In the Twilight

Elladan stood frozen for an endless moment before he ran forward, vaguely aware that a rush of men ran with him. It took a crowd of them lined up on both sides to shift the dead troll off Canohando. The Orc lay face-down, half crushed into the soft, muddy ground, still gripping the bloody knife.

"Raise him – gently, now!" Elladan rasped. He cleared his throat, trying to get control of his voice. It was inconceivable that he should grieve over an Orc, but an iron fist seemed to be clenched around his heart. And then he realized that some of the soldiers prying Canohando out of the mud had tears on their faces, and he was ashamed. The Orc had won the respect of the Queen's Company, Elladan knew that already, but he had not known that Canohando was loved.

They turned him over, and two men brought up a litter hastily fashioned of hewn saplings and someone's cloak. One man squatted next to the Orc, scraping mud from the battered face with his hand and folding the limp arms across the chest before they lifted him. There was a low moan, and Canohando's knife hand came up, striking feebly. The soldier jumped back, laughing even as he clutched a shallow, bleeding cut on his arm.

"He's alive! Elendil's beard, no wonder we were hard pressed in war against these creatures: you cannot kill them!" But the man's voice was a paean of joy, and Elladan pushed past and fell on his knees beside Canohando, feeling his pulse and pushing up an eyelid, all the while keeping one hand on the Orc's wrist, lest the knife strike again.

"Even swooning he will not surrender! Easy, Queen's Shadow: the battle is done. We are all friends here." Elladan motioned to the men closest to hand, and together they stripped Canohando of his heavy leather corselet, wrapping him in his cloak and easing him onto the litter.

"Back along the road a few miles," Elladan ordered. "We must make camp and see to the wounded before nightfall." And bury the dead, he thought but did not say. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that, and for burning the carcasses of the trolls.

Before darkness fell the campfires were burning and the cooks were making the evening meal. The men who had been wounded were gathered in a couple of tents and medics bustled about, caring for them. Those men who had no other duty lounged about the outer perimeter of the camp, staring uneasily into the forest shadows; the usual contingent of guards had been posted, but in truth the whole camp was on guard tonight, wary and on edge.

Canohando had been carried into his own tent, and Elladan worked over him there, binding broken ribs and calling for splints to set a broken leg. The orc had not moved again, but he groaned deep in his throat when the leg was set, and Elladan had soldiers holding him down as a precaution.

"I would we had Elrohir with us," the Elf-lord muttered. "He took more of healing lore from our father than I did. One of you men, have scouting parties sent out and make sure there are no other enemies in the vicinity. If we are secure here, we must send someone to bring back the Queen and her escort."

It was long before the camp settled to sleep, and even then there were many who were not on night watch, who yet kept vigil with those who were. No more enemies disturbed them, however, and the Queen returned soon after sunrise, tired and wan after a night out in the open, but unhurt. The messenger had given her an account of the battle and Canohando's single-handed slaying the troll, and she hurried into his tent as soon as she dismounted. Elladan was there, sponging the orc with athelas water, and he got up to embrace her.

"You are unharmed?" he asked, subjecting her to careful scrutiny.

"Of course; I was out of danger and the escort took every care of me. How is your patient?" Canohando lay on a low cot with his eyes closed, as still as death. Arwen drew up a campstool to sit beside him.

Elladan sighed. "I have attended to the wounds I could find, and they were many. But I fear what I cannot see; his breath is shallow, whether because of the broken ribs or some other injury deep within, and I do not know why he continues insensible. Now indeed we miss Elrond, and the King also, with his hands of healing."

"He has not wakened at all?"

"No. I don't understand how he survived, crushed under the troll as he was; lucky that the ground was soft, or he had surely died! But I am not certain we can save him, even so."

Arwen looked up sharply. "Brother, we must! Nay, do not shake your head at me; we must save him. There is more for him to do than slay a troll in my defense; it is not for nothing that he came to Gondor. At the least he must reach Lothlorien; he is called there, I am certain of it!"

"Ssh, Arwen, calm yourself. We are a few days from Lorien, no more than that, and it may be there is still healing there, even in these days of fading. We will try if we can bring the Orc there alive. Have you eaten yet today? Sit with him while I get something for you, and talk to him a little. He may respond to your voice; I would be easier about him if he came out of this swoon."

He kissed the top of her head and went out, and Arwen bent her attention on the Orc.

"Canohando! Wake, dear one, it is morning. You have slain your enemy and kept your promise; open your eyes, now, and let me thank you. Canohando, wake up!"

She took his hand in both of hers, chafing his wrist and calling him, and his eyelids flickered, opened a slit and shut again. He moved restlessly, his hand closing on hers, and muttered something incomprehensible.

"That's right, dearest, wake. What did you say? I could not hear you."

"I got you out." The Orc's voice was slurred, but loud enough to be heard. "I won't let him kill you."

"No, you didn't," she said, smiling. "You killed him instead." But Canohando frowned, pulling his hand away and struggling to sit up before he fell back again on the pillow.

"No! I will not kill him! He is my right hand, and Lash is my left…" The Orc thrashed about weakly, trying to rise. "I got you out, runt," he said again, and was still.

Elladan came in followed by a soldier with a folding camp table bearing a covered bowl and a pewter tankard; this he set by Arwen, and bowed, backing out of the tent.

"Some of last night's stew, and a mug of ale. Rough fare, but strengthening," Elladan said. "Has the patient wakened?"

"He spoke, but I don't believe he knew who I was. His mind wanders."

"That he spoke at all is a good sign. Eat, Arwen, and then you must rest; you look exhausted."

"No!" She shook her head decidedly. "We must press on to Lorien; we cannot care for him properly here in the wild, and it will be slow going carrying him in a litter."

Elladan could not dissuade her; she would take no time to recoup her own strength, but they must go on at once, to reach Lothlorien as soon as might be.

"Why would you stop here?" she demanded at last. "Where there was one lair of enemies there may be more – were there no other reason to hasten away from this place, that would be enough. I pray you, Brother, have them break camp and make ready, for I could not rest here if you housed me in a stone fortress. Let us go!"

He could not withstand her. His second-in-command had called out burial parties as soon as it was light; by mid-morning the dead had been buried with what dignity they could manage in haste, in the wild, and the Company was on the march once more.

They went slowly, carrying their fallen Commander while Arwen walked her horse beside the litter. She spoke to him from time to time, and she thought he heard her; he moved a hand sometimes, or turned his head as if he listened. But when they stopped for a rest in early afternoon, the Orc had not awakened. They sponged him with athelas water and dribbled a little of it into his mouth, stroking his throat to make him swallow, but he did not open his eyes.

They had passed by the dead trolls without stopping.

"It would take most of the day to bury them," said Elladan, "and we might set the forest aflame if we tried to burn the carcasses. There is no one living nearby, and no one beside ourselves is likely to travel this road. Let the scavengers have them; by the time anyone comes this way again, there will be nothing left."

Arwen nodded without answering.

After four days they came to the edge of the Golden Wood. The great mallorns stood out from the lesser trees through which they had been traveling, tall and stately with silver bark, smooth and fair. But although the trees were beginning to leaf out, the leaves seemed too few and far apart for such giants of the forest, and they hung limp. When once the travelers had passed under the eaves of the forest, the air around them was hushed; the ordinary woods outside had been alive with the song and fluttering of birds, these spring mornings, but under the mallorns sound was muted, as if even the birds sang in whispers.

It was evening before they saw any hint that someone still lived here. There was a little house tucked in against one of the tree trunks, not a sylvan mansion such as the Elves of Lorien had been wont to build in Galadriel's day, but a tiny hut roofed with slabs of silver-grey bark. It had no windows, only a solid wooden door, shut tight.

At a nod from Elladan, one of the soldiers went and knocked on the door. They waited, but there was no answer, though he knocked a second time and a third, harder and more peremptory.

"There is no one here," said Arwen at last, "but I would have our patient under shelter all the same. Have them open it, Brother."

The door resisted their attempts, but the men were persistent and it yielded at last. But even as it swung wide, an arrow flew out of the dark interior, grazing the arm of the man who stood nearest the opening, and he jumped back with an oath.

The Queen rode forward, slipping past Elladan's hand stretched out to warn her back, bringing her horse to a halt close by the house, but off to one side, out of range.

"Cease this madness!" she commanded, her voice clear and hard as silver mithril. "Arwen Undomiel am I, and this hut is Elf-built or never the Two Trees grew in Valinor! Lay down your bow and come out!"

But the foe who emerged from the hut filled them all with amazement. She was Elven, by her pointed ears and delicacy of feature, but never was Elf so shrunken and raffish-looking. Thin, almost starveling she appeared, and her hair was pale nearly to whiteness, hanging half over her cheeks and trailing lank and uncombed to her waist. But as she looked up at Arwen, her hair fell back, and her face seemed at first a vision of loveliness, until she turned her head a little and they saw her left cheek. It was a mass of scars, from the corner of her mouth to just under her eye, the flesh puckered and red as if she had fallen in the fire.

"What does Arwen Undomiel seek in Lothlorien?" she asked, and her voice surprised them again; it was deep and vibrant, all out of keeping with her waif-like appearance. "There is no one here any longer, to wait upon a Queen."

Her tone held neither courtesy nor welcome, and her eyes were hard as she glanced around at the mounted men who filled her dooryard. "I cannot offer you hospitality, Queen of Gondor. My home is tiny, as you see, and my larder is bare."

Arwen heard her with astonishment plain on her face; then she slid from her horse and sank down on a rough wooden bench that stood by the door. Sitting, she could meet this ragamuffin child eye to eye.

"Why do you not open the door, at least, when someone knocks? And why greet us with arrows?"

The girl lifted her chin defiantly. "I do not want visitors, and it is the action of an enemy to break open a locked door. There is no army of Elves guarding Lorien anymore, Arwen Undomiel. We protect ourselves, the few of us who remain."

"So there are others? Where are they? I have a wounded soldier here; I seek shelter for him, and a healer."

The waif dropped her eyes, seeming to consider. "I am Malawen," she said at last. "I am a healer, the only one left. You must have medics with you, so many men all armed for war; why do you seek other help? What ails your wounded man?"

Arwen reached out as if she would take the girl's hand, but Malawen stepped quickly out of reach. "Show him to me," she demanded.

But when they led her to where Canohando lay insensible on his litter, she gazed down at him in disbelief. "An Orc," she whispered. Then her voice rose, startling in its shrillness. "You have brought an Orc into Lothlorien, and you ask me to tend to him! Oh, I will heal him for you, Queen of Gondor – see, here is the best medicine for Orcs!"

Elladan had quick reflexes, or it had been the end of Canohando. The Prince caught Malawen even as she struck, disarming her of the knife that had appeared suddenly in her hand and restraining her as she fought to free herself.

"Stand still, you fool!" he shouted over her screams, hugging her arms tight against her body. "If you kill that Orc, the Queen herself will not be able to save you from the rage of his men. He is Commander of this Company, and he fell defending Her Majesty."

Malawen went rigid, staring silently from Elladan to Canohando.

"I will not ask you to heal him, child, only to leave him alone." Arwen sounded weary. "I little thought to find such malice in Lorien, when I fled homeward in my grief. Elladan, we cannot stay here. Let us seek out Galadriel's house and hope it is in fit state to shelter us."

"It is fit to live in, Lady," Malawen said in a small voice. "They keep it clean and in repair, though no one lives there now."

"Good. Then we will trouble you no more." Arwen mounted her horse again, but with an effort; all at once she seemed older, and very tired. "Come, you men, bring your Commander. Let us go."

The Company began to move, surrounding her and Canohando, but Elladan waited until the Orc was several yards away before he released Malawen. She stood staring after the Company as the Elf-lord mounted and spurred to catch up with his sister.

"Lady," she called, "don't go. You may stay in my house, Arwen Undomiel – I will not harm your Orc!" But the rear guard of the Company rode past as if they did not see her, and she could not tell if the Queen had heard her offer. They rode away, guarding the Orc as if he had been Gil-galad himself, fallen in battle, and Malawen retreated into her tiny house and shut the door. She could not lock it; the Men had broken the bolt and she would have to make a new one.

She was glad they had gone, although Galadriel's house was still too near. She would rather they went west to Rivendell. She would rather they had never come to the Golden Wood. She unstrung her bow and hung it up, feeling her way around the hut without striking a light. Darkness was her refuge; in it she felt sheltered, cradled, safe from harm. In the dark no one could stare at her ruined face or see how stunted and ill-grown she was. In darkness and solitude there was comfort.

She seldom went out by day, although she wandered far afield after sunset, seeking food and watching the creatures of the night. She saw the owls fall soundlessly on their prey, and she had her own prey - rabbits that she took with snares, and ground-nesting birds. But she killed only what she needed to stay alive, so little that she was always somewhat hungry. She did not like killing; she would rather dance under the stars, singing to herself as she leaped and darted among the silver tree trunks, dancing as she had danced long ago in the years of her innocence, when her face was unmarred and her spirit undarkened.

She was not a child, though the Queen had named her so. She had been half-grown in the days of War, when Orcs flooded down from the mountain passes and surrounded the Golden Wood, when Galadriel and Celeborn had held the evil back, Elf arrows singing defiance against the filthy horde. Lorien had not fallen, but there had been casualties, and Malawen was one of them. Orcs had broken through here and there, burning and slaughtering. She had been an object of the Orcs' cruel play, and she had seen her mother die on an Orkish spear.

She had been rescued, she had lived, and in time her wounds had healed, the burns on her face had subsided to angry scars. But she had stopped growing, and when she reached maturity she was tiny, hardly taller than a Dwarf. She had seen a Dwarf once. One of that race had visited Lorien in company with two warriors of Men and some sad-faced children. She had been fascinated by the Dwarf, and laughed to see that he was no taller than herself, child though she was. But soon after that the War had come, and the Orcs, and she had never gotten any taller.

Now once again there was an Orc in Lorien, and her whole heart rose up in rebellion. What right has Arwen Undomiel! She left here long ago, she went away to Rivendell and Gondor, to wed the King. She was not here when the enemy came, she did not suffer – but she makes an Orc commander of her soldiers, and brings him to Lothlorien!

When night fell Malawen went outside. Without thought or purpose, she flitted through the darkness in the direction the Company had taken, drawn like a moth to the Queen of Gondor and, had she but known it, to the grey-skinned Orc who had lain so quietly on his litter, surrounded by those who loved and protected him.

"She is as quick with a knife as he is himself," said Arwen. "A pity she has such hatred for his kind, for I think they have much in common – of course, he is more gentle!"

Elladan chuckled. "And more courteous." Then he added more soberly, "Lothlorien has fallen on evil days indeed, if she is an example of its children."

They were in the dressing room off Galadriel's old bedchamber, which they had turned into a sickroom for their patient. Arwen had been dripping rich meat broth between the Orc's lips, waiting patiently for him to swallow each mouthful.

"Does he look any better to you?" she asked. "He seems..."

Elladan leaned over Canohando, inspecting him carefully. "His color is better, and I think he is breathing easier. It must have been hard on him, even unconscious, being jogged along on that litter." He touched the back of his hand to the Orc's forehead. "No fever. He may yet recover, and if he does it will be thanks to your faithful nursing. You look worn out Arwen; will you not go to bed and leave him to my care?"

She stifled a yawn. "You need not ask me twice," she said, getting up stiffly and going to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you, Elladan. Always you have been the kindest of brothers to me, and now most of all."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "You are the dearest of sisters, Undomiel. Good night."

She went away to sleep in Galadriel's old bed, carried back in dreams to her girlhood in this house, halcyon days before ever she fell in love with mortal Man and saw the choice of Luthien before her. And Elladan sponged his patient down with athelas water and dribbled a little wine into his mouth, before he sat down wearily to drink a glass of wine himself and fall asleep in his chair while he kept vigil.

Malawen crept into the house hours later. The place was familiar to her, although she had never been inside it while Galadriel dwelt here. But since the land emptied, the solitary girl had spent many nights wandering from room to room, imagining what it must have been like when the house was filled with light and tall Elves glided up and down the long staircase, carrying out the commands of their Lord and Lady. Now she went into Arwen's bedchamber without hesitation, standing for a long time in the moonlight watching the Queen as she slept. Then she turned to the little side room, but she paused when she saw Elladan sitting by the Orc's bed.

The Elf-lord was asleep, but she could still feel his grip on her arms earlier that day, and she was afraid of him. From the doorway she watched him warily, and then she looked at the Orc and stepped back in sudden alarm. His eyes were open, and at her movement they focused and she realized that he saw her. He made no sound but gazed intently into her eyes as if he wondered who she was. She stood frozen, confused, looking back at him until at last he sighed and closed his eyes. Then she slipped away, back to her own little hut, and sat down to make a new bolt for her door.

In the days that followed, Arwen seldom left Canohando's side, and Elladan marveled at her tenderness. She felt her debt to the Orc, of course; he had vowed his life to her protection, and very nearly he had lost it in her defense. All the same, Elladan found it strange to see his sister sitting hour after hour by Canohando's bed, singing lullabies to him as if he had been a child and telling him little stories of her life with Elessar, laughing through tears sometimes, recalling the days of her happiness for the hearing of a grey-skinned Orc who lay silent and unresponsive before her.

But Canohando was not so deeply unconscious now. When Arwen went away to sleep, or at her brother's insistence to walk for an hour in the sunshine, the Orc was restless and difficult to manage, muttering in his own harsh tongue and turning his head away when Elladan tried to drip liquids into his mouth.

Yarga lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes probing Canohando's face. I took the blow for you. Would you have taken it for me? He was beyond speech now, but the question was so plain in his eyes that Canohando answered aloud. "I would have, brother. I swear it, I would have!"

The Orc thrashed on the bed, knocking a cup of herb-laced wine out of Elladan's hand. The Elf-lord sighed in exasperation, picking it up and going to refill it. No doubt it was a good sign that Canohando could move with such energy, but in truth Elladan was tiring of the physician's role. A pity that ill-favored girl was too hostile to be of any use; she had named herself a healer.

Yarga tugged feebly at his drum; it was still attached to his belt, miraculously untouched by the axe-stroke that had cut him down. Canohando unhooked it as carefully as he could, to cause no greater pain, and Yarga mouthed, "Play..."

"I will make a song for you," Canohando said, before he remembered that he had never made one. But Yarga's lips pulled back in a grim parody of a smile, so Canohando beat out a simple rhythm. Then another spasm of agony contorted Yarga's face, and Canohando dropped the drum and slid his arm under the other Orc's shoulders. Yarga turned his face against Canohando's chest, and Canohando put both arms around his friend -- never had an Orc met death in such a way, cradled in the arms of a comrade who wept at his passing. Yarga convulsed and went rigid for a moment; then he was limp in Canohando's arms...

Canohando rolled over suddenly, falling on the floor with a crash. Elladan jumped back, the cup he had just refilled sloshing out its contents over his hand. He set it down, going to lift the Orc back on the bed, and Canohando looked up at him.

"Queen's Brother..."

"Yes, I am here. Welcome back, Canohando." Elladan knew he was grinning like a sailor on shore leave, but it didn't seem important. "Welcome to Lothlorien."

The Orc's eyes widened and he glanced around the room, the dome of the ceiling blue like the sky, upheld at each corner by posts carved to resemble the trunks of mallorns. The windows were high in the walls, and sunlight slanted down in long rays to lie across the floor and the bed.

"The Lady?" he asked.

"She is walking in the garden; I sent her out for some fresh air. She has been sitting with you, Orc, every moment I would allow her."

"I remember..." Canohando began, but no, that had not been the Queen. He remembered a white little face with haunted eyes, staring at him from the dark. He shook his head, bewildered; he could not recall ever seeing that face in waking life.

"I must send word that you are better." Elladan opened the door and the soldier outside sprang to attention; there was always one of the Company out there waiting for news of their Commander. The man's face broke into a great smile when Elladan told him, and the Elf-lord let him step in the room for a moment, to see Canohando for himself and hear his murmured greeting. Then the man hastened away to spread the glad tidings.

A few days later the Orc was so much recovered that they carried him outside to sit in the sunshine, his splinted leg propped up before him and Arwen settled nearby.

"A month, at least, before you can put weight on that," Elladan told him, and Canohando grimaced.

"Get him some crutches -- it is better if he begins to move about," a husky voice said from the shadows under one of the mallorns. They looked over, startled, and Elladan moved quickly to shield Canohando with his body, but the Orc leaned forward to see around him.

It was the same face, the little pointed chin and enormous dark eyes, and it belonged to a slip of a child with waist-length hair nearly as pale as her face. "Come here," Canohando said, and when she hesitated, "Don't be afraid; I will not bite."

Her eyes went to Elladan. "May I? I will not hurt him," she said, and Canohando lowered his brows for a moment before he laughed.

"No, youngling, I do not think you will hurt me! Stand back, Queen's Brother; she is afraid of you."

"She has cause to be," Elladan said. "Watch her knife hand; you would never have wakened if she had been a little quicker." But he went to the girl and slid her weapon out of its sheath, before he nodded for her to approach Canohando.

"So you thought I was food for your blade?" Canohando regarded her curiously. No need to ask why; he was an Orc and that was reason enough. "I had thought Elves waited until the enemy woke up."

"That is customary," Arwen said dryly. "Malawen's education must have been somewhat neglected."

The girl ignored the Queen, but her eyes bored into Canohando. Slowly she lifted the hair away from her face and turned her ruined cheek for him to see. He grew very still, his hand moving involuntarily to the jewel at his throat, his fingers closing tight around it.

He had only to see the scar to know what had happened to her: the stick of wood pulled from the fire, glowing red at one end, and pressed against the face of a captive held spread-eagled in the midst of a mob of howling Orcs. And that was only the beginning...

"You were rescued," he said. "It would have been your other cheek next, and your eyes..." It would have been more than that, and his voice failed.

Arwen drew in breath sharply, and Canohando nodded. "I have seen this game," he said. "No, Elfling," he added for Malawen's benefit, "it was never my hand that held the branch! But I have seen it done, and I am sorry they used you so, my brother Orcs…"

He turned his head away and shut his eyes. They were my brothers, whatever has come to me since then, he thought. I never held the brand, but I have watched that game, and laughed to hear the screams… He felt sick, wishing he had not wakened to see this child's ravaged face, wishing he need never have wakened to know himself an Orc, and brother to such savagery.

But as the days passed, again and again he saw Malawen lurking nearby. One of the medics in the Company had found crutches for him, and he swung himself along the neglected garden paths and through the downstairs rooms inside, building up muscles that had wasted while he lay a-bed. And not infrequently he would catch a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye, watching him from behind a tree, or just outside a window.

Her presence unnerved him, filled him with guilt. In her face he saw every act of torture he had ever witnessed and taken pleasure in, all the long years before the fall of Mordor. He had left that behind him, and never allowed his memory to range back further than his meeting with Yarga and Lash, when they found him nearly dead and saved his life, after the War. But the sight of Malawen brought the other memories to the front of his mind, and he could not banish them again.

We are monsters, I and all my kind, he thought in despair, and while his body grew daily stronger, his spirit faltered. But when he thought he could not bear it longer, the memory of Ninefingers came back to him, Frodo hanging a white jewel around his neck, and he steadied.

Arwen came down seldom from her upper chamber, and Canohando could not manage the stairs with his broken leg. Elladan slept in the little dressing room, taking the Orc's place to guard the Queen's door, and Canohando would have spread his pallet at the foot of the great stairs if the Elf-lord had not intervened.

"You have a Company of men at your call, Commander. Dispose them however you will to guard Her Majesty, but you must sleep in a bed and take your rest, or all her care for you is undone."

"I am her Shadow..."

"When she comes downstairs you shall shadow her, or when your leg is healed. She is worn out from nursing you, Canohando; do not let it be for nothing!"

So Canohando gathered his men and assigned guard duty, day and night, and sent out hunting parties as well, for the supplies the Company carried with them were running low and there were but little stores of food in the abandoned dwellings of Lorien.

A few Elves had come to the house, when the rumor spread that Arwen Undomiel had returned. There were not many still living in the land, but two or three of them came with their wives, and they put Galadriel's house in what order they could for Arwen, waiting on her and caring for her as best they might.

And Canohando's men looked after him. The medics who had not known what to do for him when he lay unconscious, were yet skilled enough to change his bandages and show him how to flex and exercise his leg, to bring its strength back. The sergeants came to him for orders, the mess cooks saved the meatiest bones for him, and of their own accord the men took it in turns to guard his door at night.

"What is this?" he demanded in astonishment one night when, unable to sleep, he left his room to walk outside in the moonlight.

There were three men on duty, and they sprang to their feet in chagrin.

"Sorry, Commander! It's a very sloppy guard, that's what it is, but seeing no one ordered it and it's unofficial-like... But we keep awake, never you fear, however slovenly we look."

He regarded them ironically. "What are you guarding me from?" he asked, but they would not meet his eyes and seemed reluctant to answer.

Finally the man who had spoken first said, "There – was an attack on you, while you were unconscious, Commander."

"The little Elf with the scarred face?" he asked, and the man nodded.

"She was like a wild thing when Lady Arwen asked her to help care for you. She does not know you, Commander – you are not like other Orcs."

Canohando sighed, looking across the foyer at the moonlit garden framed a by row of graceful arches. He knew how weedy and overgrown it was, not like the perfectly tended green spaces of Minas Tirith, but in the soft light it was luminous, enchanting.

"We will follow you, if you want to go out, Commander," said the soldier, but Canohando shook his head, laying his hand for a moment on the man's shoulder.

"Thank you. Do not frighten the child, if you see her. I am awake now."

He went back inside his room, leaning his crutches against the wall and sitting down on the wide windowsill to look out. They forgot about the window, he thought, and realized he should go back and remind them; it was sloppy guard work indeed, to set three men at the door and neglect to secure the window!

He leaned back against the cold stones, craning his neck to see the moon through the trees. He didn't want a soldier standing outside his window, and he was not afraid of the Elf-child.

I am no longer what I was, he thought. This little one carries more darkness inside than I do, anymore. I know what battle you fight, Elfling...