely – filled my imagination. "It would certainly keep me nice and warm in my cell...." Not to mention the heat of Thranduil's anger! I turned to look at Alagaith. "I hope you would not do this though," I cautioned seriously. "I would not want you to get caught...not after I am being so kind in letting you go!"

I would like to see him again, under kinder circumstances, but I would not see him risk himself just to smuggle a bottle of orcish brandy into my cell.

"Do not worry about me," I continued, wondering when I had spoken so very much in one night...I probably did not want to know. If this kept up, I might start singing silly songs and rhymes! "I have survived stays in my Great Good King's dungeons before. New paints might be nice though."

Another -increasingly idiot, I feared - grin settled on my face. I would definitely be painting this picture: two elves sitting beneath the stars, orcish brandy at hand, and looking very happy and content. A very nice picture that would make.

"New...paints?" Alagaith asked, looking a bit...puzzled by my words.

"Yes, new paints," I reiterated. "I have not had any in a while....I paint, you know.... There are people in Dale that make wonderful colours," I continued in a slightly dreamy voice, recalling the pleasant times in that City-kingdom of Men when we would visit there to barter and trade with its merchants. Usually we dealt directly with Esgaroth as it was much closer and the centre of commerce here in our little eastern edge of the world, but on rare occasion we would travel directly to Dale...they had been very nice times.

"Dale?" Alagaith breathed. "It must have been a while ago that you bought new colours...."

I blinked at this.... Ah yes. The Dragon had destroyed both Dale and Esgaroth. But now that his menace had been destroyed perhaps they could be rebuilt. Yes, it would be a good time of rebuilding – not only of the towns but also a renewing of friendship.

"Dale," I murmured. "Yes, lovely colours," I repeated softly. "Though I admit they never did manage to make a paint quite the shade of Celair's eyes."

This had been my deepest regret in regards to my painting. Her eyes were never quite right, and lovely eyes they had been. I could remember a rather heated argument with one Dale man that sold me paints. No, I fear he had never quite gotten that colour right regardless of what he had said. He had never seen her, after all. How could he know that the colour had to be....

"Just the right shade of blue," I murmured, recalling her beloved face, her gentle smile, and those glorious eyes. "Bright and rich like cornflowers, but with just a hint of silvery grey...."

Valar...I missed her....

"Dwarves," I continued hastily, after clearing my throat which had tightened inexplicably, "make nice colours as well...but...." I shrugged vaguely, not looking at him.

"I think I would like to see your pictures one day," he said slowly, an odd tone in his voice.

"Then you must come and see them!" I declared, leaping onto the harmless subject earnestly. It *would* be very nice if he could come and see them. "They are not very good, not compared to some, but I think I have a fair talent for this sort of thing....I did that picture of Celair that you saw....Carry it with me everywhere....Always...."

The pain was still there, but instead of trying to fight it off, I recalled that day at Riwmegor's forge when she had been working at making the dagger I had drawn her holding. Her brow had been beaded with sweat, black curls tumbling over her white neck. She had looked up at me and smiled...oh, so sweetly. It was a wonderful memory, one that I cherished in my attempt to keep her alive ...at least in my heart. Having the pictures I had done of her helped. I do not know how I would have survived without them to remind me of her and our too short time together. Not everyone had even a picture though....

I looked up at Alagaith then.

"Would you allow me to...paint a picture of your wife...if you can come to see me?" I asked, hoping that he would not take offence at my bold suggestion. "You would have to tell me exactly what she looked like – the shape of her face, the right amount of curl in her hair...."

I gazed hopefully at him, wanting to gift him with this – a remembrance of his love.

He looked...stunned by my suggestion, probably thinking I was a ridiculous drunken Silvan to suggest such a thing; but I had been quite sincere. Slowly he smiled, accepting the idea, I hoped. He had done so much for me already – rescuing me when it would have been easier to leave me, thinking not of himself but gallantly of someone else.

"I would be most grateful if you would do that," he said at last. "And if you did that picture of your wife, your pictures are good...very good in fact."

He looked quite...impressed? I flushed happily at his compliment.

"Thank you," I said, feeling very like the peacock he had named me. "But I really would like to do a picture of your wife...it is the least I can do for you after everything you have done for me."

My brows furrowed then as I studied this Noldo, whom I no longer thought of as the 'skulking cutpurse' that "Linlote" though I feared that nickname would not leave my mind or my mouth as it should. He had been unutterably generous to me.

"I do not think I could ever properly thank you for saving me from Gurshak's clutches," I began, feeling rather overwhelmed suddenly. It was the brandy's fault...of this, I am certain. "To do that for a stranger" – a rude stranger! – "is kind and generous indeed, but to do it for someone who was intolerably rude" – yes, rude! – "to you...." Words failed me then, and I flung my arms about him. "Thank you! I will never forget this!"

If I had been sober, I could not have been more sincere than I was at that moment, though I would have been less demonstrative. I most assuredly caught him off guard by this most unseemly behaviour of mine, but he patted me awkwardly on the back, speaking quietly to me as to a strange and unusual animal that might end up biting him if not soothed calmly and quickly.

"Now, now...." Dealing with drunken Silvans...I wonder if he had ever done that before. "I could hardly leave so noble and kind an elf in the clutches of those goblins, could I?"

"You could easily have done just that," I said, sitting back and staring at him, a bit bleary eyed. "All too easily."

I was vaguely aware that I was glad that no one else was near enough to witness my rather sorry state. I did not care to think how I would feel in the morning, thought the thought "you will greatly regret this tomorrow...your head will be splitting!" flickered in the back of my mind and died away, nearly unmarked. That was hours away, after all.

"If ever there is anything I can ever do for you, please do not hesitate to let me know," I told him earnestly, though I felt like I was swaying just a bit...or the trees around us were.

He shook his head at this sentiment.

"You have already freed me...saved my hand...." He lifted his hand, contemplating it for a moment, and I found myself wondering how I would have felt if my hand had been at stake. "And...you have said a lot of interesting things. We are quits," he finished, looking resolute.

'Quits'. I did not think so, and if I had not been quite so Not Myself, I would have told him just what I did think, but instead I said, "I will not argue with you now, for I fear your orcish brandy has addled my wits just a bit...but if you ever care to argue with me about it, and I can argue rather well," I continued with a silly grin, "when I chose to, you know where you can find me...singing in the dungeons."

I laughed at this remark. It had been sometime since I had sung in the dungeons. My sentence had been extended, not to mention that a bucket of very cold water had been thrown on me when I failed to notice that I had an audience...not a very appreciative one at that. Ah well. Thranduil perhaps had every right to be upset with me then...the song had been ... perhaps...questionable.

~*~*~*~*~*

I had to laugh at Tanglinna's words. "Singing in the dungeons?"

It was amusing indeed to imagine my companion 'singing in the dungeons', or at least it seemed amusing under the influence of the brandy, for if I had thought a bit more about it, I would not have chuckled at the thought of Tanglinna being imprisoned... Well, only the slightest bit, perhaps – there was some irony in the fact that not the skulking cutpurse, but the valiant and honourable warrior should end up in the dungeons of Mirkwood, and for quite a serious offence, at that. But he had committed his crime because of me, and for me – there was truly no reason to consider this a ridiculous situation.

"Then I will just follow your voice." I promised, and from this moment on, I was resolved indeed to venture into the wood-elf-king's dungeons indeed.

Tanglinna was probably somewhat too. . . happy to realize that I was very serious. "Do that." he replied. "Please...just...well...you could always wear Gurshak's clothing, then no one would recognize you....Why did you take his clothing?"

Of all the questions he could have asked about my actions that day and the reasons behind them, this was the one I had least expected; the answer to it seemed so very obvious that I had never even thought about offering an explanation. However, I had to concede that it might have seemed less obvious to me had I not been who I was. It was sadly true that no more fortunate elf would have stooped to take this wicked goblin's clothing, or any goblin's clothes, for that matter.

Shame ran through me, less for what I had done than for what I was, what I had become. It cost me an effort to answer calmly and make my voice sound as if what I had to say was the most natural thing in the world.

"These are good clothes, Mordil - warm enough to get me over the winter, and new enough to last yet a while." I managed to grin a bit. "Don't you remember? You caught me taking that cloak in the first place..."

At first, Tanglinna only chuckled. "Yes, I do remember that...." A sudden frown came to his face then, and I wondered if he remembered entirely too well now how our acquaintance had started, and what he had thought of me when he had found me standing over his fallen comrade, a cloak that had not belonged to me in my hands...

When he spoke again, I was surprised. "Before you go," he began, hesitating for a moment and studying me as if he was trying to determine how I would react to what he was going to say, "I want you to have my cloak...and my tunic. I can be home soon and I can certainly make it that far without them. If you cannot use them, then please give them to one of your friends...or cut them down for your son."

Patronizing as this could have sounded, it did not, and his words were still coloured by kindness and genuine concern when he went on: "And...if you do come to visit, I will make certain that there is plenty of clothing and things to take back with you."

Had this been said by anyone else, and in a slightly different voice, I would have felt hurt and most humiliated by this offer – did I look like a beggar in desperate need of alms? Well... I probably did, and even if I claimed that I was something else in fact, it was not too far from what I actually was. Things had to change, they really had to change... And perhaps they would.

Meeting Tanglinna's gaze, hoping that he would know that I was grateful at least for the spirit behind his offer, even if I did not accept it, I shook my head a little and replied: "This is very kind of you, but... this is not necessary. Look!"

I reached into my pocket, pulling out Gurshak's exquisite cloak clasp and studying it for a moment. "This is rather valuable... It will mean new clothes for everyone... or even more than that." Yes, even more than that... This clasp might just be what we had always hoped to find, something precious enough to buy more than a new garment, a short stay at an inn or the like. If we sold it well, then we might be rich enough to...

At that point, I became aware that I was perhaps a bit too bold in assuming that the lovely brooch was ours, or mine – I had not been alone when I had taken it, and perhaps, someone else had a greater right to have it. I looked up at Tanglinna with quite a guilty expression. "Unless, of course, you want to keep it... as some sort of reparation... Gurshak did unpleasant things to you, after all."

This suggestion caused Tanglinna to snort with laughter, and I could tell that he was not acting. "Do not be ridiculous! I want nothing of his! You are more than welcome to it! But please, at least take my cloak. Nights are cold and you do not know how long it will be before you will be able to trade that" – he pointed at the small treasure in my hand – "clasp for what you need. Truly, it is the least I can do for you."

For a heartbeat, I hesitated, but knowing that he meant to be kind, meant to help me, not to shame me, I chose not to treat this as a humiliating gesture, but as a friend's gift to a friend. "Thank you."

Tanglinna seemed almost relieved that I had accepted. "Good. I owe you something for this excellent brandy, after all." He winked and grinned, probably fleetingly aware that the 'excellent brandy' had done its work on him quite well.

I smiled, and it was a smile containing many feelings, amusement at his expression, but also fondness and a fair amount of gratitude; was he aware at all how much he had done for me in these few hours, and not just by giving me his cloak? He owed me nothing.

But these were not things I would speak of now; I preferred to give him a light-hearted, somewhat silly reply. "Admittedly, it was not *my* brandy... Thank our noble goblin friends the next time you meet them!" With this, I returned his wink.

"Let us hope there is no next time...regardless of how good their brandy is!" Tanglinna remarked, gazing back the way we had come. We could indeed only hope that Gurshak and his charming friends had decided not to follow us here, and that we would not meet them again any time soon! I was quite certain that Tanglinna thought the same thing, and he must have known that I thought it; there was no need to utter it aloud.

Instead, he smiled a bit and continued: "If you do come to Mirkwood...well, you are IN Mirkwood now, but if you come to where I live in Mirkwood, then I might even let you give me a few lessons in swordsmanship...in case there is a ... next time." He laughed slightly, doubtlessly attempting to sound as if he was speaking in jest, but not quite succeeding; what had happened was still too close to make light of it.

Nevertheless, I chuckled a bit and promised: "You will be given a few sword fighting lessons... And I promise to be kind to your poor wrists." Turning to look at him, and growing more serious, I added: "I *will* come to Mirkwood... to where you live in Mirkwood... at some point... Not tonight, but before you have forgotten me." And even though I winked again now, I did mean what I had said. Things would change.

"I doubt I will forget you, Alagaith Alagaerion. I am not *that* drunk!" Tanglinna answered. "But you will come?" He sounded surprised, but rather pleased, and I was glad; it would not end here, with the troublesome thief being sent away again to be forgotten.

I hesitated, feeling tempted for a moment to ask if he thought of a mere visit now, or if he could, perhaps, imagine another way of 'coming to Mirkwood'; but asking this question would have meant to ask him to turn the vague shape of a plan that was forming in my head into a definite decision for me, and that, he could not do – but I could. "I will come... and so will Alagant, if you do not mind." I could have added that my father was not likely to abandon me, either, but I would not make any promises for him. He was bound to be terrified by the strange idea his son was toying with, and although old captains of Nargothrond do not easily admit that they are scared, I knew he would be scared by the prospect of being kept under close supervision by a bunch of wood-elves – for this was how it would begin, with a very miserable and unpleasant time, and this was only if we were lucky, if *I* was lucky...

Tanglinna apparently did not harbour such dismal thoughts. "I would love to meet your son! I look forward to it." he said with a happy smile, obviously unaware of all the difficulties that would present themselves.

I returned his smile; aware of what I had in mind or not, he would be a faithful friend and ally, and that was comforting to know.

"I look forward to our next meeting...unless you forget about me!" Tanglinna went on, laughing at this – forgetting about each other, our peculiar friendship or this day in general would have been impossible indeed!

"I shall certainly never forget about you, or about the things you said." I assured him.

Tanglinna was too drunk and too tired to think about the fact that words that would not be forgotten might not only be remembered, but also taken to heart and used well; perhaps he was not even listening properly any more.

Setting down the empty bottle on the ground, he eased onto his back and announced: "I believe that I will stay here for the night...I don't want to stumble into one of our patrols in this condition." With a wry smile, he added: "I take it you will be leaving here soon?"

I shook my head. "Not before the first light... I do not want to meet one of your patrols either; stumbling around in an unknown forest at night is seldom wise." It would not have been wise either to leave a friend who had just been through his first experience with orcish brandy, and had enjoyed it rather too much, alone in a forest aswarm with giant spiders and very strange goblins, but I did not voice this thought.

"Seldom wise indeed." Tanglinna agreed. "If those scared younglings are out there they might shoot you and then ask who you are." He chortled slightly, and the soft chuckle turned into laughter quickly, provoked by some joke or amusing observation he would not share with me. "You are welcome to share my cloak then. At first light, we shall both be on our way." TBC