Chapter 5 – Or There Maybe 'Tis Cloudless Night

To Legolas, all dwarves looked the same. About half his height with long beards tucked in to their thick belts and ugly, stocky armour with some form of axe slung over their backs. The only way he could tell the difference between them was the colour of their thick, wiry beards and the plaits down their back. The dwarves before him were certainly no different. They were just as bumbling and foolish as the few other dwarves he had ever set his eyes on.

He watched, therefore, with much curiosity and growing respect, as Culkemen and Nuryävié seemed to be able to remember the names of each one of the stumpy creatures. Although things currently seemed to be going smoothly, that was not how the situation had started out. Both parties, after a few stunned seconds of a shock filled pause, had pulled out their weapons in a flash. It had been unsure for both sides who were supposed to assume the aggressive stance, and whom ought to have assumed the defensive stance. For what seemed like an eternity they had glared at each other, and then the leading dwarf had rammed the end of his axe in to the soft, dark earth and laughed a great, belly laugh and, for some reason, had applauded.

"You ought to be more aware of what happens in your forest, oh great warriors!"

Culkemen had pursed her lips at that, and Legolas knew that if looks could kill, the dwarf would have been stone dead. He suspected that the dwarf had been using sarcasm, but wasn't entirely sure.

"You ought not to be trespassing in our forest, or poaching, master dwarf," Anoreg's curt reply had been. It was the dwarves turn to glare at that, but the leader's face was still plastered with so much mirth that his eyes twinkled brightly in the half light.

"Poaching? We have taken nothing from your cursed darkness, believe you me, elf. We are only trying to find our way out! You can keep your filthy beasts to yourselves."

The speaker was a particularly fat dwarf whose beard was so long it almost trailed along the floor. His eyes narrowed in disgust. Clearly he did not share his leader's sense of humour.

"So who, pray, set the traps?" Legolas had not intended his voice to tumble out of his mouth in such a snarl, but he was insulted at his realm being cursed by the old, fat creature standing before him. The only thing which had kept him from killing the dwarf on the spot was the bloodbath that would ensue, and he knew that before the dwarves were killed, answers were needed.

The leading dwarf rested his arms on his axe and leant forwards slightly, his brow furrowing.

"What traps?"

Culkemen had quickly explained to the dwarves about the traps that had been found in the clearings, never taking her narrowed eyes off the leader. She did, however, lower her bow, leaning on it in a manner similar to the dwarf she was staring at. He kept nodding so frequently at her words that Legolas wondered if his head was about to drop off, or if he had something wrong with his neck.

Eventually the prince had tuned out, unable to concentrate on Culkemen's recollection of what he already knew. Instead he watched the dwarves, trying to find ways to tell each one apart. Although they all wore similarly shaded outfits of dark brown leather or chain mail that he suspected had once gleamed brightly, Legolas began to notice little differences between them. This one, for instance, had a ruby in his belt, whereas the next one along had a couple of little emeralds woven in to the long beard that was tucked in to his belt. That had taken him to where they were now, with Culkemen and Nuryävié speaking rapidly in low tones with the leading dwarf, whose name Legolas had not caught, and another, slightly smaller dwarf. The smaller dwarf looked like the youngest of the lot. His chain metal still had a shine on it and his reddish brown beard came to two neat points, splitting at the chin.

"He's the third son of a king," whispered Anoreg, who had been watching Legolas for some time. "It makes this whole situation much more difficult. If we try to take them to our prison cells, there will be a war. If we start a fight, there will be a war. In fact, if we do anything other than let them go, there will end up being a war. I hope Culkemen and Nuryävié know what they are doing."

"We have princes too," muttered Legolas. Anoreg smiled grimly and nodded.

"Do you really think we would tell them that?"

...

The area around the thorn bushes was silent. Not a leaf rippled with movement and not a branch swayed under the clear, piercing starlight. A forlorn figure lay unmoving under the high canopy, blood seeping on to the clutter of the nearby forest floor. His pale hands failed to twitch as they appeared to glow in the pitch black world. His face was hidden in the leaves, covered by a mass of sleek, dark hair which was spread around his head like a halo. By one hand lay a sword, it's blade washed with dark blood.

Suddenly, the branches above him rustled, as if kissed by a cool night breeze. There was another, louder rustle, whispering around the gigantic trees, and then, as if out of nowhere, a small figure dropped on to the leafy carpet beside the limp figure. The newcomer stretched out her fingers and tapped the shoulder of the other, and then withdrew her hand quickly.

"Master Astaler?" she whispered, "Master Astaler?"

When the prone creature offered no reply, the young elf became frantic. She turned her head this way and that, as if looking for help from unexpected quarters. None was forth coming, so she looked helplessly back down at Astaler. The crown woven of pale little flowers which sat on her head began to slip down over her eye, so she pushed it back up quickly. A few petals fell from it, drifting gently down through the air and coming to rest beside the prince.

"Master Astaler," she tried again, "please wake up. Please, sir!"

Timidly, she turned the elf over on to his back, and then jumped back as if fearing she would be in trouble.

Astaler moaned slightly; the first sign of life in hours. Breathing a sigh of relief, the little novice knelt down beside him, trying not to look at the gaping wounds. Nervously, she gave the prince a shake. Again he moaned, and then his hand closest to the sword scrunched in to a fist.

"Master Astaler? Master Astaler, are you. . ."

The sentence was cut off with a squeak as the young novice suddenly found a bloodied blade pressed against her neck, angry eyes glowering at her.

As suddenly as the blade had almost slit her skin, the novice master dropped it and clenched his teeth in pain, doubling over. Scared of finding the blade at her throat again, the nervous elf kept her distance, watching with wide and fearful eyes.

"Sorry, Caranthon," growled the prince through clenched teeth, "I thought you were. . ."

His sentence trailed off as the prince looked around at his surroundings. Not far away, hidden by the darkness, a couple of other bodies lay surrounded by blood. One had lost its' head somewhere in the undergrowth. Caranthon blanched as she noticed it.

"One of them?" she asked timidly. Astaler nodded.

The prince looked at his hands. To his anger, he saw that they were covered in blood. His own blood, new from the wounds in his side and shoulder.

"Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose," he muttered to himself.

"Sir?"

"Where are Squirrel and Celrin?"

His face crunching up with pain, the prince pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His head span, so he staggered over to a tree and leant his back against it, rolling his eyes upwards to the pitch black shadows of the canopy.

"I. . . I don't know, sir. They yelled at me to run, so I ran. Two of the men chased after me, sir, but I lost them in the forest. I think the spiders have got them."

The prince swore under his breath with such foul language that, had his father heard it, he would have been banished to his room, novice master and fully grown adult or not. Caranthon, on the other hand, hardly seemed to notice it. Having two elder brothers who were both warriors, there was nothing she had never heard before.

"Master Astaler?" she ventured, after the prince had held his head in his hands for almost five minutes without moving, "What are we going to do, sir?"

"We?"

Astaler looked over the top of his slender fingers at the skinny creature in front of him with the crown of wilting flowers perched precariously on her head. He was finding breathing difficult and his head was still swimming. The pain from his wounds were dangerously close to affecting his judgement, and he was certain that he would not be able to put up much of a fight against the large mortals.

"Well, sir, they are my friends. They would never desert me, and I will never desert them. What sort of a friend would I be if I left them for dead?"

She quivered with terror as Astaler stared at her, his gaze calculating and penetrating. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

"You do not have enough training. You scare too easily. Captain Culkemen is in this forest somewhere. Do you remember the week before last when Luinorn taught you the bird calls we use to contact each other over?"

Caranthon nodded, unable to speak. She blinked back the rebellious tears that were threatening to spill. She wanted to shout out that she could fight, and that the mortals would never scare her enough to stop her from helping her friends, but she bit her lip. She wanted to remind Astaler how she, Squirrel and Celrin were the first ones to pass the guards in three years, but she stayed silent. Shouting at a fully fledged warrior, not to mention a prince, would not get her anywhere.

"Climb up a tree and call for help. Culkemen ought to be within a few hours march at the very most."

Burning with resentment and embarrassment at being so quickly dismissed, Caranthon scrambled up the nearest branch, pausing half way up to wipe the tears away from her eyes before the spilt down her cheeks like a waterfall. As soon as she had reached the top branches, she stared up at the starlit sky. The moon glinted at her and the stars winked in and out giving out a deceitful feeling of serenity. Steadying herself as the branches rocked gently, the young novice cupped her shaking hands to her mouth and let out a loud hoot, similar to that of an owl.

The trees swayed all around her for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see. The sleepy movement under the cloudless sky would have reminded Caranthon of the sea, had she ever seen it. Having never left the forest, however, the closest thing Caranthon had ever seen to the sea was the small lake close to her home.

The heavy silence rang in her ears for what seemed like cruel hours, but was really only a matter of moment, before an answering call flew through the night. Almost laughing with relief, Caranthon sent out another cry to whoever had heard her.

...

The dwarves were taking longer to deal with than Legolas had hoped. Complete darkness had fallen, so both the dwarves and the elves had built themselves campfires. Both sides were still keeping their hands close to the weapons, though now the axes had returned to their places on the backs of the dwarves and the swords of the elves had returned to their sheaths. The bows had not been stored away, but arrows had been returned to their quivers. The air was thick with anticipation as each party expected the others to try a trick with every second that passed by.

At last, the leading dwarf bowed to Culkemen.

"We would be honoured if you would kindly show us the way out now, Captain. There is nothing more we are able to tell you about our business."

Culkemen hesitated. She knew that, technically, she ought to take the dwarves to the king. That would not be a welcomed prospect on either side, but she knew what her orders were. On the other hand, they had a prince with them. If she was to make them officially prisoners, there would be a lot of political trouble, which would be even less welcomed. The dwarf seemed to note this hesitation.

"If it would make things easier to decide, Captain, I am sure there is something we could you and your fine warriors. In the firelight, the gems on the garments of the dwarves glinted.

"How do we know you will not run off home and tell your friends how the nasty elves stole your most precious belongings?" asked Legolas suddenly from where he sat by the campfire. He glared at the dwarf. Again, the jewels glistened temptingly in the firelight. The prince, however, was hardly tempted by them. He knew his father would, if there were any diamonds, but Legolas had too much dislike for dwarves to trust them that easily.

The dwarven prince muttered something under his breath in his own language, making the other members of his group laugh heartily. Legolas turned red, sure that he had just been insulted, but unable to prove it. Just as the leading dwarf opened his mouth to reply, an owl like hoot flew through the night. All the native warriors recognized it. Exchanging glances, Legolas quickly jumped up in to the nearest tree, swung up through the branches, and then looked around in the chilly night air. Raising his hands to cup his mouth in the same way Caranthon had done moments before. When he heard the answering call, his expression darkened. Replying quickly, he slithered back down the tree and dropped lightly to the floor beside the Captain.

"We have a problem," he muttered, and then looked at the dwarves, all of whom were staring at him. Shaking his head slightly, he corrected himself.

"Another problem."

...

In a completely different part of the forest, five elves were getting very bored. They were the elves perched on trees overlooking one of the clearings where the traps had been found, as ordered by Culkemen. One of them was lying stretched out on his branch with his chin resting on his arms and a leg dangling in the air, swinging gently. The warrior in the next tree was throwing an acorn up and down in a very bored manner, her legs folded and resting her back against the tree so comfortably that she may as well have been sitting on the ground.

"I hate watch duty," she muttered, letting the acorn drop to the ground. It landed with a small thud and rolled for a little way.

Then a horse put its hoof on it, making a crunch sound as it was crushed against a stone.

Thranduil, riding on his huge war horse, looked around the clearing. He was closely followed by Silnan and twenty other warriors, at least half of whom the elves watching from the trees recognized. They exchanged worried glances as Thranduil spoke, his eyes narrowed as they darted around the clearing.

"When I find them, Silnan, there will be no excuses because there will be no time for excuses!"

He was clearly carrying on part of the conversation which the eavesdropping warriors had not heard.

"Of course, your majesty, but what is it you are planning on doing to them?"

The eyes of the seething monarch narrowed even further, concentrating like a wolf about to pounce on its prey.

"We shall see, Silnan. We shall see. Perhaps locking them in their rooms for a fortnight would not be amiss."

Without any further conversation, the party moved on in to the darkness. As soon as the shadows of the final horse and its rider had vanished, the five guards looked at each other, pale faces standing out from the shadows.

"Oh dear," muttered one. The others nodded.

The one who had been lying half asleep on the knotted branch of the tree raised his hands to his mouth, about to utter a warning call. The elf who had been tossing the acorn up and down grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Narbeleth, are you quite foolish?" she hissed, "If you do that, the king will hear us!"

"Well what do you suggest we do?" he replied angrily, running a hand through his long, dark hair. A third warrior, Dúlain, spoke up.

"I suggest we run." A/N: I'm really sorry this chapter's been so long in the making. I had to wait until I'd got all my exams done and dusted, though, and I've got myself a job in a restaurant recently, so that's been taking up quite a bit of time too. Anyway, it's here now. Squirrel and Celrin are going to be back next chapter.

REVIEW REPLY THINGY

ORODRUIN The last chapter was probably my favourite so far, too. I don't think I like this one so much. The novices were noticing the men watching them, because if you remember, they didn't get that feeling of being watched before they'd got to the thorns. I'll try and get back to doing regular chapters, but I can't promise anything.

NARLILTA FIREDANCE Not really so much of a cliff hanger on this one, I'm afraid, but enough (hopefully) to be eager to read the next bit.

ANDI-BLACK Princes of Mirkwood is getting a bit of a revamp at the moment, so I don't think all the chapters matched up. I really need to get time to do a couple more of its chapters. Thanks for reminding me. Much appreciated.