Dragonfly: Yes, I guess the previous chapter did end with a leeetle bit of a cliffhanger. Mwah hah hah hah.

Jack: When Gandalf finds out what happened to Legolas, he's going to be furious. In an upcoming chapter, look for some cutting comments about Elves who let Orcs creep up on them because (a) they're 'going at it like rabbits' (line stolen from Dragonfly) and (b) they're talking one another's ears off.

Zergy: You thought there was an unexpected twist in the last chapter; wait until you get to the end of this one. Thank you for your additional ideas about how the relationship between Aragorn and Legolas may have played out. I am definitely going to write a story that explores that angle.

Terreis: I really like to see whether I can mingle humor and angst, and I'm glad you think it's been working so far. About your version of Legolas: you couldn't mistreat him anymore than I do in my stories, so you have no reason to apologize!

Legosgurl: Yes, as Jack mentioned in his review, nothing could be more painful than a wound to the belly.

Vicki Turner: Uh oh! You're not going to find out what happens to Legolas until the next chapter. (Reader breaks out into a desperate chorus of 'Don't lea-eave me hannnngin' here!')

Beta Reader: Dragonfly

Chapter 68: The Third Prisoner

As Caranlass and Tathar were dragged and pushed toward the east, they very much wondered why they were still alive and had not been slain out of hand. Orcs were not in the habit of taking prisoners unless they were hard by their own haunts and thus reasonably sure that they could torture their captives without risk of counterattack. These Orcs, however, were plainly in fear of being pursued, for they drove their captives relentlessly. The two Elves suspected that the Orcs must have had some particular reason for seizing them under such chancy circumstances, and this was indeed the case. The Orc who had first spied their shelter—a singularly surly specimen of goblin he would prove to be!—was the leader of the band, and he had been told to be on the lookout for one Elf in particular. As he watched Tathar and Caranlass sitting in the glow of their campfire, he thought he had found the Elf he was seeking. Actually, he thought that he had had the good fortune to stumble upon two Elves who fit the description of the one he sought. 'I'll grab 'em both', he said to himself. 'One of 'em's got ter be the right one, and mebbe I'll earn a little somethin' extry for snatchin' two pointy-ears stead o' jist the one '. And so he'd ordered some of the Orcs under his command to rush the shelter. He had ordered his other Orcs to attack the larger camp in order to forestall any pursuit. Then, taking his captives, he had fled, not waiting to see what happened to the conscripts serving as the rearguard. Whether they lived or died, he cared not, just so long as he got cleanly away with his prisoners. Now, as they loped toward the east, he was congratulating himself on his cleverness.

Not all the Orcs under his command—the surviving Orcs, that is—thought that their commander had managed things as well as he thought he had. One such malcontent, the second in command, had been studying the prisoners as they ran. At last, as they took a brief break, he spoke up.

"Cap'n," he announced, "these in't the right ones."

"Waddya mean, they in't the right ones?" the captain retorted.

"I mean, in't neither of 'em the one wot we's supposed to bring back."

"They is so—leastways, one of 'em is!"

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Idjit," exploded the subaltern, rather unwisely, one might add. "Lookit their hair!"

"I am lookin' at their hair."

"Well, then," said the other Orc triumphantly. "If'n yer lookin' at their hair, ye kin see they in't the right ones."

"I don't see that a'tall!"

"Look," explained the malcontent, fingering his sword. "Their hair is red, not gold. Cain't you tell the difference atween red 'n' gold?"

"When the firelight hit hit just so," argued the captain, "it did look gold. Anyways, their hair surely in't black'r'brown, that's sartain, so there in't many other options. Leastways, their hair'll serve fer gold as well as any other's, I reckon. 'Bring back a golden-haired Elf of noble bearing', that's what the Master said'. And here they is!"

"That's another problem," argued his companion. "He said bring back one Elf wit' golden hair. Well, we hain't got one Elf wit' golden hair. We got two."

"He said 'a'," replied the other. "Now, if you is told to bring back a golden-haired Elf, that don't mean ye cain't bring back two. That's logic, that's wot that is."

"I'll give ye logic," snarled his challenger, tired of debating. He raised his scimitar. The captain, however, as well as being quick-witted (for an Orc), was quick on his feet. Quickly he hacked off the sword arm of the rebel, and then, by way of amusement, lopped off his head as well. Then he glared round at his fellows.

"Anyone else hain't learned their colors?" he snarled.

"That there is brown," replied one promptly, pointing at a tree trunk.

"And that blood there, it's black," said another. It being Orc blood, he was of course correct.

"And that moss," chimed in yet another, "is green."

"'Pears to be blue to me," sneered the captain.

"Blue-green," amended the other Orc. "I meant to say blue-green."

This concession apparently sufficed, and the quarrel was allowed to subside.

Watching the argument and its conclusion, Tathar and Caranlass could console themselves that the number of their enemies had been reduced by one. Yet they could not help but fear that the irascible and impulsive Orcs might turn on them next. And, indeed, they had not been forgotten by their captors. The captain strode over to Tathar and yanked him to his feet. One of his fellows did likewise to Caranlass.

"If ye don' want ter lose yer legs," hissed the captain, "ye'd better use 'em, and use 'em right smart, too."

With that, the captives were thrust back into the middle of the column of Orcs, and they resumed their race toward the east.

The Orcs ran on for a full day, with only brief breaks, before the captain at last decided that it was safe to stop and make camp. As soon as the column came to a halt, the captain ordered that the prisoners be bound hand and foot. That accomplished, the Orcs began to think about food. It soon occurred to them that they had overlooked an opportunity for a feast.

"We left a perfectly good carcass back there," complained one Orc. "Warn't even a bit spoiled. Shoulda at least thought to carry off the haunches, an mebbe a leg'r'two."

His companions grumbled agreement, and another took up the lament.

"We hain't 'ad nothin' but maggoty bread fer three stinkin' days," he snarled in disgust, casting aside a hunk of said item. He looked about, and his eyes fell upon the captives.

"Wot about them?" he asked. "They're fresh. Cain't we eat one o' them?

The other Orcs clamored in support of the idea.

The captain, who was as hungry as any of them, considered the proposal, his face scrunched up with the effort.

"We-ell," he said, "we only need one prisoner, the one that be noble. But wot I wants ter know, is how we kin tell which be the noble one, and which in't? Once we figure that out, we kin eat the one wot in't noble."

"She is noble, and I am not," Tathar said hastily, "for I am only a carpenter whilst she is the niece of Círdan of Mithlond, a great Elf lord. Have you never heard of Círdan of the Grey Havens?"

"No, I hain't," sneered the captain.

"That's because Círdan isn't a great Elf lord," protested Caranlass. "And I am therefore naught but an ordinary Elf. But this other Elf here, he is the protégé of Prince Laiqualässe of Eryn Lasgalen, and he will someday be the Seneschal of that realm. It is he who is the noble one, and he may not be harmed, lest your Master punish you."

"So," growled the captain, "she says he's noble, and he says she's noble. So which of 'em is we to eat?"

"Both of 'em?" said one Orc hopefully.

The captain shook his head regretfully.

"No, the safest course is to eat neither of 'em—leastways not until the Master gives us leave. Let 'im decide which one he wants ter keep—doubtless he'll let us dine on t'other."

"But I'm hungry now," whined a goblin.

The captain rolled his eyes, gave an exaggerated sigh, and lopped of the head off the whining Orc.

"There now," he said triumphantly. "Now yer not hungry—and the rest of us hain't gonna be hungry no more neither."

Caranlass and Tathar squeezed their eyes shut as the surviving Orcs completed the dismemberment of the decapitated one. After a moment, though, Tathar realized that this might be their chance. He wriggled about until he and Caranlass were pressed back to back.

"What are you doing?" whispered Caranlass.

"Look how distracted they are," Tathar whispered in reply, fumbling at Caranlass' bonds with his numb fingers. "They won't notice that I'm freeing you."

"And then I shall untie you, and we shall be off before they have finished dining!"

"No," replied Tathar. "You'll be off. I must remain here. They'll be less likely to pursue you if I do."

"Tathar! I can't leave you!"

"You can, and you must," Tathar said firmly. "I won't be in any danger, for the Orcs are anxious to bring a golden-haired Elf to their master. They couldn't very well do away with me without forfeiting their reward and risking his wrath."

"You won't be in any immediate danger," argued Caranlass. "But when they bring you before their master, he may be a better judge of hair color than the Orcs were. As soon as he realizes you are not the Elf he sought, he will have you slain or, worse, hand you over to the Orcs for their entertainment."

"But before they can bring me before their master, I will be rescued—and by your agency. The leader of these goblins may not know his colors, but he's been clever enough to make sure that the Orcs have kept to the rockiest soils they could find, so as to leave the fewest traces and frustrate pursuers. Our companions shall need your guidance in order to track me."

"Not so!" retorted Caranlass. "Gilglîr is an excellent tracker, and Legolas is even better."

"You are assuming that they were able to follow us straightaway. It was a large band that attacked our camp. Our friends may have troubles of their own."

"In which case," Caranlass replied promptly, "they may be incapable of rescuing us at all. If that is so, I would rather die by your side than flee to safety without my spouse."

"You cannot! Then our baby would perish as well! Look you, Caranlass, no matter what happens to me, I will live on if you carry him to safety."

"Our baby?"

"Have you not felt him?" said Tathar wonderingly. "Caranlass, your hands are free now. Place them upon your belly. Do you not feel anything?"

Caranlass did as she was bidden, and a look of amazement came upon her face.

"A baby!" she gasped.

"I felt him last night as I stroked your belly whilst we gazed up at the stars. That shall be his name, I think, Gilgalad—Starlight."

"I did not feel him!"

"No doubt because you were stroking my, my, um, you were stroking me," Tathar finished lamely.

"Well," said Caranlass sadly, not noticing his confusion, "I must do as you say. And it is clear that the Orcs will indeed retain the noble Elf as their prisoner."

"Perhaps, but surely not the one they wanted."

"How do you mean?"

"Certainly it was Legolas they were after. But never mind that. Untie your ankles and run for it! Send back help if you can, but if you cannot, honor me by being the mother of my son."

Her fingers trembled, but Caranlass loosed the cords round her feet. She gave Tathar one last kiss and then, her legs too numb for her to stand, she crawled with determination toward the bushes. Within a few minutes, she had reached their shelter. She looked back at Tathar, her face streaked with tears, and then she slipped away into the safety of the scrub.