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.

10. Chapter 9 Decisions Made

A tall Noldorin elf is kneeling gracefully before the most dread creation ever concocted in the darkest pits of Angband; but he is not trembling with fear and trepidation in its dismaying presence. No, this brave elf is crooning very softly to it in a kind voice that bespeaks of nothing save tender regard. The language that spills from his lips with such sincerity is not his mother tongue of Quenya, but the nearly vanished language of his rustic woodland cousins – Silvan.

His companion gapes at him in amazement, quite surprised, and rather delighted, that he knows Silvan! But then he chuckles to himself. Of course he would know that language. His lady-wife had been a Silvan.

"Good luck, Linlote," he chortles. "I think it prefers Silvan actually, so perhaps it will be nice for you this time. Remember to stroke it oh-so- gently," he continues in a knowing voice, putting his feet up and stroking the warm teacup in his hand as if to demonstrate. Then he raises the cup to his lips, waiting to see if the vile machine will cooperate.

Alagaith nods, gently caressing the lid of the printer, one long finger easing downward to gently press the "PRINT" button. The printer hums to life, both elves holding their breath in anticipation. Finally, the paper engages and slides smoothly into the machine and the printed reviews begin to appear.

"It really seems to prefer Silvan, Mordil....Interesting, really," Alagaith comments with a small grin. "I hope you will pour me a cup of tea without any Silvan nonsense and gentle stroking being necessary?" he adds as he stands, shuffling the papers together.

"I think the teapot and the teacup might feel neglected if I do not stroke them, but...if you insist."

Tanglinna pours another cup of tea, handing it to his co-adventurer.

"The story is finally coming to an end, Linlote. Isn't that exciting?" Silver-grey eyes sparkle at the prospect of leaving Gurshak far behind him, never to be seen or heard from again.

"Thank you," Alagaith says graciously, taking the cup and smiling in that oh-so-innocent smile that is more of a warning to those who know him well. "Yes, it is fairly exciting....Especially," he pauses as he reads over the reviews, "since kingmaker seems to believe that you will meet a rather sudden death, as it seems! He says he hopes that you will be able to meet Seven before you die.... Have you got any intention of dying in this last chapter?" One elegantly sculpted eyebrow shoots up at this most dire thought. "I do not hope so!"

Tanglinna frowns as he contemplates what this might mean.

"Well," he begins slowly, "no, not that I am aware of." Suddenly, he heaves a sigh. "But with these fanfiction authors, one can never tell. I do hope I can meet Seven before my untimely...demise." Not even TreeHugger could kill him off! Could she?

"Those fanfiction authors will not simply kill you, Mordil! I will not let them!" Alagaith declares bravely, nearly spilling his tea when he brandishes the papers before him. "But of course...." Here, he heaves a grand sigh. "They could also kill both of us.... One never knows. But let us hurry up a little – or wellduh...will be disappointed that the reviewer responses are long yet again!" He winks jauntily at wellduh.

"Long, but amusing at least," Tanglinna agrees with a grin. "And yes, confusing." He chuckles for confusion does tend to run rampant at times. "I think I will die being...KICKED to death by Ubiquitous Pitt. Not a pleasant prospect, and she certainly gave it a good try. And to think," he groans in self-pity, "it is because my mother was a Noldo!" He shakes his silvery head, knowing that the red-headed vixen usually likes it when he tosses his hair around; and then he cocks one eyebrow. "Yet she kisses and hugs you, and you are completely a Noldo! How very unfair!"

Alagaith sighs.

"I already told her so, and she decided not to give me any cupcakes or brandy again for my being so impolite....But look!" He gestures to a review. "The evil witch queen pities you.... She calls you 'poor Tanglinna'! Perhaps she has already had a frightening vision of your being KICKED to death? Or is it really only that she feels sorry because of the hangover you – or we – will have after all that brandy?" he queries, and then winks at Tanglinna.

The Silvan archer chuckles at this.

"I think many of our readers were a bit worried about the hangovers. I think we should sing one of WeasleyTwinsLover1112's songs." He then proceeds to burst forth into somewhat raucous singing that certainly sounds like he deserves to have a hangover:

""I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts doodly do do do There they are all standing in a row bom bom bom big ones small ones some as big as your head give 'em a twist a flick of the wrist that's wut the show man said."

Then, his brows furrow.

"But tell me, Linlote. What is a coconut?"

Alagaith thinks very hard on this most puzzling thing.

"Going by the strange name," he begins with a look of great concentration on his fair face, "it might be something from far Harad.... But...I must admit that I do not really know." He thinks for yet another moment and finally shakes his head in defeat. "Anyway, it is wise of you only to sing the song WeasleyTwinsLover1112 suggested.... Quite a clever way of getting around that questionable song Hel is so interested in. Now, tell us, Mordil....Just what was so questionable about it?"

Tanglinna gazes coolly at his companion.

"We have no time for that now, Linlote. And I do not want to end up back in the dungeon minus my 'prattling, untalented tongue', as a certain golden- haired demon with flowers in his hair told me...after that smirking Ecthelhador drenched me with icy water. Thank you, but no, I shall not tell you. We were just lucky that Thranduil did not come upon us in the woods as Dis Thrainsdotter feared. We would both have been in much more dire straits than we finally were when all was said and done...well, nearly said and done."

He winks then and Alagaith grins slightly.

"Yes, nearly said and done.... But, hm.... Tell me what daw the minstrel's enigmatic remark means! She says you would be less like me when you are sober.... Does that mean a drunken Silvan is more like a Noldo than a sober Silvan, or that it hardly matters if I am drunk or not, or, well...." He cocks his dark head, rereading the review carefully as he tries to unravel it.

It is Tanglinna's turn to grin.

"Perhaps she means that I will be my normal, reserved self when I am no longer such a wagging tongue from consuming too much of that orcish stuff. The evil witch queen found our somewhat unguarded conversation to be sweet. I did not know we could be sweet, did you, Linlote?"

"No, I did not," Alagaerion chuckles. "But perhaps we are when we are drunk and only don't remember afterwards." He winks sweetly. "But I believe we must comfort amlugwen, her elf-girl, and Rûzkash her orc a little now. – it seems they all found the chapter somewhat sad!"

"That was not the intention. I apologize for saddening you all, though honestly, Linlote! I suspect that Rûzkash was sad only because there were no orcs leaping about to slay us in our drunken state." The archer gazes at the orc, one brow raised. "Ah well. Nilmandra thinks we have a great deal in common. I would agree...most of the time, but...." He heaves yet another sigh. "Ai, Valar! It appears that Ceana likes you quite well...your being a Noldo and all, like her favorite...Maedhros. I cannot win!" He sighs dramatically, clapping his free hand to his head.

Alagaith smiled at this most impressive display.

"But," he counters, "she also says that she has always loved you, and she also approves of your techniques of printer-taming... You still have a chance, I believe." He grins widely, in a most placating yet playful manner. "However, we should hurry now.... Ptath cannot wait for the next chapter, so she must be very impatient by now."

"Neither can Lutris, it appears. It is nice to have such lovely readers! But I think that it might be disappointing to find out that...well, dealing with Thranduil with a hangover is...never pleasant, Phoenix Flight." He winks at her and grins, thinking that he did quite well with that maddening king, after all.

Alagaith laughs as he continues reading.

"Well, you will need your self-developed 'art therapy', as Miss Aranel calls it, to get over that frightening experience.... She seems to find the prospect of a certain Master Archer having to pay a prolonged visit to the dungeon soon very smirk-worthy indeed." He winks at the slightly flustered Silvan, who is frowning a bit. But then Tanglinna grins and shrugs.

"I suppose it is smirk-worthy. But she seems to think that you have not given up on your dreams of honesty. Have you?"

"Very long ago, Mordil, actually about two days after I had to leave Nargothrond.... I am just pretending that this vague, boring concept of 'honesty' could still mean anything to me...." He grins roguishly, probably imagining all the fangurlish sighs of happiness this act will invoke. They do love a charming rogue! "I am a Skulking Cutpurse, after all!"

"And always will be?" Tanglinna grins at this thought and chuckles. "We shall see. BUT...Bells of silver...do not worry. Tree has not abandoned that romantic tale yet. She is merely too lazy to walk down the stairs to fetch the tablet that the next chapter is written in so she can type it. I shall most assuredly talk to her about it."

Alagaith looks over at his companion.

"Speaking of romance and ladies.... We should probably explain about a certain Silvan lady appearing in this chapter before Tree's readers decide that the good and wise king must be accused of bigamy, should we not?"

Tanglinna laughs at this, and knows that yes, confusion will now abound, but that it is nothing new in Tree's ever changing writings.

"Yes, there is the matter of...The Joint Universe And The Rules That Apply Therein." He clears his throat and sits up very straight and proper. "Be it known that from this day forward the queen of the Joint Universe of said Dragon_of_the_north and TreeHugger shall be Firithiel the Bold and Slightly Disapproving. To become more acquainted with Her Most Royal Majesty, you must read Dragon's "Of Orcs and Elves". That is where she first appeared to grace us all with her glorious presence."

Tanglinna grins and bows in Firithiel's direction.

"Did that sound impressive enough, Linlote?" he asks.

Alagaith grins.

"Do not ask me...How should a mere Noldo thief know if this is impressive enough for Mirkwood's mighty queen? But it sounds good enough to me."

He glances over the reviews once more.

"What do you think? Is all answered, all said?"

Tanglinna nods and leans back comfortably once more.

"I believe so. And now! Wellduh, this is the end of the responses, and the chapter will begin...NOW!" He bows with a flourish, nearly sloshing his remaining tea from the cup, and points to where it reads: "Chapter 9 – Decisions Made".

~**~**~**~**~**~**

Authors Note – Some of the things alluded to in both POV can be found in "In the Hall of the Wood-Elf King" by TreeHugger.

Chapter 9 – Decisions Made

"Perhaps, you would care to tell me now what really happened?"

The question was asked in a pleasant voice, masking the fact that it was, in fact, a request that could not be refused, if not an order – it was most definitely an order - and the eyes that regarded me were not those of a concerned friend, but rather a somewhat displeased king, whose subject had disobeyed him – wilfully and knowingly, and made no apology for it whatsoever. I think that Thranduil might have been a little worried about my whereabouts before, but that had vanished when I had appeared, relatively unharmed and, more importantly, without the prisoner. I had known he would not be pleased with this...development so I was not surprised that he was slightly put out with me. I had surmised correctly. But ... sometimes it does not feel so good to be right.

My timing could have been better perhaps, but I had delayed it as long as I could, wishing my pounding headache would lessen before I got there...it is somewhat hard to form coherent, let alone witty remarks that remained humble and without sarcasm when one's head is reminding one forcefully that what one did the night before was absolutely stupid and inexcusable. Orcish brandy.... Perhaps it did not kill the elves that drank it, it merely made them wish they were dead the next day!

When I arrived back at the palace, word had obviously been sent ahead by the scouts that I had not seen.... Yes, I knew they were there, but I had not been in the mood to show that the Master Archer knew they were there - and certainly not snickering scouts who should show more respect! - and I certainly was not in the mood to answer any questions they might have about 'why are you late, Master Tanglinna and where is the thief? Everyone else has been back for some time now...." No, telling this tale once would have to be sufficient, and Thranduil would be the one that I would tell it too. If I had been fortunate, and I was not, Thranduil would be able to speak to me alone. I should have known that things were not going to go the way I had hoped when the first people I met were Prince Legolas, Brethil, and Tavor.

"Oh, Master Tanglinna! Where have you been? What happened?" Brethil trotted ahead of the others, his eyes filled with relief at the sight of me. "King Thranduil was just about to send Nimdir and Laebrui back out to find you! They told the king that - "

"Yes, Brethil," I interrupted with a sigh, pressing my fingers to my throbbing temples. "I can well imagine what Nimdir and Laebrui were saying." I turned to Legolas then. "Where is your adar, caun-nin?" It was best to get this over with quickly – as quickly as I possibly could.

My eyes lit on the much shorter warrior's braid behind the prince's left ear. I frowned. Thranduil had decided that Legolas would have to wear only the shorn lock in the braid, and not attempt to plait it in with the longer hair to make it look as normal as possible. This was his 'punishment' for his earlier lack of... discretion when the dwarves had been...'visiting' us.

My frown deepened as I thought of my own guilty part in that night, and the loss of the prince's hair. Ai, Valar! What had I been thinking?! I hoped that Thranduil would not decide this was a good time to remember that he had not yet found any suitable 'punishment' for my actions during those incredibly silly days.

"Where is your cloak, Master Tanglinna? Did that thief steal it? Oh, dear! That was not very polite of him, but...what is that...smell?"

I fear that I might have glared just a bit too much at Brethil then. I knew that I still retained an...odour from my ordeal with Gurshak, a decidedly...unwanted one of his perfume, but I admit that I had forgotten it until that moment. It did not help my patience in dealing with what was coming at all. I was already angry and I still had not seen the king!

"Your adar is *where*?" I repeated, ignoring Brethil's comment, though my voice sounded harsh in my own ears, and the words had been spit through clenched teeth.

I heard a snicker coming from Tavor and a quiet remark that I smelled as sweet as Seregon, a young maiden that had the ill tendency of drenching herself in the expensive perfumes from the East. I rounded on him, my eyes narrowed in a glare that was an obvious threat...yes, obvious since he blanched and looked away.

Legolas was still staring at me, his mouth slightly agape, brows knit. I did not want to know what he was thinking.

"Ah...he, uh...."

Finally, he managed to tell me, though he continued to look at me oddly. Curse Gurshak and his stinking orc perfume! I grimaced, wishing that I had stopped to bathe before coming home, but it was too late for such regrets. There was nothing I could do about it now.

I turned resolutely in the direction Legolas had indicated, but taken no more than three steps - determined to be honest and to *not* lose my temper with the king at all, no matter what he did or said – when Thranduil appeared, followed by a small entourage, with Nimdir and Laebrui amongst them.

Yes, there was concern on his face then, and I realized just how...disappointed he would be in me when he found out that no, the thief had not overpowered me, beaten me savagely, and left me tied helplessly to a tree.

"Tanglinna," he began, his eyes sweeping over me, no doubt looking for the serious debilitating injuries that had been inflicted by that most savage Noldorin thief.

I fear something must have shown on my face, some weakness or guilt, for his eyes narrowed and he gazed at me coolly and appraisingly, looking me in the eyes.

"You are late," he said in a clipped voice.

"I am glad to see you as well," I returned.

"You look...ghastly!"

"I feel ghastly. Thank you for your concern."

I fear I sounded very sarcastic at this point. I just could not help it. I did feel ghastly, though it was rude of him to point out that I looked that way as well!

Thranduil's eyes narrowed to bright chips of blue ice that would put the jagged, grinding Helcaraxe to shame!

"Why is there only one of you," he asked in a low voice, "when there should be two?"

"I was never aware that there was more than one of me, hir-nin," I said calmly, though this witty repartee made my head ache even more abominably. "I would have thought you would be...glad that I am the only one of me."

It was the wrong thing to say and I knew it...so why had I said it? It must have been a lingering affect of that brandy!

"Where is the thief that I left in your charge?" he asked, straightening and looking very kingly indeed...a very angry king.

"That...is a long story," I began, thinking that I should use a bit more tact from now on. I did not want to tell this most...embarrassing tale to anyone but him!

"I am listening."

Indeed, they all were. More people had gathered, Galion and Ecthelhador had joined them; Galion out of friendly concern, Ecthelhador doubtless wanted to see me get into trouble of some sort. Word had obviously spread that the Master Archer had returned home empty-handed and now they were eager to see what would befall. I caught a glimpse of Anirathiel; she was shaking her dark head in bemusement, her grey eyes alight. I grinned at her, yet another mistake for Thranduil had caught this exchange and knew that I was being deliberately trying.

"And the thief escaped you how?" he prompted when I did not immediately begin my tale.

"It...it is a long tale, hir-nin," I repeated. Surely, he would not make me tell it here? "Might I sit? I am feeling just a bit weary and worn from all my trials." I tried to look exhausted, not so very hard at all since I felt exhausted. I also hoped that I appeared to need some sympathy...some pity. But it did not work.

He glared at me.... It appeared my acting skills had not improved over the last day's time. I shrugged slightly. What had I expected?

"You will stand, though everyone else may sit. But we will move inside, I think."

He motioned for Ecthelhador to 'escort' me, which the captain did, looking as though he were enjoying this a little too much.

"Gotten yourself into more trouble, have you, Master Tanglinna?" he snorted, his eyes filled with merriment as he took one of my arms in his hand to lead me inside. "What is that *smell*? It is almost like...'Dreams of Far Rhun'," he said speculatively, sniffing the air as he named the rather expensive Eastern perfume that was so coveted. Then he grinned once more.

I yanked my arm from his grasp with a growl and deliberately hastened my steps, causing him to run slightly to catch up to me.

And so it began, not with telling my story to Oropher's son alone, but with the court filled with people, and Thranduil and Firithiel gazing at me from their seats on the dais.

"Well, Tanglinna, we are waiting. Where were you?"

I frowned slightly, and then sighed. I had determined to tell the truth, as no made up tale could possibly be as fantastic. But as I thought over what I would say, I realized how truly awkward certain parts of this story were. Would I be able to conceal the most disconcerting parts and details? Why had I not taken Alagaith up on the offer of creating a story to tell? It was too late now though. Thranduil was staring at me expectantly, and the others that had gathered to hear the Master Archer's tale as to why, for the first time in his life, he had failed to carry out a duty. They gazed at me like I was some silver-tongued minstrel! But my tale was heroic...even if I was not the hero but...the damsel in distress that needed rescuing from the dastardly villain....Valar! Why did I not let Alagaith help me concoct something less truthful but more believable...and less distressing?!

"Are you having trouble recalling where you have been, Tanglinna?" the king asked with a sigh. "Or are you still trying to think of what story you want to tell?"

There was a soft ripple of laughter and I glared at that most annoying Sinda.

"I do not have to think of what story to tell you!" I barked. "I will tell you the true story, never fear!"

Thranduil merely smiled indulgently and waved his hand.

"Pray, begin then."

I ground my teeth, fixing my eyes on some point ab0ve Thranduil's golden head - the lovely yellow butterfly in the mural behind him - and began my tale. I suppose I should have said that there were to be no interruptions, questions, comments, or snide remarks – particularly from golden-haired kings – but I suppose it did not occur to me until that golden-haired king held up one elegant hand, a very exaggerated frown of curiosity on his face.

"You mean to tell me that there is a goblin lair just hours from here that I know nothing about?"

"Yes. I told you, we fell into the lair by accident. The opening was not obvious."

"Hm.... Most curious. Please continue."

I suppressed and exasperated sigh...nearly... and did as I was commanded; only to be interrupted not long afterwards by that grinning imp with gleaming eyes. Firithiel's gaze was most chill, her eyes icy beneath her spill of rich hair.

"Curioser and curioser," Thranduil said, cocking his head to one side. "Tanglinna, oh, please tell me that the third goblin with that oh-so- lovely perfume – 'Dreams of Far Rhun' isn't it? - was not named...Gurshak."

I had purposefully *not* named any of the goblins! I had hoped that by deliberately omitting certain...details, I could tell the tale quickly and succinctly and leave this situation behind me. The result would be the same, so why drag out this torment with awkward details? I reluctantly admitted that, yes, Gurshak had been the third goblin. I hoped that this admission would make him realize that I was being honest, brutally so even if it was upsetting to me and to please not pursue this line of questioning any further!

But, it appeared that someone who was both wise and very wicked had already seen through my attempt at avoiding certain things. I need not have answered for Thranduil chuckled knowingly, as did a few others – all older elves that had excellent memories and never forgot anything! My cheeks flared red and I glared at Thranduil the harder, though it made my head ache abominably.

"Please continue," he said, waving his hand again, "Daurshul."

My mouth sagged open, one fist clenching and he should have been glad that he was several steps away from me!

"Why is your adar calling Master Tanglinna 'Daurshul', Legolas?" I heard Brethil ask in a voice that was rather too loud and that carried a little too well.

"I do not know," the prince answered, in a voice only slightly lower. "We shall have to ask him."

Whether they meant to ask Thranduil or myself, I do not know for Arasceleg spoke then.

"No need, caun-nin," he said in a delighted voice and I turned to see him grinning just as widely as Thranduil. "I will be glad to tell you the story of the rescue of the 'silver-haired lovely' Daurshul."

There was more laughter as I turned to fully face Arasceleg, only to be met with that irritating unflappable Silvan inscrutability. He was older than I was and not at all impressed with 'you yapping and yipping like a pup' as he had told me on more than one occasion.

"You must tell us all, Arasceleg," Ecthelhador called with a laugh. I refused to look at him for it would only make him laugh the more! I knew that the captain of the guard already knew that story for all his feigned innocence, the story told so merrily by Celair and Oropher, much to my chagrin.

"What happened next, Daurshul? Did Gurshak chain you up as he did before?" Suddenly, he laughed. "So....You wanted to use "Dreams of Far Rhun to turn yourself into a 'Dream of Rhovanion' for your admirer, did you?"

I did growl at Ecthelhador's remark, moving a step toward him, my fist clenched ready to smash it into his smirking face. If, perhaps, I had not been chained up 'as he did before', AND I did not smell quite so...dreamy, I would not have felt quite so angry, but Thranduil held up his hand to forestall the throttling I was eager to give the captain.

"Continue with the tale, Tanglinna. We do not want to be here all night," he said, a smirk playing around his lips. "You must be...wearied after your...tryst with your admirer."

I drew several deep breathes, trying to dispel my anger, force my scattered thoughts back into submission and coherency that did not include anything about strangling captains or kings. But then, I heard Brethil speaking again.

"Did Ecthelhador say this has happened before? Why would a goblin want to capture Master Tanglinna...except to kill him, of course. Poor Master Tanglinna! That goblin must have meant to torture him!"

There was some snickering then and entirely too many pairs of bright eyes rested on me, and too many murmurs about what sort of 'torture' Gurshak would inflict up my body. I shook my head, forcing my eyes back to the mural painted on the wall behind Thranduil, finding the small yellow butterfly that served as a focus for my attention.

I continued, ignoring everyone but that tiny butterfly, knowing that it would not think ill of me or say anything that I did not wish to hear. Perhaps if I ignored them, they would know that their remarks had humiliated me enough and it would be time to stop. But then –

"Surely, they were not suggesting that...." Legolas did not finish his sentence, did not need to, for the laughter started again and Tavor said in a decidedly pleased voice, "Surely, I think they were!" And Brethil's "Ohhhh....Oh, my! That cannot be! Can it? But they did say 'admirer', didn't they.... Oh, my!"

By now everyone in the room understood why Gurshak wanted to capture me...and it was not to kill me.... Would that he had wanted merely to kill me!

Even more embarrassing was when Lady Laureahiril, Tavor's formidable grandmother, spoke up in a voice meant to carry – and it did.

"I always knew certain Silvans were very strange. Cavorting with goblins! Indeed!"

It did not progress well from there.

"Why did *you* not challenge the goblin to a sword fight? Were you afraid you would hurt your admirer?"

"What *would* you have done if the thief had lost the sword fight?"

"What if...?" "What would...?" "What...?"

It was a long tale in the telling indeed, and I told it truthfully and with as much dignity as I could, though my face burned with embarrassment, and my temper was fraying very rapidly. I do not know if anyone believed me when I told how noble and kind this Noldorin thief truly was. *That* had been the reason for telling it, not all the other things they had so delighted in. By the end of it, I *was* weary and worn, my head aching incessantly, my stomach pinched with hunger and I wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a hot meal, and a warm bed! And NO ONE TALKING TO ME OR AT ME!!

But when at last I told that I had let Alagaith go – not sharing our more intimate conversations with them – there was a small gasp of disbelief from several of those assembled and I could see that they were indeed shocked by this, though some did look sympathetic, and someone, I could not see who as my back was to them, muttered, "Oropher would have his head for disobeying an order."

Obviously, they did not know Oropher as well as I had. Oropher would have found this amusing and he would have agreed that Alagaith should have been set free. But this was Thranduil and I could see the doubt that shone in his eyes...doubt that I had even told the truth at all about any of it.

"Perhaps, you would care to tell me now what really happened?"

Yes, there it was. How could that fantastic tale of capture, imprisonment, torture, and a friendship born in darkness be true? What more had I expected? Perhaps if I had not felt so tired and wretched, angry and emotionally drained from the experience of the last night, I would have handled this better than I did. My shoulders slumped. I was defeated. They had not believed me after all.

"So," Thranduil drawled, leaning back in his chair, "you just let him go, just like that."

I nodded curtly, feeling that I was losing my already tenuous grip on my temper. There is something so very frustrating about telling the truth – being utterly humiliated by it - and then having no one believe you!

"It is exactly as I have told it," I said in a tight voice.

"He did not just...vanish into thin air? Like one of Mithrandir's tricks?"

"Or like Bilbo," I heard Brethil whisper. I frowned. What did the Perian have to do with this? Brethil, Legolas, and Tavor were seated behind me, in the front row of listeners and I could hear his words quite clearly. Unfortunately, so did Thranduil.

He shot a look at the three younglings, as did I. They immediately looked away, Brethil gasping and clapping his hands over his mouth while Legolas grimaced, ducking his head as his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Tavor's eyes widened and his mouth sagged open. He would, undoubtedly, have begun muttering about the Halls of Mandos if I had not turned back to the king and said,

"No, he did not vanish into thin air," I growled. "I let him go. Why will you not believe me?! Do you think I made up that tale just to amuse you?!"

"He probably did not notice him sneaking off and does not want to admit it," someone else muttered with a laugh. "His hawk's eyes are not as keen as they should be at times. The scouts said that he did not even acknowledge them when he came staggering home earlier."

Thranduil studied me in silence for a moment.

"So...you are now a friend of thieves, are you?"

"Only one, hir-nin," I countered, lifting one brow arrogantly, and straightening before glaring at him.

"That should not surprise me at all really."

I was in no mood to unravel his enigmatic sayings, but it appeared that I did not have to. He glanced at his queen, who did not look pleased with me at all. That was hardly surprising. She knew that it had been Lalven's body that Alagaith had been in the process of robbing when I caught him. Firithiel and Lalven had been very close friends, and the report of his death must have torn her heart greatly. There were rumours that if she had not contracted to marry Thranduil, she would have married Lalven – a love match on both sides. The elm leaf brooch had been her gift to him as a conception day present not many years ago. She had to be most unhappy about my letting this thief go – a Noldorin one at that.

I hazarded a glance at her while Thranduil gestured to Iavas, the Keeper of the Jewels and bent to speak to him when he knelt before the dais, then sent Iavas scurrying away looking not very happy himself. Firithiel, feeling my gaze upon her, turned, our eyes meeting. I tipped my head, pressing one hand to my heart to show my regret that her close friend had died, that I shared her grief and loss. But she merely seemed to sigh and looked away.

I did feel a great deal of sympathy for her, but nothing would convince me that I had made the wrong decision in regard to letting Alagaith go free. I knew that I would not escape punishment for this direct disobedience, and I would try to accept my punishment as meekly as possible.

A moment later Iavas reappeared bearing in his hands a silver hinged box, painted an unrelieved black. A slight gasp went up from the assembled crowd. Everyone recognized it. It housed the most dreaded thing in the kingdom. It was no sharp-edged weapon, nor terrifying dark creature spat up from the bowels of Mordor. No, it contained a mere circlet of unadorned, beaten silver – Celeb Baud, the Silver Judgement.

I winced as Thranduil opened the box and lifted the beautiful yet dread head adornment for all to see, the entwined argent spirals glinting in the light of the torches about the chamber. I drew a deep breath. So, this was how it was to be.... I smirked slightly as he held it out at arms' length, knowing that he wondered if he would be able to put it on, since the last head it had graced had been that of an orc singing a ridiculous song about the queen and the princess of the Singing Orcs. It seemed that the circlet had not sunk to the greater depths of Morn Nen - as it should have...when I had tossed it in. I felt that most unwanted smirk twisting my lips even more as Thranduil slowly lowered it, a grimace on his face, to his oh-so-golden head. Once it was firmly placed, after a great shudder of disgust worked through Thranduil's frame, he turned to regard me once more. He looked surprised by the most unrepentant look on my face. I quickly schooled my features to neutrality, but I could not help but recall the words of the song the orcs had been singing:

"Their golden hair flowing, so fine and bright,
As they came running to us in the night!
Joy filled our hearts at that lovely sight!
As the Queen and the Princess ran so fine and bright!"

I struggled not to snicker at the absurdity of this situation...and that other situation with the singing orcs as well. Perhaps, I should sing the song, reminding him that we all, on rare occasion, were subject to humiliation of some sort and it was best put behind us as quickly as possible. But I decided to behave...for once.

Thranduil's sapphire eyes flared, seeing my struggle, which was admittedly not at all appropriate to the situation.

"You think this is funny, Master Archer of Mirkwood?" he intoned.

"Ah, well, no," I began, unconsciously – or perhaps a bit consciously - echoing the words I had spoken on the night the dwarves had escaped the dungeons. That 'escape' had been partly Ecthelhador's fault, so I felt a little better. "That is ... well...." I *did* find it funny!

It seemed that the king was not in the mood to remember that night or what had preceded it; as he straightened, his eyes grew so very cold beneath lowered brows. If he did not want to recall those events, then he should never have brought out that ridiculous circlet!

"We shall see if you are more inclined to tell the truth, even if you wait a hundred years! In the dungeon!"

I nearly kept a straight face at this dire pronouncement, for it had echoed what he had told Thorin Oakenshield after capturing that dwarf king 'starving in the forest', but not straight enough. Thranduil, who suddenly had been put on the defensive - which is not a pleasant place for anyone! - because of the memories he had unwittingly provoked, gripped the arms of his chair.

"You think this is funny?" he repeated, which brought another wayward grin to my face. "You deliberately disobeyed an order you had been given. That is no small offence."

"I am very sorry that I disobeyed you, aran-hir," I said, bowing my head, which still ached horribly, "but if you would only see that Alagaith- "

"No more," he said, cutting me off. "I have heard your 'tale' and there is no need to repeat it. Since you have taken it upon yourself to let the thief flee, then you will indeed spend the time he would have spent in the dungeon."

I sighed, bowing my head. It was as I had suspected. This time it was not so bad to be right. And, undoubtedly, the time Alagaith would have had to spend would not have lasted a hundred years. Or so I hoped!

Ecthelhador stepped forward, gripping my arm, a grin on his face.

"Normal stipulations, hir-nin?" he asked.

~What else could they be?~ I thought, hoping that I could get someone to bring me some willow bark tea for my head before I was locked away and not spoken to for however long the king's pleasure was to be.

I bowed to the king and queen before I was lead away, managing to grin at the gaping younglings even as I hoped Firithiel would find it in her heart to forgive me this. Ecthelhador lead me away to what was to be my new residence. He was grinning quite widely, making snide remarks about my 'unusual admirer' and my 'valiant rescuer'. At least, the cell did have gloriously blank walls, so I was not displeased and even managed a satisfied grin at my gaoler, who looked a bit perplexed by my levity.

Later that night, as I sat on the bench, sipping cold tea and staring at the blank wall – Galion had been ordered to not give me any paints for the number of days it had taken me to get here empty-handed. Not that I minded that overly much. It gave me time to think over what had happened. It had been a grand adventure indeed. I wondered where Alagaith was, reunited with his family, I hoped, sharing a meal with them and telling them our marvellous tale.

"Here is to you, Alagaith Alagaerion," I murmured, lifting my teacup in salute. "I hope you do not forget me too soon." Chuckling, as this was nigh impossible for I would never forget him and our time together, I took a sip of tea and smiled, silently thanking the Valar for allowing me to meet Alagaith and become his friend if only for a short moment of time. "Watch over him," I whispered. "And his family. Keep them all safe and well." I grinned. "And out of trouble," I added with another chuckle. "Definitely keep them out of trouble...."

~*~*~*~*~

"Perhaps, you would care to tell me now what really happened?"

The question was asked in a pleasant voice, masking the fact that it was, in fact, a request that could not be refused, if not an order, and the eyes that regarded me were only partly those of a concerned father; they rather belonged to a shrewd old captain who noted every subtle change in those he was in charge of.

This all too well-known look brought out the bit of defiance he had probably expected. "I told you the truth", I answered, staring straight ahead.

Drawing Tanglinna's cloak more closely around him, my father chuckled softly. "I do not doubt that, foolish elfling! But something is on your mind, I can tell that much."

Of course, he was very right; something was on my mind, and something had been on my mind ever since we had met again the day before.

It had taken me almost two days to find my friends and family again, or, more precisely, to be found by them; had they not posted my sharp-eyed father as a sentry, I might have overlooked their hiding place completely. Sometimes, it could be very impractical to have so many shrewd old warriors, who were used to moving even larger numbers of warriors through difficult territory unseen, around.

I could describe our happy reunion in loving detail now, recounting embraces and kisses and the happy nonsense exchanged on such occasions, but perhaps, it will be sufficient to quote the lovely, gentle words Seven found for me once I had been released from the last of a long row of hugs and had finally been allowed to take a seat by the low fire, one arm firmly wrapped around Alagant:

"You smell worse than Buzrak on his wedding day! Where have you been?" Apparently, Gurshak was not the only goblin with a questionable taste in perfume.
In any case, I had been more than glad about the happy reunion, and not only because it had felt very good to be embraced, to hold Alagant and to see concern, relief and affection in the faces around me. We had met again just in time to prevent them from doing something utterly foolish; the place where I had run into them had told me very well that they had been on their way to Mirkwood, and I did not even want to imagine now what would have happened if I had not arrived and made all daring rescue plans unnecessary.... If Mordil had not let me go....

I had tried to paint a vivid portrait, as favourable as sincere, of him while I had told the others the incredible tale of our adventures, had sworn that, no, I was *not* exaggerating in my description of Gurshak and had heartily agreed with Alagant that 'Slasher' had been very foolish to fall in love with Tanglinna, for "...they could never have any elflings or orclings, could they?"

For the following minutes, the conversation had deteriorated into a discussion of the questions if there could have been 'elflings or orclings' if Tanglinna had been an elven lady, what to call the child of an elf and an orc, and if there were any such children or orcs and elves in love with each other at all; I had smiled at my father who had claimed – much to Half-Dead's and Seven's dismay – that he had seen an elf-maiden and an orc-guard kiss in the mines, had ruffled Alagant's tousled curls and could have been content.

I had told them the truth, had revealed that I carried a fortune in my pocket, had listened with a silent smile to all the grand and glorious plans that had been made when it had become apparent that this brooch was worth at least one good winter and had nodded my consent when Seven had stated that he knew a place a bit east of Mirkwood where he could sell the precious clasp to orcs, but I had not mentioned Mirkwood or what Tanglinna had said about starting a new life, neither on this first evening nor during the next day.

Now, night had fallen again, and they were all peacefully asleep, not counting my father who would not desist and knew very well that I was hiding something. Of course, I had known that I would have to tell him – and the others – about my plans at some point, but this knowledge had been comfortingly vague, a thing carelessly thought without really imagining what the moment would be like. Finding myself put in a situation in which giving an answer was inevitable was not pleasant; I was afraid of saying what I had to say, and even more afraid of what was to come.

It would have been tempting to invent a convenient lie, or to reveal yet another part of the truth, a thing like Tanglinna's great sorrow that had not failed to move me. I did not *have* to go to Mirkwood, or even to think and talk about it; but thinking about the matter thoroughly, I felt that I wanted to in spite of all my fear of what was to come.

If these worries had only pertained to what the elves of Mirkwood would do to me if I arrived in their forest with a bold request, you might rightfully call me a coward, afraid of what he justly deserved; but this was not what had kept me from mentioning my plans until now. I feared, in fact, that my decision to go to Mirkwood would cost me no less than the trust and friendship of those who had been my friends, almost my family, for countless years.

They would not understand, that much was certain; although they would be too polite to say it aloud, they would think that I was choosing ridiculously unimportant things – a place to live and some faint semblance of outward honesty – over their company, their friendship.... Over them.

Seven could not accompany me to Mirkwood under any circumstances, and I doubted that he would have wished to do so, even if the Wood-elves had been more open-minded. Half-Dead and Well-Armed, being elves, could have gone there, of course, even though I did not know what Mirkwood's inhabitants would have thought of a whole invasion of repentant thieves, but they would not want to stay there, I knew that very well. They certainly dreamt of a better life, an honest life, at that, at times – but their hopes probably mirrored what Noseless had found, unquestioning acceptance by few, a quiet home, a different kind of solitude. Venturing into the very centre of a realm, facing a charge and only able to hope for the best, was the last thing any of them would have done.

If I went to Mirkwood, it would be without them, and something that had been precious would be damaged or even destroyed. They had understood well enough that other time, when I had hoped to be able to live with Belegweth and her parents – love was a good and valid reason, one readily accepted.... But I had no reason now, none they could understand, at least, and while I would not change my decision, I was almost certain that I would have to pay a higher price for it than just my pride, at least part of my freedom and perhaps my hand.

Although I knew what had driven each of them into the life we all now led, I had never thought about their reasons too much, considering the knowledge that they had known better times, just as I had, and could not go back any more as sufficient; but thinking about them now, I was acutely aware that they had *chosen* this life quite consciously over whatever honest life they could have had, from the high honours Well-Armed had discarded to the meagre living Seven had made in the mines.

In contrast to this, the only real decision I had ever made in this matter had been not to let myself be dragged to Nargothrond for a trial that would have cost me my head, and I had not thought much about anything until I had been branded; later, I had been content to believe that this brand barred all roads, and several incidents, the one with Belegweth's family being the most shameful, had seemed to prove me right.

Now, however, I did have a clear choice, between leaving things untouched and accepting Tanglinna's half-invitation, and the decision was mine to make, and had been made. I could only hope that at least my father would understand, but I will admit frankly that I was not sure.

It is best to get over quickly with unpleasant things, and I had already hesitated for too long a time. So when I finally turned to face my father, I spoke quickly and firmly, forbidding myself to worry too much: "Mordil and I talked a lot that last night, when we shared the brandy, and he would mention suspiciously often that Mirkwood was a good place to live and that he thought that it would not be impossible for me to change my life if I only tried with the right people. So I wonder whether he actually meant that I should come to Mirkwood, turn myself in and hope for their mercy and better days to come."

I had expected astonishment, even silent shock, at my words; the answer I got surprised me quite a bit. "That would explain quite neatly why he said 'you do not have to follow me if you do not wish to', as you report he did", my father replied with the same stoic expression that would enter his face when he rode to battle or during the dinner parties of exceedingly boring acquaintances and relatives. "And you consider doing what he alluded to." It was not a question.

"You would not be opposed to it?" I enquired.

My father was silent for some time. "You have thought about this for days, thoroughly enough," he finally replied, "so I have every confidence that you have made a wise decision."

And when I stared at him in wonder, not quite ready to believe my ears, he continued: "You must be aware that this will be a stony path, that others will not approve of your plans, that your right hand is as good as forfeit... But you *are* aware of that."

I nodded, more grateful for his support than he probably knew. I should have told him how glad I was that he would stand by me, how much his unquestioning loyalty meant – but all I managed to say was a pathetic thing that made me sound like a lost elfling: "Will you come with me?"

He smiled then, not looking like the stern captain of Nargothrond any more, but entirely like my father as he gently put his arm around my shoulders. "I might", he answered, and that was much. "Not straightaway, though; someone should stay behind and look after the little one" – his eyes moved to rest upon Alagant, who was fast asleep, one surprisingly heavy little arm and a dragon placed on my left leg – "while you make an effort to get yourself into trouble." He gazed at the others, sleeping as well, and added: "I am not sure if you can count on them any more once you have told them."

He was right, and I had known so before he had spoken; yet, hearing his words, I felt their truth like a sharp, unexpected pain. Being unable to count on them.... That was not as it was supposed to be – I had been able to rely on them for so long, and they on me.... But now, I would be the traitor, the one who ran away.

"They will not be pleased", I remarked, contemplating Seven's sleeping form.

My father gave a nod. "Indeed not – and you should bear one thing in mind. It is entirely possible that the elves of Mirkwood will not want you; your new friend may have spoken to you kindly, wishing to offer encouragement and help, but a mere archer, however respected and admired, is in no position to make a decision in such matters."

"I know", I replied; indeed, the thought that I was taking a great risk and that I might end up in Mirkwood's dungeons, my hand forfeit, but my plea rejected, had haunted me these past few days.

"Of course you do; you are not stupid", the elf who was entirely too ready to term me 'foolish elfling' on occasion replied. "And this was not what I was heading. If the Wood-elves send you away again, it may well be that you will not be welcomed back into this life too readily."

To this, I had no answer, but I knew well enough that his concern was not pointless; if I annoyed and disappointed my friends now, they would not be too happy if I returned later because the Wood-elves had driven me away. Perhaps, they would not tell me to leave and never come back, but they would doubtlessly make me feel to a certain extent that I had first deserted them and only crawled back because I had no better place to go to. What had been would be no more once I had left for Mirkwood.

"What do you think?" I asked, really wishing to hear his honest opinion. "Is there any hope? Shall I go?"

"You should not ask that last question", my father said with a wry smile. "Do you believe in earnest that I will tell my son to go to a place where he will be imprisoned and probably lose his sword-hand? My heart tells me to tie you to a tree until you decide not to go, but since there is *no* hope that this will happen, I shall have to use my mind and answer your first question instead. Yes; there is some hope that they will not turn you away. Your arrival will surprise them, and they will realize that you have nothing to gain by turning yourself in, except for the thing you ask for. So they might realize that you are sincere, and, realizing it, decide to be lenient. But I frankly tell you that, if I were one of those Wood-elves, I would not even trust you for half a moment."

I sat in silence for a while, pondering what he had said. "Yet even in the worst case," I began at last, "they cannot take more than a hand; I doubt they will punish me too severely for my flight if I return out of my free will to stand trial. And once this is over, I will be free to go and start anew, somehow... somewhere...."

I would have spoken of these matters less bluntly if I had been aware that Alagant had woken, but I only became aware of it when a small hand suddenly tugged at my sleeve now, accompanied by a rather horrified than accusatory question: "You are going to Mirkwood to let them cut your hand off?"

This summed up my plans quite nicely indeed, and looking down at the little face staring up at me, I could have wept. What was I doing to Alagant? Of him, I had hardly thought, not in this way, at least, believing that he would enjoy the life Mirkwood could offer us, a safe and good life, even convinced that I *had* to take this step for him, for what could he hope for if he spent the rest of his childhood and youth among outlaws, robbers of the dead? I had believed he would be happy about my decision – but thinking about it now, I realized that he had every reason to be very upset with the insane elf who was ready to endanger his ada so much for the faint hope of better days.

It was a good thing that *my* adar was present as well and saved me, for I did not know how to answer.

"Yes, and a brave and noble thing to do it is", my father replied, smiling at his grandson. "It would not be very honourable to run away and hide if you are rightfully accused of a crime. Besides, the elves of Mirkwood will certainly be very impressed with your father's courage, impressed enough to allow us to stay in their forest; and it would be a good place to live. Do you think you would like to live in the woods, Alagant?"

He looked prepared to counter a doubtful answer with wondrous tales of squirrels and woodland birds and Wood-elven magic, but Alagant would not be deterred. "But they will cut off your hand!" he insisted, and the look in his grey eyes made me wish I could tell him he had only dreamt that I harboured any such plans.

Yet, I smiled and answered lightly: "Perhaps.... That is not sure yet. And even if it happens, it will not be too terrible.... If you think about it, very many heroes of the old songs and tales have not got more than one hand, so who knows? I might yet become a hero." I winked at him, but it did not work.

"I do not like Maedhros", Alagant announced with a fierce scowl that might have scared away even the valiant son of Feanor.

"Beren, then?" my father helpfully supplied. "And I believe Lord Othrod, the brave orc who fell at Gondolin, is said to have had only one hand as well!"

Alagant did not look very convinced; I did not blame him for preferring a very unheroic, but more or less intact father.

"Must you really go?" he asked, sounding as miserable as I felt.

"Your grandfather is right that it is the only honourable thing to do", I answered, asking myself what honour lay in making my family and friends most unhappy without dire need, "so while I am not forced to go to Mirkwood, it is still right, unwise as it may seem now. Who would like to lose a hand indeed? Yet, a hand is not too high a price for what may come of this. It would be a very good thing to be allowed to stay in Mirkwood, and you would certainly like it there."

Alagant frowned. "There are only elves in Mirkwood," he remarked. "Perhaps they will not like Uncle Seven there?" At times, he was entirely too quick at spotting possible difficulties.

I nodded. "That may well be true, Alagant – but I doubt that Seven will want to go there, anyway.... Nor will Gwin and Fin, for that matter."

"But we cannot go to Mirkwood then!" Alagant protested, eyes wide. "We cannot just leave them, ada!" With growing unease, and entirely too well aware of the strange and stupid things grown up elves and orcs would do at times, he glanced from me to my father and back. "Have you quarrelled with them? Surely it can be well again? We need not go to Mirkwood; we could go to a place where we all can stay together..."

"We could", I agreed, drawing him close, "but sometimes, hard as it may be, you have to part with people you like very well in order to do what is right."

This had been the wrong thing to say, of course; I could be incredibly stupid at times.

"But we will go to Mirkwood together?" Alagant asked, sounding genuinely alarmed, his hands knotted in the folds of my cloak. "You will not leave all on your own, will you, ada?"

"Never," I promised, holding him more tightly. "And while I may have to go there alone at first to sort things out, I will be back as soon as possible."

"This may come as a shocking revelation, Master Alagant", my father added in a mocking voice, reaching out to ruffle Alagant's hair a little, "but you happen to be this scoundrel's son, and that means that you will not get rid of him quite that easily."

"I do not want to", Alagant said with indignation, snuggling into my cloak more closely and making me feel that in all this glorious mess, at least one thing was still right and good and just as it was supposed to be.

"And it will not happen," I assured him. "We will go to Mirkwood together if the Wood-elves allow us to stay there, and it will be a very exciting time. Would you not like to meet Tanglinna? I know he would like to meet you, so I am certain we will have at least one friend there."

Alagant's fingers were playing with the tail of Glaurung, his toy dragon. "Hm", he said, rather uncertain, and looking up at me, he added: "But Uncle Seven will not be happy."

"What is the boy talking about?"

We all started at the sound of this voice, and I know I went very pale; we should have taken greater care to keep our voices low, for nothing more unfortunate could have happened; I did not want Seven to join our conversation just now, and I might have felt tempted to give an elusive answer had I not known that it would not work – and had not Half-Dead and Well-Armed woken at about the same time, perhaps because of Seven's loud question.

Within an instant, there were three pairs of inquisitive eyes staring at me, and there was no escape, albeit I was not prepared to tell them about my plans, not now, and not like this, at the dead of the night.

"What is he talking about?" Seven repeated, more quietly. "Why should I be unhappy?"

There was no way around explaining the matter; so I found myself replying after the briefest bit of hesitation: "He was commenting on the fact that I have decided to go to Mirkwood. I believe Tanglinna let me go to offer me this choice, between... remaining what I am and going to Mirkwood out of my free will, to change things for the better. So I will go there, accept whatever punishment they choose to level at me for my theft and ask for their permission to stay there... to live there."

For a moment, there was complete silence; then, Well-Armed asked, her face very blank: "You are sure the orcish brandy you drank was not drugged in some way and gave you strange thoughts?"

I hardly heard her words and barely noticed that Half-Dead was shaking his head in bleak astonishment. However, I was entirely too aware of the look on Seven's face, an expression of sheer, unbelieving shock, and for a terrible second, we gazed at each other, feeling as if each of us could read the other's mind and spirit, Seven seeing my determination, my great wish that was more important to me than all good reasons against my choice, while I sensed his displeasure, his disappointment, his anger that I had not told him before – and then, something broke, something that could not be mended, and Seven turned his eyes away.

"I suppose I had better hurry to sell that brooch, then", he remarked, his voice cold as I had never heard it before, not even at the rare times when he had been very upset with me in the past. "You will doubtlessly need your share of it to bribe those Wood-elves into letting you stay?"

I should have answered, but no words would come.

"Now, wait!" Half-Dead began, sounding puzzled, but, as always, inclined to moderation and sensible solutions. "We will talk about this calmly – an argument will not help."

Seven gazed at him, still cold and outwardly calm. "Nor will a quiet conversation." he stated. "He has made his decision, and nothing will change that – so why talk? Trust me; I know him well, or used to do so." With this, he rose and walked away.

It is said that the way disagreements are dealt will tell you more about a friendship than anything else. If that is so, what happened during the following three days does not speak highly of my friendship with Seven; while we continued to travel east, all exchange between us was limited to cold, polite and very unhelpful words from Seven's side and requests to listen to me first and judge me then from mine before I gave up and became very silent.

I told myself that I could, in fact, be grateful, for while he had no sympathy or understanding for me, Seven's anger contained at least a grim sort of acceptance of the inevitable; it was still easier to bear than tears or pleas to reconsider my decision would have been. Yet, it hurt, and I asked myself more than once why I had sacrificed something so precious and irreplaceable for a mere vague hope.

It had been agreed that we – and that, ironically, translated to 'Seven' – would sell the brooch first and share whatever was paid for it. I would return to Mirkwood then, leaving my father and Alagant somewhere safe between here and there; Well-Armed and Half-Dead planned to head for a place where they could stay for a few days and decide in peace what they were going to do now that things had to change for all of us; it was silently assumed that Seven would go with them.

"We might go to Grimsel's inn", Well-Armed had said when we had first spoken about it, "the good man will be glad that we can finally pay him in good money for once.... Or he might miss our stories; who knows?"

Half-Dead had shrugged with a smile, and Seven had contemplated the sky with the expression of an orc who is not concerned at all by the base worries of silly elves.

With the same look on his face, he took Gurshak's cloak clasp from my hands a few days later, promising to be back soon, and turned; only when he had already taken a few steps away from us, he remarked, not gazing back at me: "You might wish to walk a few steps with me, Alagaith."

Somewhat bewildered that he had used my real name, a thing he rarely ever did, I hurried after him. At least, he waited for me to catch up with him before he started walking at a brisker pace. I followed him, but remained silent, well aware that pressuring him would not do any good now; he would begin the conversation when he was prepared to do so, and that could take some time.

We had indeed walked for almost half an hour when he finally spoke. "I thought a few words might be in order before you leave", he remarked, sounding somewhat more like his usual self again.

"They are", I answered, gazing at him. "I am sorry my decision upset you to this extent.... I did not want that."

Seven gave me a strange look, not entirely devoid of pity. "There is a nice, sunny spot down there", he replied as if I had not said anything at all, "perhaps we can sit there and talk for a while."

He had pointed to a sheltered place between hawthorn bushes on a hillside above a small river, and I nodded my consent.

Soon enough, we were seated comfortably next to each other, just like so many times before, enjoying the last sun of late autumn; and for a moment, I wished it could really be as it had always been, not a special day, but a simple, good one, and a quiet, pleasant chat instead of an important conversation, all worries chased away for a brief span of time by the gentle weather and the knowledge that we were all well and had good loot to sell....

But it was not like this, and if I was honest with myself, I did not truly want to pretend that nothing had changed, that I had never met Tanglinna and that no plans had been made.

"I am not upset because of your decision", Seven suddenly said, "I believe I understand what is behind it... or part of it. But you could have told me earlier."

"I was afraid", I replied, sounding more defiant than I wished to.

Seven laughed without much joy. "Were you? I suppose I should be flattered that you fear me more than a whole forest of Wood-elves."

Usually, I might have replied with some witty quip, but I felt too tired to argue with him. "You know what I mean."

For a moment, Seven looked as if he was going to pretend that he did not understand at all, but he, too, was weary, and he merely nodded. "I do."

Again, there was silence, for rather too long a time, and against my will, I found myself wondering why I could not speak as freely and easily, without much reservation or fear, as I had done merely a few days ago, when I had had my strange, long conversation with Mordil. Maybe the brandy had made the difference; or maybe not.

"I should have known that you would wish to... change things one day," Seven finally began, "and perhaps I have known it for a long time and only refused to admit it. First, there was your wife, who was rather too confident that you would be a most respectable warrior again one day. Yes, I will admit that we others laughed a bit at her dreams behind her back – and behind yours, for that matter! – deeming her too innocent, too inexperienced, to understand that you would remain what you were in all eternity... But she was a wise lady, with keener eyes than most have, and she read you well."
With a sigh, he continued. "Then came the little one, and from then on, it was only a question of time, really. Well-Armed should never have pointed out that this was not the right life for a child – she should have known only too well that you would choose the child over the life at some point.... For it is Alagant, isn't it? You think of a happy elfling sleeping in a warm bed, a whole handful of little Glaurungs sitting on his pillow, a nice, lavish breakfast waiting for him every morning, and lovely embroidered clothes that his elfling friends will admire.... And your heart sings at the thought of standing at the foot of his bed and watching him sleep, knowing that he is safe and has all he needs."

He had spoken without derision, only with soft melancholy, and slowly, I nodded, believing to know what saddened him so; even if Alagant got all that, and more, Seven would not be there to see him enjoy it, and he loved my son dearly. But when I moved to reply something, Seven lifted his hand in a gesture that might have seemed unobtrusive, even meaningless, to most elves; any orc, however, would have known that he was elegantly asked to rest silent for yet a while.

"Then, but few years ago, your noble father arrived, still so honest that it could hurt at times – no, do not gainsay me! I saw a change in you then, and while I believed that it was just new happiness, old fears and guilt lifted from your heart, I should have seen that he also brought entirely too many old memories with him.... Not the sort of memory that goes 'Oh, do you remember how, one evening, Eliant got drunk and bold and kissed Lady Loth?', but the deeper, more important sort, notions of honour and a good life and cherished, if unspoken rules....

And with your mind so prepared, enter this Mirkwood archer, with kind words, offering you false hopes and...."

"He was not 'offering false hopes'." I interrupted, almost dismayed at my own fierceness. "He meant what he said, and there is yet hope!" Somewhat more gently, I continued: "I know it will not be easy.... Not easy at all, to be precise, probably a very dark and hard and unhappy time – but it will end one day, and then...."

"And then, you will wake up and see what a fool you have been." Seven brusquely replied.

He could have said worse things, and people, if not he, had called me worse things, in fact; yet, his words were hurtful. "Do not call my wish foolish because you do not share it!" I snapped.

Seven shrugged. "Whether your wish is foolish in itself is a question I cannot answer – that is your decision to make. I only know that what you plan to do is the greatest folly you have ever even thought of, worse even than your brilliant idea to stay behind alone that day in Mithlond when...."

"This is of no importance whatsoever now!"

"Agreed; and your current folly offers enough to talk about. I see that you want that charge dealt with, and honourably, before things change. I will concede that this is wise. So – although this is no advice I give you happily – go to Mirkwood and your trial; but afterwards, whether they have taken your hand or not, leave again."

Seven's voice had grown strangely urgent, and he had turned to look at me, placing both hands upon my shoulders as if talking to some reluctant youngling who would not understand what was good for him. "Leave again, and go to another place where elves dwell, Rivendell, the Havens.... It will be a clean beginning there. Forget about Mirkwood."

This was frighteningly logical and sensible; why did I not go elsewhere indeed, some place where no one knew about the darkest sides of my past, so that I could really start anew, only meeting the initial mild distrust every stranger has to expect, but no contempt and hatred? Even fear that word of what I had been might reach those elves was not a real argument against Seven's counsel; there was at least hope that, by then, I would have won enough respect to let them think twice about chasing me away again. No – what Seven advised me to do was the thing a wise elf would have done, yet not what I wished to do.

"It has to be Mirkwood", I replied, holding Seven's gaze and hoping that he would be able to comprehend what I was trying to explain, "for following your suggestion would mean to start this new life with at least half a lie.

I admit I do not know if I would find the courage to tell strangers that they would be accepting a thief into their community if I knew that things would be much easier and nicer if I allowed them to assume that we were merely poor, but harmless stranger searching for a new place to live after the recent loss of a former home.... I would probably leave out rather too many details when asked for my story.

And later, I would hate myself for this implicit lie, knowing very well that *I* would never have been allowed to stay.... I could not allow any close friendship, for fear to reveal too much, and could not even enjoy an offer of trust and friendship made, for it would not be directed at me, but at some imaginary elf bearing my face and my name. What kind of life would that be?

'A clean beginning', you say.... It will only be a clean beginning in Mirkwood, where they know very well who I am, *what*I am. If they allow me to stay in spite of that, there will be real hope, and a real new life!"

Seven removed his hands and turned away, his eyes traveling over the distant hills, but finally choosing to follow the flight of a heron rising from the meadows near the river. "A new life indeed", he said with some bitterness, "but what kind of life will it be? I cannot make your decision for you, that is true – but I can and do advise you to think a little about what you will gain and what price you will pay."

"Your friendship would be too high a price", I said, hanging my head and feeling more torn than ever.

Seven smiled. "You will not lose my friendship", he replied. "Even if I have a feeling that we will not meet again too often if your decision is made in favor of Mirkwood, I shall always think of you with great fondness. No – that should not worry you. Think of yourself now. A warm bed is good, so are decent clothes and regular meals – and you may obtain all of that, but you will pay dearly for it. You will be the price."

I looked at him somewhat incredulously, not quite able to follow his line of thought.

Seven shook his head. "You foolish elf!" he murmured. "You think there will be a few years of distrust and hardship, but that they will eventually see what a good elf you are, patiently listen to the moving story of how much you have been wronged earlier and gladly embrace you, allowing you to be again what you once were? That will not happen.

I do not doubt that they will allow you to stay – but they will request proof that you are willing to become honest, 'honest' meaning humble and willing to live according to their rules and wishes. Perhaps they will not even cut off your hand, but you will certainly find yourself scrubbing the floor of their king's Hall on your very knees for the next few hundred years, if that is not even considered too good for you, and later, you will have to be grateful if you are as much as a somewhat better servant. You will be forced to be meek and docile all the time, to prove that you are making an effort, and you will always remain 'the thief', regardless of what you do."

"Do you think I am too weak to endure that?" I enquired, admitting to myself that my friend was probably very right, and meaning my words as a real question; he knew me well.

"Endure it you will", Seven answered with a sad smile, "but after a time, you will not be quite yourself any more, and it saddens me to imagine this proud head bent in a mild sort of servitude, for I know that you will not be rewarded much for it. You will be fed and clad, but that will be about all – and is that really worth so great a sacrifice?"

"At least Alagant will have all he needs", I said, trying to balance the dismal picture Seven had painted with the kinder one that had entered both our minds earlier, of Alagant surrounded by all the things I had never really been able to provide him with.

"Maybe," Seven replied, "but he does not exactly need a broken father."

I stared.

"I have seen it happen," my friend softly continued, "the mines were a dark place even to me, but they were also the very best place in Arda for studying elves, sad as what I learnt there may have been. I have seen elves as proud and bright as you turn into meek slaves, faint shadows of living creatures, and in entirely too short a time. I do not want you to end like that."

"Mirkwood is hardly comparable to the Mines of Angband!" I snorted, feeling that he was really a bit too worried now.

Seven studied me with a strange expression. "Trust me, it is.... Only that it will be much worse a place for you. Have you ever asked yourself why some elves were resilient enough to emerge from the mines battered and beaten, affected by what they had been through both in body and mind, yet not broken? Think of your father and Half-Dead! What did they do once they were free again?"

"They returned home?" I answered, frowning, not really sure what he was trying to tell me.

Seven nodded. "They returned home indeed; that was what they had wished for during even the darkest times.... Do you not understand? They had a place to call home far away from that darkness, loved once waiting for them elsewhere, and – thank the Mighty Ones! – not forced to witness their ordeal... But your home and the place of your torments will be one, and you will not be able to protect Alagant from seeing you dwindle away in humiliation. You will wish to be free again, but will not dare to leave, even if they let you, clinging to the faint hope that all your efforts cannot have been in vain, that, one day, that bright future you dream of will be there.... Only that it will never happen."

Each word had been like a slap in the face, or worse, but Seven was not finished yet.

"Be honest with yourself, at least!" he continued. "In truth, you do not dream of feather beds, hot baths and a quiet life, and probably not even of fancy clothes, at least, not more so than others.

If you talk about being honorable once again, you mean that quite literally. It is *honor* you secretly hope for – you would like to be what you were at Nargothrond, or something even better, an important captain, a sword master, a war counselor, and you dream of people of importance listening to your sage advice, of guards jumping to attention when you pass, of overhearing an impressed dozen of younglings discuss how incredible it was when Master Alagaith easily defeated a certain fabled swordsman in a mock duel two days ago, of people trusting you, of respect for your wit and skills and knowledge and ultimately for yourself...,

And *that*, you will never get, not in Mirkwood. You will be lucky enough if they allow you to keep your sword at all.

Do not tell me now that, even if you remain a lowly former thief for all your life, Alagant will get all that trust and respect and honor one day, and that you will be proud and happy enough then! You will already be proud if they will stop calling him 'the thief's son' openly after a couple of years – but do not hope that they will ever forget to think it when looking at him. They will not.

So what will be harder – to forget mentioning that you were a thief once to some kind elves who will see your true worth at some point and will let you become what you wish to be after a couple of years, or to be honest for honesty's sake with those Wood-elves and end up forcing yourself to live a life that is none, sacrificing all that you are and could be under better circumstances?"

I could not recall that Seven had ever made a speech of such length before, not ever since I had met him long ago, and I did not quite know what to say or even to think. I had known that all of this would not be easy, but I had not foreseen that even talking about it would be so painful.

Seven did not seem to expect an answer; having said what he had to say, he rose, patting my shoulder. "I am going to sell this brooch now", he announced, "and you had better either stay here or go back to the others, for if I arrive with an elf in tow, I will not be overly successful in my attempt. Think about what I said – perhaps it is more than just an orc's silliness." With that, he turned and was gone before I could think of a reply.

I remained sitting where he had left me for over an hour, staring down at the river. Seven was right, very right – I would not be much more than a slave in Mirkwood, put to base and boring work for long years, or maybe forever. What could I hope for indeed?

I would not regain what I had lost, that was true, and I was probably a fool if I believed that Mirkwood would ever become anything comparable to a real home to me. I was exchanging one hardship for another, and I would not have any good friends to share those worries with me, only Mordil, perhaps, but he would hardly appreciate complaints and much whining. A skulking cutpurse who decided that he wished to be honest again deserved a hard time, after all, and a *long* hard time if he was already branded and still on his thieving ways after two ages....

And suddenly, I laughed, deciding that the whole situation was not only tight and somewhat sad, but also gloriously absurd.

Here I was, having made the find of a lifetime with that precious brooch, sure enough that what would be paid for it could buy me pleasant times, if not a whole new life, and while I would get away with that theft, I had nothing better to do than to run to Mirkwood to let myself be punished for the noble wish to be an honest elf again....

Was it not most peculiar that the wicked thief might have remained unpunished had he not decided to discontinue this vile sort of life? I would be able to write a nice, moralizing tale with a twist out of that one day, given that they left me enough free time to write but a single page, and a hand to write with.... At least, Alagant and I would have something to laugh about when thinking of this irony, and as long as there would be a shared moment of laughter now and then, I would not be fully unhappy.

Seven had spoken of Gwindor and my father and their time in the mines; and while I did not think I could claim to have Gwindor's valiance and endurance, I knew that I was my father's son, at least now and then. I would give those Wood-elves two years and three weeks, the time my father had spent in the mines of Angband without changing overly much. If, after two years, there was no sign at all that Mirkwood's good and righteous elves were ready to see past the thief, I would be gone again, unless Alagant had grown very fond of the place by that time and wished to stay.

I smiled to myself; two years were two years, not a short time if spent in less than fortunate circumstances, but a limited span of time nonetheless; it would pass. They would hardly keep me caged all the time, and there would be a chance to leave if things truly proved to be as terrible as Seven suspected they would be.

I probed this new thought, finding it quite satisfying; deciding for myself to go to Mirkwood for two years and to make a definite choice then seemed less daunting than going without any plans for the case that things went awry.

The others would have been glad to learn about this change of plans, but although it might have reassured them a little, I resolved not to tell them about it. This may seem dishonest, even cruel, and I did not make the decision lightly, but I knew that any mention of great doubt on my part would have incited them to search for new arguments to deter me completely, and I could really do without yet another round of well-meant, but unwanted advice.

I kept my secret, even when Seven returned two days later with a well-filled purse and the hour of parting came, with all reluctance, hugs, good wishes and tears that come with bidding people you have lived with and like farewell. Of course, we promised most solemnly to send a letter to Grimsel's Inn as soon as the outcome of my Mirkwood adventure could be predicted, and of course, they promised to write back to tell us how they were faring and what kind of plans they were making, but we all knew how difficult it was to find reliable and fast messengers; if we were lucky, we would hear from each other every year, if not only every few years, from now on.

And then, it was over, the last hand raised in farewell having disappeared between distant trees, the last glimpse of familiar cloaks gone from sight, and we were alone and free to travel to Mirkwood.

We did not head west straightaway, though; provisions and various useful things had to be bought to enable Alagant and my father to get over the winter, wherever they would spend it; I doubted I would be with them. As I would hardly create a favourable impression when I arrived in Mirkwood dressed in Gurshak's flamboyant attire, I also had to obtain some sober, unpretentious clothes.
Those days we spent travelling around human villages and small towns, both to find what we needed and – although this thought remained unspoken – to enjoy what was probably the last agreeable time we would have together for long months, were oddly unreal.

It was strange to be lingering between two lives, and it took me long to let the naked knowledge that Seven, Half-Dead and Well-Armed were truly gone and would not rejoin us become a truth that I could feel and sense and live with. I did regret what I had destroyed, even if I tried to think and speak of the great hope attached to the step I had taken.

Alagant was rather too silent during the first days, and the way he talked to Glaurung under his breath, played with the carving knife Half-Dead had given him without actually using it and stared into the flames of the low fires we would light in the evenings told me that he was not exactly happy with the disruption of what had been the family he had known until then.

The fifth evening, I thought it appropriate to give him one of those earnest looks that usually precede the administration of some parental wisdom and told him that there was an important lesson to be learnt from our current situation. "Changes can be hard to bear", I told him, "but that they bring unhappiness at first does not mean that what will come of them will be bad, and if we refuse to acknowledge that, merely clinging to memories of what was once, we may fail to see new good things that must be enjoyed."

I felt these were very wise and sensible words, but, as it is always the case with such sayings, they were spoken in vain. My son only frowned – an expression that made him look entirely too much like his grandfather – and declared: "You miss Uncle Seven as well."

Admittedly, there was nothing to add to that statement.

"Your ada is right, though, Alagant", my father calmly remarked, "there is already a good thing that can be enjoyed. Your Aunt Fin is not here, and due to this, she cannot appropriate dinner's last baked apple by any means."

Even this very practical reasoning only provoked the faintest of smiles, and I suspected that Alagant would readily have shared that last apple with Finduilas or given it to her entirely if the others had only been there.

This conversation was not the last of the kind that we had, and truly happy moments were scarce all the time. I tried to console myself with the thought that Alagant would find much joy in what we would have in Mirkwood; even the meagre part of the forest's wealth and safety that might be granted to us would still seem fantastic to him. However, even all those new and lovely things would not bring back his lost 'aunt' and 'uncles', and nothing would bring back us to them; I was certain that Seven was sitting in Grimsel's Inn with a very sad face, and when those thoughts occurred to me, I felt like a terrible friend and a bad father. Perhaps I would deserve it, after all, if the Wood-elves cut off my hand.

A few weeks before Yule, we came to the place where Laketown had been, and found an excellent hiding place near the shore. Alagant was rather disappointed that it was winter and therefore quite impossible to spot the remains of the fallen dragon in the water. Telling me that this was really most unfortunate and that Glaurung would have loved to see the dead dragon as well, although it was actually sad that the dragon was dead and in the lake now, for a real, living dragon would have been much more interesting, he sounded very much like his old self again, and I smiled and silently thanked Smaug the Golden for having cheered up my son a little.

When we sat and talked about the dragon, Alagant all caught up in what was one of his favourite subjects, I merely glad that I should be given some good time of seeing the eyes of my child gleam with excitement and listening to his chatter about dragons and wondrous adventures before I had to depart, my father had already ventured into the camp that housed the former inhabitants of Laketown, planning to learn if it would be possible to stay there for the winter. We had agreed that I should not accompany him; it was entirely possible that elves of Mirkwood who knew too well who I was were in the camp, and an arrest just now would have ruined any plans of nobly turning myself in and showing goodwill.

My father did not return for hours, longer than I had thought he would stay away, and I was close to getting worried when we learnt what had kept him away, or, more precisely, when someone I had not heard approach dropped a bottle of orcish brandy into my lap. I did not have to turn to know who had arrived; the look of sheer delight that entered Alagant's face as he interrupted his ramble on Smaug and jumped to his feet told me all I had to know.

Do not believe those old stories about orcs being loud and brutish and unable to move with the silence we elves take such pride in! Orcs are very aware that noise will scare the enemy in battle, and they put this knowledge to good use in need; but if they do not want to be heard, not even an elf's well-schooled ears can detect them easily. I did not know how many times Seven had suddenly appeared behind me quite unexpectedly, scaring me halfway out of my wits; but then, I was sure that he was equally unable to count the times I had taken revenge on him in the same manner.

"Master Grimsel sends you this", he now said, returning Alagant's fierce hug and not allowing the boy to escape his arms for a while, "says to tell you that you are insane to go to Mirkwood and, in case you insist on becoming honest, offers you permanent employment in his inn as he does not know anybody else who can chop wood quite that accurately; I hope you do not mind that I politely declined in your name."

I laughed, but not at the innkeeper's gracious offer or anything else, but with relief and a sudden feeling of bewildered contentment. Seven was there, he was *with* us.... I had not lost him and his friendship when I had made my decision. Perhaps what had been broken earlier was not as un-mendable as I had believed at first.

"As I see, you did not offer him to stay and take my place", I lightly replied, wishing, in fact, to cling to him just as fiercely as Alagant still did, "you see me surprised! Since when are you here?"

"Oh, we came to Laketown, or what will be Laketown again, yesterday", Seven replied, sitting down next to me, leaving room for Alagant to squeeze himself and Glaurung between us.

"That means Uncle Gwin and Auntie Fin are there as well?" my son exclaimed, smiling widely when Seven nodded in confirmation.

"Meaning to stay here", he said, adding with a wink at me: "It appears you will have a place to run off to if those wood-elves prove to be too insufferable."

"You mean to stay in Laketown, to *live* there?" I enquired quite incredulously, unable to trust my ears, although the idea made some sense in itself; in this city of merchants, people, used to dealing both with orcs and elves, would frown less at people of both races living under one roof than elsewhere.

Seven nodded gravely, smiling at the happy little noise from Alagant's side that greeted this announcement. "The first day after we had left you, we cursed your silly plans and what they had brought about", he explained, "the second day, we arrived at Grimsel's Inn, and the first thing he asked was: 'Where have you left your one-eyed friend and that sweet elfling of his?' The third day, we glanced at each other and admitted that, maybe, we missed you, and that.... Well, never mind! The fourth day, Well-Armed said: 'We should travel to Laketown, or what is left of it; it is close to Mirkwood, and they will not ask many questions about who and what we are now that they need every hand offering help for the rebuilding of their city.' The fifth day, we departed from Grimsel's Inn again, why you were still running around, asking yourself if a blue or a grey cloak would flatter your complexion more, if I have understood your father correctly."

"You must admit that I chose well", I said with a chuckle, touching the soft blue cloth of the cloak, feeling very happy and content.

"It could look worse", my charming friend assured me, grinning at Alagant, and for the following quarter of an hour, they amused themselves discussing my cloak and the rest of my clothing at length, with the loving malevolence only family members or very close friends are capable of, and caring very little that I wanted to ask Seven quite a lot of questions.

Part of the answers I had been hoping for were provided without my asking when my father returned, Half-Dead and Well-Armed in tow. Apparently, they had managed to receive permission to build a makeshift hut in the camp to spend the winter in, against promising some help with the rebuilding of the town in spring. It was good to know that they would be in a comparatively safe and sheltered place during the cold months.

There was less pleasant news as well, though.

"Did you not mention a certain Tanglinna, Master Archer of King Thranduil?" Half-Dead asked after greetings had been exchanged.

At my nod, Well-Armed took up the thread, beginning, not without a faint hint of irony: "If you hoped for his help and support in your great endeavour, we must disappoint you – the whole camp is swarming with rumours of his great and terrible crimes and his being thrown in the Wood-elf-king's dungeons."

"Great and terrible crimes'?" I repeated, hoping that these words had been employed in jest, but almost fearing that this was not the case; it was not uncommon that a petty offence suddenly turned into a horrible crime in the eyes of a foul-tempered judge. I had not assumed that they would not punish poor Mordil at all for his kindness, but I had dared hope that they would be lenient at least, seeing that what he had done had not caused much harm to anybody....

"Be calm!" Well-Armed said with a chuckle. "Releasing you was clearly the least of his crimes, though 'letting a dangerous prisoner escape' sounds very impressive.... But there were other, even more impressive things, insulting the king and conspiring against him with someone known as 'The Tricksy Trio' – what a strange name for a group of conspirators! But then, they did not seem to take that conspiracy very seriously, so I suppose it is all some sort of joke or jest we cannot understand just now."

"There was also something about disrespectful behaviour in general", Half-Dead added, "and a very mysterious story about appropriating and throwing away a crown that I did not quite understand.... Fairly impressive, as Faelivrin has already stated."

"Impressive indeed!" I said, shaking my head and quite unable to help feeling some amusement. I could hardly believe that respectable, respected Mordil would ever have done any of the things the rumours were so merrily accusing him of, but the very thought of his being imprisoned for a real crime, not only for his generosity towards me, was strangely entertaining – only for a moment, though, for Well-Armed's next words made my sudden mirth die again.

"In any case", she continued, "they say that he has been cast in the dungeon, and it did not sound to me as if it was anything close to the honourable imprisonment you might expect for a warrior of high standing who has been somewhat foolish.... They speak of fairly dire conditions, no visitors being allowed to see him, and no one knowing for how long he will be kept down there... Estimates are between three weeks and a few decades at present."

This did not sound funny at all any more, and my decision was quickly made. "*He* will know for how long a time they are keeping him there", I said, rising to my feet. "I will ask him, and if it is for three weeks, I shall quietly leave again and return to turn myself in; if it is for 'a few decades', he might be grateful not to be left there helpless."

Well-Armed's elegant brows rose. "Surely, you do not mean to go and free him if it should be necessary?"

"That could only go wrong!" Seven stated.

"It 'could only go wrong'?" I enquired, discovering that I was echoing the words of my interlocutors far too often this day. "What do you mean by that?"

"Mithlond!" the lady kindly supplied in a singsong voice ere my friend could answer.

"Oh yes", Half-Dead said, sadly shaking his head. "You have never been very... fortunate when it came to freeing imprisoned friends."

"I did get you out of that cell!" I snapped, slightly offended that he made it sound as if the adventure he was alluding to had been a complete failure.

"And liked it so well that you ended up spending the next three years in it", Seven replied with a sigh. "Now, One-Eye... You should decide what you want. If being 'honest' and getting rid of all charges is really that important, going to Mirkwood to try and free someone who is, perhaps, justly imprisoned, is certainly not the right way."

He was right yet again, but this time, answering was easy, and although the situation had actually worsened quite a bit with Tanglinna's imprisonment, things seemed easier now.

"I will do what is right, or what seems right and decent to me now", I replied, "and while I will gladly try not to break any laws if it is not necessary, I will not refuse Mordil my help, regardless of what that might mean... Those rumours were probably exaggerating things anyway. I will go and see for myself what is true about what is said, and then make a definite decision." Remembering my last conversation with Tanglinna, I picked up the brandy bottle Grimsel had sent me and added, grinning a little: "Who knows? It may all be harmless, and I will just bring him a bottle of brandy and leave again in silence."
"Well spoken!" my father said with a chuckle, and, after the slightest moment of hesitation, he asked: "You are planning to leave now?"

Forcing myself not to think about it twice, I nodded; now was as good a time as any.

I was still worried and unsure of what was to come; yet, leaving the others felt less painful now that I knew they would be waiting for me here, still my friends and ready to take me back at any time. Saying farewell to Alagant was hardest, as he even less happy with having to remain behind than I was with having to leave him for probably more than a handful of days.

"Can't I go with you?" he asked, and even Glaurung, slumped over his arm, seemed to give me a look of disappointment and reproach, but I shook my head.

The one time I had gloriously managed to get myself caught – and for the ridiculous crime of abducting one pumpkin from a cart full of them! – when Alagant had been with me, we had spent two fairly unpleasant days in a cell, culminating in the very worst minutes I had lived through in a long time, and while I did not believe that the wood-elves would be just as cruel as our captors who had thought it a brilliant idea to make my son watch the whipping I had received for my terribly wicked deed, I did not want anything remotely similar ever to happen again.

Apart from that, I also did not want the wood-elves to believe that I was using my child to rouse their pity. No, Alagant would stay where he was, hopefully well protected from whatever would happen in Mirkwood, and it was a good thing that all those he called his family were present to look after him. ~*~*~*~*~*

TBC