A/N: The idea of the poisoned thorns is borrowed from Very. She has given
me permission, although it was a fair while ago now, but it still holds.
If, for whatever reason, you want to use the idea of the poisoned thorns,
it's her you need to ask; not me. The little flowers on the thorn bushes,
however, are of my invention.
CHAPTER 2 - The Flowers May Rise In Spring
A short distance from the gates of the Woodland King, six hooded and cloaked figures were hurrying towards the trees, where a small group of warriors stood in the dusk, waiting for them. Shadows played behind them, dancing in the light of the failing, red sun and the rising, silver moon. When they reached the warriors standing under the protection of the forest canopy, the three smaller figures shook back their hoods with light laughter, much to the surprise of the waiting warriors. Two of them carried packs on their backs, and swung them in to the hands of the princes, white teeth sparkling in the light of the moon above them.
"Thank you very much, your majesties," breathed one, his long blonde hair tucked in to the neck of his cloak. He bowed quickly, and then dashed off towards the training grounds to find master Astaler. The other two quickly bowed with a 'thank you, your majesties,' and then scampered off after their friends, avoiding treading on the new flowers that were just beginning to sprout from the ground.
The three princes turned and grinned at Culkemen, who was staring at them with more than a little surprise.
"Would you be so kind as to explain what just happened, prince Legolas? I assume you are the reason behind whatever just happened."
The young, Elven royal smiled even more widely with a wicked grin.
"They had to get past the guards at the gate without being given permission. . ."
"Stop there," Culkemen sighed, "I think I understand perfectly now. We are not waiting for anybody else - you were the last to arrive. Come along."
The motherly captain turned on her heal and led the way in to the dark, shadowy forest. Clasped in her hand and held above her head was a burning torch to light their way, expelling a little of the surrounding gloom as she and her warriors passed through it. Beneath her feet, the ground, muddy from a recent rainfall, hardly noticed her passing, and as she stepped lightly forwards, only the slight hint of a footprint was embedded in the spring-time earth. Behind her, with equally hard to see footprints that only one of their own kind - or perhaps one of the Rangers of the North - could find, the loyal, handpicked warriors followed. Legolas, Nuryävié and Nilwethion brought up the rear, their hearts pounding with anticipation and the taste of their long missed freedom playing on the tips of their tongues.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Closely followed by Caranthon and Celrin, Squirrel bounced happily in to the training grounds where Astaler and Luinorn were sparing. In truth, the two novice trainers had not expected any of the novices to make it through the gates. Few ever did, after all, and although Squirrel was a good fighter and a promising tactician, he was more than a little scatterbrained; Celrin, also a very good fighter, had a short concentration span, and as for Caranthon, although she would probably be able to make it through the gates if left to her own devices due to being so quiet and being able to fade in to the background well, usually left the other two to do her thinking. It was a surprise, therefore, when the three happy novices bounded up to the much older pair, and then stood still, their eyes shining with pride, waiting for the verdict.
"Well done," commented Astaler, hiding his shock well, making it seem as though he knew all along that the novices would find a way past the guards. "Do you know how long it is since any novices managed to find a way around the guards?"
"Three years, sir!" piped Caranthon immediately. Her pale cheeks were practically glowing with glee.
"Again, well done," said Luinorn, nodding slowly. "I wonder, has Master Astaler here told you what task you would be given once you got through the gates?"
The energy and happiness that had been swelling in the three novices suddenly drained, their shoulders visibly sagging. Celrin looked up at Luinorn in dismay, his eyes widening, reflecting in the light of the crescent moon.
"There is another task, sir?"
The small smile that had touched Luinorn's lips twitched, the smile increasing in size. It was not an evil or malicious smile as such, but it was the kind of smile that made Elven novices very worried. Squirrel shifted uneasily beneath the gaze of his elders.
"Yes, Celrin, there is another task. Do not worry, it is not overly difficult." Again, the three novices shivered involuntarily under the steady gaze of Luinorn. "All you have to do is find the thorn bushes where the archers acquire the poison for the tips of their arrows. Bring us back three of the thorns each. Be careful not to catch your flesh on one of the thorns though; if you do not receive medicine fast enough it may kill you. Also on the plants are small flowers, just beginning to open after the last of the winter frosts. You must also bring back one of these each, just to prove you did not take the thorns from the supplies of the warriors. Do you understand?"
With faces so white that the snow would seem colourful in contrast, the novices nodded soberly. They knew where the thorn bushes were to be found, of course, but they were quite deep in to the forest, and it was unwise to go there in the dead of night as spiders prowled around them not very far away, and the wolves and wargs hunted for food in that area. Squirrel gulped nervously. Why did the task have to be so difficult?
"May we wait until daybreak, sir?" asked the Elf, his voice quivering. He bit his lip with hope.
"If you had found a way out of the palace at day break, Squirrel, you would have been able to searching for the thorns at day break. As it is, you must go and find them now. Away with you."
The three worried novices scampered off in to the black shadows, the moon disappearing from view above the thick, twisted branches of the trees, and the last rays of the sun could hardly penetrate the forest beyond the first few trees when it was this low. Having not realised that they would be sent off on another quest, not one of the novices had thought to take a light with them, so they were left in the pitch blackness. When they were not far in to the blackness, Caranthon stopped.
We could take a tree route," she suggested, "We know the trees better than the ground, after all."
After a moments pause, the two boys nodded, although they could hardly be seen by Caranthon, and mortal eyes would not have been able to see them at all. They had to admit, it was a good idea. The trio scrambled up one of the trees; an ancient thing covered in dark swarms of ivy, it's old bark peeling off in places and it's branches so knotted it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Picking their way through the dark, night-time forest, the twinkling lights of the Elven warriors portrayed the fact that the band of warriors with the three royal escapologists were heading in a direct line to the south west. The direction that Oroweth had announced the poachers were thought to be.
The pinprick glow of the torches, travelling quickly, attracted many of the contents of the forest towards the warriors. Eyes reflected from the deep shadows surrounding the Elves; from the trees, from the bushes and from the still, spring air where moths and other insects hummed about. None of the eyes bothered the Elves, however. They had not done for many long years; not since the Elves had proven themselves more than capable of killing any living thing to cross their path in an unfriendly manner. Very occasionally, hints of a face would surround a pair of overly daring eyes; suggestions of fur, the possibility of a snout, the chance of a drooling mouth. At all times, because of these daring creatures, the bright weapons of the Elves glinted, naked, clothed only by the dark.
The band of warriors continued their march in single file, and every so often one of them would turn their head this way and that at the nightly sounds around them. The rustle of new shoots and flowers being stepped on, the crack of a fallen branch being broken by a hungry creature in search of its dinner, the occasional howl of an unfortunate animal becoming dinner and the buzz of insects. This was the world that the Elven warriors knew.
At last, after what seemed like an age, Legolas whispered so quietly to Nuryävié that only the intended listener could hear him, "Do you feel it?"
Equally quietly, Nuryävié replied, "Feel what?"
"Freedom."
"Yes, I feel it. I doubt I could have lived another week without tasting its sweet flavour again. I do love adar, but I wish he did not feel the need to stifle us so."
Legolas nodded in agreement as Nilwethion flicked his eyes around at the quilt of night that hung over them.
"I feel something else, also," whispered Nuryävié, after a few moments more.
"Anger," replied Legolas, "Anger and hatred. It pulses, like a heartbeat. Have you noticed it grow stronger the further in to the woods we get?"
"Aye, I have noticed it. How could I not? Do you think it is the poachers?"
"This close to our halls? I doubt it, unless they are very stupid."
The pair of princes considered this for a while, now walking along side each other. Their hastily thrown together packs bumped up and down slightly as they marched onwards, ever deeper. In their hands, white handled knives glistened like the hidden moon; a warning against any enemy.
"If it truly is the poachers, I doubt it is Dwarves. Even they would not come this close to our halls. They hate us too much. It must be men."
"I do not doubt your words, brother."
Legolas opened his mouth to say more, shadows flickering across his smooth face. Before he had a chance to speak, however, one of the other warriors dropped back to march beside them, holding a long sword in one hand, gripped by his side, and in the other hand he held aloft a flickering torch, its flames spewing light around its bearer.
"Captain Culkemen wishes to speak with you, up at the front of the column. I will stay here and guard the rear for you."
With a nod to the warrior - Legolas recognised him to be a very old and trusted ally of Thranduil named Anoreg who had lived since the first age. With an almost guilty nod, the young prince wondered if Anoreg knew that the three princes were not supposed to be with the party, being such a close friend to the king. He checked himself, quickly. If Anoreg had known, he would have spoken up much earlier.
As the three princes passed up the line of warriors, each one tipped their head slightly as a salute. It was strange, but not unwelcome, to see the sons of Thranduil back in the forests once more. It had been far too long since the return from Imladris all those years ago; many of the warriors were the same ones from that long, exhausting trip.
"You wanted to see us, captain?" was the first thing Legolas said when he reached Culkemen, striding along confidently beside her. The leader of the hunters nodded with a smile, but she kept her piercing eyes ahead of her, scouting out the dark shadows.
"I have been wondering how you managed to let king Thranduil to let you join us on this expedition. I had thought at first it had been Thellind persuading him with those eyes of his. . ." there was a short pause as the four Elves thought about Thellind and his large, practically innocent eyes he had, and how he managed to get his way without having to say a word, ". . .But then I realised that, if it was him, he would be here now. How did you do it?"
An uneasy look passed between the three princes, and suddenly Legolas felt ashamed of lying to the friendly captain. She trusted them, after all. Suddenly, a seed of doubt was sewn in his thoughts. Perhaps Culkemen already knew what they had done, and had pushed them in to a trap to see if they were telling the truth. The young prince decided to take a gamble, and drew his breath, hoping that they would not be sent back.
"Listen, Culkemen. . . we were not entirely truthful to you when we told you that adar had given us permission to tag along. . . To be honest, we never even asked him."
As the princes watched Culkemen for a reaction, she didn't even blink. Legolas had been correct in his assumptions. She had known full well that Thranduil had not been consulted on the matter. At last, she gave a slight nod. Overhead, the branches seemed to be curling together to form an archway, completely blotting any hope of even sighting a suggestion of the velvety sky or winking stars. The thicker the branches grew, the fewer and fewer eyes appeared. Behind him, Legolas heard the sound of a weapon being sheathed, then another, then another.
"I thought you would tell me the truth," Culkemen stated, after a while. "If you had not, I would have sent you strait back."
"Ah, Culkemen, you hurt us! How could you even think that we would lie to you?" tried Nilwethion, his voice dripping with an obviously fake attempt to sound as though he had been stung. The Elf he was addressing raised her fine eyebrow.
"You lied to your adar, did you not?"
For a moment, Legolas thought about this, his brow furrowed.
"No, we did not. We just did not tell him anything. Besides, you have not tried to keep us prisoner, like birds in the cage of a mortal queen." Culkemen snorted - a most undignified and un-Elflike gesture.
"You just think I am soft on you, and would like to keep it that way."
Legolas opened his mouth to make an indignant reply, and then shut it again, realising that the fair captain was correct in her judgment. Instead, he bit his lip and suddenly found the dark trees very interesting. At this, Culkemen let out a light-hearted laugh. She knew full well that the princes twisted her around their little fingers whenever they wanted something, but in truth, she had no objection to being used in such away at all. Perhaps it was because they had lost their mother, and felt the need to fill in the motherly role for the sons of her king, or perhaps she just thought that they were lovable rogues, but either way, all she knew was that she, as well as they, wanted to keep things just the way they were.
Unfortunately, beyond any thoughts or suspicions of what Culkemen was harbouring of the future, she would not be prepared for the nasty turn that events would soon take.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
A/N: Oh look, the Emerald Queen has finished her chapter with a cliffy again. Naughty Emerald Queen. ^_^
Kudos and cookies to anybody who can tell me where the chapter title is from!
REVIEW REPLY THINGY
SILVERKNIGHT7 ~ I've updated!
DISCODELIC ~ Not quite first, but very nearly. You posted the second review. I'm so very glad you like the themes, and yes, sneaking out is very fun. As for whether Thellind will ever speak again. . . I'm not sure. Certainly not in the near future. Perhaps in a later fiction. Perhaps.
ORODRUIN ~ I wasn't actually too sure how Oroweth predicting his brother's reactions would go down, but I'm glad I added that bit in now.
COOLIO02 ~ Everybody seems to have the same questions and points to make. As I said to DiscoDelic, Thellind will not speak anytime soon, if he ever speaks at all.
ALLYRIEN CHANTEL DE MONTREVE ~ Ah, long pauses. They work wonders for the dramatic tension.
KISTUNE ~ ^_^
LOTR CHIC ~ I don't seem to remember seeing your name before on the review board for Princes of Mirkwood. Have you changed your name? Or were you a lurker? Or do I just have an awful memory?
CHAPTER 2 - The Flowers May Rise In Spring
A short distance from the gates of the Woodland King, six hooded and cloaked figures were hurrying towards the trees, where a small group of warriors stood in the dusk, waiting for them. Shadows played behind them, dancing in the light of the failing, red sun and the rising, silver moon. When they reached the warriors standing under the protection of the forest canopy, the three smaller figures shook back their hoods with light laughter, much to the surprise of the waiting warriors. Two of them carried packs on their backs, and swung them in to the hands of the princes, white teeth sparkling in the light of the moon above them.
"Thank you very much, your majesties," breathed one, his long blonde hair tucked in to the neck of his cloak. He bowed quickly, and then dashed off towards the training grounds to find master Astaler. The other two quickly bowed with a 'thank you, your majesties,' and then scampered off after their friends, avoiding treading on the new flowers that were just beginning to sprout from the ground.
The three princes turned and grinned at Culkemen, who was staring at them with more than a little surprise.
"Would you be so kind as to explain what just happened, prince Legolas? I assume you are the reason behind whatever just happened."
The young, Elven royal smiled even more widely with a wicked grin.
"They had to get past the guards at the gate without being given permission. . ."
"Stop there," Culkemen sighed, "I think I understand perfectly now. We are not waiting for anybody else - you were the last to arrive. Come along."
The motherly captain turned on her heal and led the way in to the dark, shadowy forest. Clasped in her hand and held above her head was a burning torch to light their way, expelling a little of the surrounding gloom as she and her warriors passed through it. Beneath her feet, the ground, muddy from a recent rainfall, hardly noticed her passing, and as she stepped lightly forwards, only the slight hint of a footprint was embedded in the spring-time earth. Behind her, with equally hard to see footprints that only one of their own kind - or perhaps one of the Rangers of the North - could find, the loyal, handpicked warriors followed. Legolas, Nuryävié and Nilwethion brought up the rear, their hearts pounding with anticipation and the taste of their long missed freedom playing on the tips of their tongues.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Closely followed by Caranthon and Celrin, Squirrel bounced happily in to the training grounds where Astaler and Luinorn were sparing. In truth, the two novice trainers had not expected any of the novices to make it through the gates. Few ever did, after all, and although Squirrel was a good fighter and a promising tactician, he was more than a little scatterbrained; Celrin, also a very good fighter, had a short concentration span, and as for Caranthon, although she would probably be able to make it through the gates if left to her own devices due to being so quiet and being able to fade in to the background well, usually left the other two to do her thinking. It was a surprise, therefore, when the three happy novices bounded up to the much older pair, and then stood still, their eyes shining with pride, waiting for the verdict.
"Well done," commented Astaler, hiding his shock well, making it seem as though he knew all along that the novices would find a way past the guards. "Do you know how long it is since any novices managed to find a way around the guards?"
"Three years, sir!" piped Caranthon immediately. Her pale cheeks were practically glowing with glee.
"Again, well done," said Luinorn, nodding slowly. "I wonder, has Master Astaler here told you what task you would be given once you got through the gates?"
The energy and happiness that had been swelling in the three novices suddenly drained, their shoulders visibly sagging. Celrin looked up at Luinorn in dismay, his eyes widening, reflecting in the light of the crescent moon.
"There is another task, sir?"
The small smile that had touched Luinorn's lips twitched, the smile increasing in size. It was not an evil or malicious smile as such, but it was the kind of smile that made Elven novices very worried. Squirrel shifted uneasily beneath the gaze of his elders.
"Yes, Celrin, there is another task. Do not worry, it is not overly difficult." Again, the three novices shivered involuntarily under the steady gaze of Luinorn. "All you have to do is find the thorn bushes where the archers acquire the poison for the tips of their arrows. Bring us back three of the thorns each. Be careful not to catch your flesh on one of the thorns though; if you do not receive medicine fast enough it may kill you. Also on the plants are small flowers, just beginning to open after the last of the winter frosts. You must also bring back one of these each, just to prove you did not take the thorns from the supplies of the warriors. Do you understand?"
With faces so white that the snow would seem colourful in contrast, the novices nodded soberly. They knew where the thorn bushes were to be found, of course, but they were quite deep in to the forest, and it was unwise to go there in the dead of night as spiders prowled around them not very far away, and the wolves and wargs hunted for food in that area. Squirrel gulped nervously. Why did the task have to be so difficult?
"May we wait until daybreak, sir?" asked the Elf, his voice quivering. He bit his lip with hope.
"If you had found a way out of the palace at day break, Squirrel, you would have been able to searching for the thorns at day break. As it is, you must go and find them now. Away with you."
The three worried novices scampered off in to the black shadows, the moon disappearing from view above the thick, twisted branches of the trees, and the last rays of the sun could hardly penetrate the forest beyond the first few trees when it was this low. Having not realised that they would be sent off on another quest, not one of the novices had thought to take a light with them, so they were left in the pitch blackness. When they were not far in to the blackness, Caranthon stopped.
We could take a tree route," she suggested, "We know the trees better than the ground, after all."
After a moments pause, the two boys nodded, although they could hardly be seen by Caranthon, and mortal eyes would not have been able to see them at all. They had to admit, it was a good idea. The trio scrambled up one of the trees; an ancient thing covered in dark swarms of ivy, it's old bark peeling off in places and it's branches so knotted it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Picking their way through the dark, night-time forest, the twinkling lights of the Elven warriors portrayed the fact that the band of warriors with the three royal escapologists were heading in a direct line to the south west. The direction that Oroweth had announced the poachers were thought to be.
The pinprick glow of the torches, travelling quickly, attracted many of the contents of the forest towards the warriors. Eyes reflected from the deep shadows surrounding the Elves; from the trees, from the bushes and from the still, spring air where moths and other insects hummed about. None of the eyes bothered the Elves, however. They had not done for many long years; not since the Elves had proven themselves more than capable of killing any living thing to cross their path in an unfriendly manner. Very occasionally, hints of a face would surround a pair of overly daring eyes; suggestions of fur, the possibility of a snout, the chance of a drooling mouth. At all times, because of these daring creatures, the bright weapons of the Elves glinted, naked, clothed only by the dark.
The band of warriors continued their march in single file, and every so often one of them would turn their head this way and that at the nightly sounds around them. The rustle of new shoots and flowers being stepped on, the crack of a fallen branch being broken by a hungry creature in search of its dinner, the occasional howl of an unfortunate animal becoming dinner and the buzz of insects. This was the world that the Elven warriors knew.
At last, after what seemed like an age, Legolas whispered so quietly to Nuryävié that only the intended listener could hear him, "Do you feel it?"
Equally quietly, Nuryävié replied, "Feel what?"
"Freedom."
"Yes, I feel it. I doubt I could have lived another week without tasting its sweet flavour again. I do love adar, but I wish he did not feel the need to stifle us so."
Legolas nodded in agreement as Nilwethion flicked his eyes around at the quilt of night that hung over them.
"I feel something else, also," whispered Nuryävié, after a few moments more.
"Anger," replied Legolas, "Anger and hatred. It pulses, like a heartbeat. Have you noticed it grow stronger the further in to the woods we get?"
"Aye, I have noticed it. How could I not? Do you think it is the poachers?"
"This close to our halls? I doubt it, unless they are very stupid."
The pair of princes considered this for a while, now walking along side each other. Their hastily thrown together packs bumped up and down slightly as they marched onwards, ever deeper. In their hands, white handled knives glistened like the hidden moon; a warning against any enemy.
"If it truly is the poachers, I doubt it is Dwarves. Even they would not come this close to our halls. They hate us too much. It must be men."
"I do not doubt your words, brother."
Legolas opened his mouth to say more, shadows flickering across his smooth face. Before he had a chance to speak, however, one of the other warriors dropped back to march beside them, holding a long sword in one hand, gripped by his side, and in the other hand he held aloft a flickering torch, its flames spewing light around its bearer.
"Captain Culkemen wishes to speak with you, up at the front of the column. I will stay here and guard the rear for you."
With a nod to the warrior - Legolas recognised him to be a very old and trusted ally of Thranduil named Anoreg who had lived since the first age. With an almost guilty nod, the young prince wondered if Anoreg knew that the three princes were not supposed to be with the party, being such a close friend to the king. He checked himself, quickly. If Anoreg had known, he would have spoken up much earlier.
As the three princes passed up the line of warriors, each one tipped their head slightly as a salute. It was strange, but not unwelcome, to see the sons of Thranduil back in the forests once more. It had been far too long since the return from Imladris all those years ago; many of the warriors were the same ones from that long, exhausting trip.
"You wanted to see us, captain?" was the first thing Legolas said when he reached Culkemen, striding along confidently beside her. The leader of the hunters nodded with a smile, but she kept her piercing eyes ahead of her, scouting out the dark shadows.
"I have been wondering how you managed to let king Thranduil to let you join us on this expedition. I had thought at first it had been Thellind persuading him with those eyes of his. . ." there was a short pause as the four Elves thought about Thellind and his large, practically innocent eyes he had, and how he managed to get his way without having to say a word, ". . .But then I realised that, if it was him, he would be here now. How did you do it?"
An uneasy look passed between the three princes, and suddenly Legolas felt ashamed of lying to the friendly captain. She trusted them, after all. Suddenly, a seed of doubt was sewn in his thoughts. Perhaps Culkemen already knew what they had done, and had pushed them in to a trap to see if they were telling the truth. The young prince decided to take a gamble, and drew his breath, hoping that they would not be sent back.
"Listen, Culkemen. . . we were not entirely truthful to you when we told you that adar had given us permission to tag along. . . To be honest, we never even asked him."
As the princes watched Culkemen for a reaction, she didn't even blink. Legolas had been correct in his assumptions. She had known full well that Thranduil had not been consulted on the matter. At last, she gave a slight nod. Overhead, the branches seemed to be curling together to form an archway, completely blotting any hope of even sighting a suggestion of the velvety sky or winking stars. The thicker the branches grew, the fewer and fewer eyes appeared. Behind him, Legolas heard the sound of a weapon being sheathed, then another, then another.
"I thought you would tell me the truth," Culkemen stated, after a while. "If you had not, I would have sent you strait back."
"Ah, Culkemen, you hurt us! How could you even think that we would lie to you?" tried Nilwethion, his voice dripping with an obviously fake attempt to sound as though he had been stung. The Elf he was addressing raised her fine eyebrow.
"You lied to your adar, did you not?"
For a moment, Legolas thought about this, his brow furrowed.
"No, we did not. We just did not tell him anything. Besides, you have not tried to keep us prisoner, like birds in the cage of a mortal queen." Culkemen snorted - a most undignified and un-Elflike gesture.
"You just think I am soft on you, and would like to keep it that way."
Legolas opened his mouth to make an indignant reply, and then shut it again, realising that the fair captain was correct in her judgment. Instead, he bit his lip and suddenly found the dark trees very interesting. At this, Culkemen let out a light-hearted laugh. She knew full well that the princes twisted her around their little fingers whenever they wanted something, but in truth, she had no objection to being used in such away at all. Perhaps it was because they had lost their mother, and felt the need to fill in the motherly role for the sons of her king, or perhaps she just thought that they were lovable rogues, but either way, all she knew was that she, as well as they, wanted to keep things just the way they were.
Unfortunately, beyond any thoughts or suspicions of what Culkemen was harbouring of the future, she would not be prepared for the nasty turn that events would soon take.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
A/N: Oh look, the Emerald Queen has finished her chapter with a cliffy again. Naughty Emerald Queen. ^_^
Kudos and cookies to anybody who can tell me where the chapter title is from!
REVIEW REPLY THINGY
SILVERKNIGHT7 ~ I've updated!
DISCODELIC ~ Not quite first, but very nearly. You posted the second review. I'm so very glad you like the themes, and yes, sneaking out is very fun. As for whether Thellind will ever speak again. . . I'm not sure. Certainly not in the near future. Perhaps in a later fiction. Perhaps.
ORODRUIN ~ I wasn't actually too sure how Oroweth predicting his brother's reactions would go down, but I'm glad I added that bit in now.
COOLIO02 ~ Everybody seems to have the same questions and points to make. As I said to DiscoDelic, Thellind will not speak anytime soon, if he ever speaks at all.
ALLYRIEN CHANTEL DE MONTREVE ~ Ah, long pauses. They work wonders for the dramatic tension.
KISTUNE ~ ^_^
LOTR CHIC ~ I don't seem to remember seeing your name before on the review board for Princes of Mirkwood. Have you changed your name? Or were you a lurker? Or do I just have an awful memory?