Author's Note: This chapter is a bit dense, I think, and more than a bit wordy, but incredibly important, so stick with it! First impressions are everything, no? Also, the italicized text (the "language of the Harad") is actually transliterated Arabic (Modern Standard, in case you were wondering). If there are any Arabic speakers out there, ahlan wa sahlan! Enjoy!

Chapter Five: Reconnaissance and Revelation

Legolas strode along with as much confidence as he could muster, given the two men that flanked him and held his arms forcefully on either side. Though he could not make out their language, it was clear to Legolas that the sentries were taking him to some sort of leader, for they hustled along the corridors of the great stone building with a sense of inflated importance and a jaunty swagger.

Not wanting to forget the reason he had been sent, Legolas was keen to make mental notes about the civilization, and was keeping a sharp eye out for Morensar. Legolas was not one to read into feelings too much, but, despite logic trying to overrule emotion, he felt something within these halls. Someone within these halls. Something was out of place, the way the guards talked, moved, even breathed with such urgency, as if they were being commanded to fulfill some mysterious end.

Or maybe he was overreacting. Maybe the fear that was threatening to inch its way into his body was actually succeeding in its purpose. In these situations Legolas had found it easiest to ratchet up his confidence and arrogance to cover the fear of the unknown. He was in control. So he tried to remain unimpressed by the Haradrim, though he was infinitely glad they were not "warlike" enough to kill him when he first set foot in their realm.

However, as the sentries brought Legolas deeper into the palace, he had a chance to truly appreciate what was around him, and it was hard to remain so haughtily unappreciative. He had seen the coarse, rough clothing of the sentries and taken it to mean that the entire country would be simple and unrefined, cloaked in dark colors that were not given to flattery. Yet taking a second glance at their uniforms he noticed small details that he had not seen before: jewels woven into the fabric, swatches of silk tied at their waists, silver bands around their wrists. The floor of the hallway he walked along was beautifully inlaid with azure stones, and the walls of the building were covered with decorative symbols and colorful tiles. Also, perhaps wanting to do homage to the ever-present desert sun, the architects of the palace had placed windows at great heights throughout the building, giving the corridors an intangible glow. Watching the shafts of light fall from their magnificent heights, Legolas was reminded of home. The palace of Mirkwood was certainly darker than this place of inescapable sun. And yet the two shared a certain austerity; an indefinable sense of pride and importance. Legolas felt a brief moment of longing pass through him as he thought of home, of his friends, of his father. But if these men of the Harad could build their palaces with the same theme as those of his own realm, then perhaps they would not be as cruel as he imagined…

Suddenly the glow in the hallway was magnified a hundred fold as the guards ushered Legolas into a large hall, which he surmised was the throne room. Enormous windows had been hewn out of the stone and covered with a semi-translucent glass. It looked as if some of the windows were in the process of being restored, as bits of stained glass had begun to creep in around the hall. Legolas could not help but be amazed by the colors and intricate glasswork. The windows cast small pools of light—ruby, emerald, violet—which fell lazily on the stone floor. Next to the completed windows billowing drapes sewn from a rich purple fabric hung easily, though they must have been twenty-five feet high. Their hems floated just above the ground and they seemed to be filled with the same effervescent elegance that graced the rest of the palace.

The entire room was draped in this opulence. A matching purple carpet stretched up to a dais where two magnificent oak thrones perched, gleaming and glinting with a newly-polished sheen in the morning sun. The wall behind the dais was stark white and devoid of any artwork save for a great mural in the center, behind the thrones. The white was overwhelming, catching the sun and magnifying the size of the room. Fair-eyed Legolas had to squint ever-so-slightly at the vast power of it. Two giant columns stood on each side of the throne's dais giving the mural a natural frame, and Legolas' eye caught a glint of gold from the tops of each pillar.

How were the Haradrim so rich? Their opulence was not showy, but rather refined, equal to that of any Elven kingdom, yet displayed in a different way—a way that relied less on nature and more on color and fabric. Their taste seemed even more refined than many of the men in the land of Arda—at least now that citadels like Minas Tirith had lost the power and the beauty of their olden days. How had such a jewel as the Harad been overlooked for so long?

Well, of course it had not always been so overlooked. Legolas remembered reading of the time long ago when the men of Gondor had tried to wrest control of the Harad and the havens of Umbar, succeeding briefly, but never able to hold on permanently; the region slipping through their hands much like its sand through their fingers. But hadn't there been some other disturbance in this region more recently? Legolas strained to remember. Roughly twenty years ago he had heard tell of some skirmish between a man called Thorongil and the Corsairs of Umbar. But now, standing in this magnificent room, he wondered if the dread pirates of Umbar could be in any way connected to this exotically beautiful place. In fact, Legolas marveled at how little he knew—were the Corsairs even a part of the realm of Harad? He smiled inwardly of the massive need for this reconnaissance mission. The notions of the people of the north about the lands of the south were sadly outdated and incomplete. Thankfully Mithrandir had had enough foresight to consider this, and so here Legolas was. Perhaps, given the vast amount of information he needed to collect, arrogance was not the best means by which to carry himself.

While Legolas was pondering these matters, a perfectly concealed door opened in the center of the mural and a dozen people walked in. Legolas watched their entrance from his place on the opposite side of the room, and was again impressed by the elegance of it all. The first two to enter were clearly the King and Queen, both clothed in beautiful silks and sheer fabrics. The King wore an outfit made entirely of the same deep purple as the drapes, save for a white silk sash tied about his waist. His skin was a burnished bronze, tanned by generations of exposure to sun. His hair was dark but regally flecked with gray around his temples, and his beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. Even from his vantage point many feet away, Legolas could tell that this was a hard-working man. He did not look more than forty or fifty years of age, yet he carried himself with the dignified air of a long-standing, respected ruler.

He ascended the three steps of the dais up to the throne then turned and extended his hand to his wife, who serenely strode up beside him. She, too, was a picture of composure and regality, clothed in a sheer white linen dress with purple accents. Her skin was fairer than her husband's, yet still darker than Legolas' own. Her hair was jet black, and it fell down in soft curls past her shoulders. Around her next she wore a stunning silver necklace inlaid with the largest pieces of jade Legolas had ever beheld. Where had these stones come from? How could these people, regarded for so long as heathens, be draped in such beautiful luxury?

As soon as the royal couple was seated, nine of the other people emerged from the shadows of the columns. Four men and four women, all dressed in white, climbed the steps and took their places behind the monarchs. The ninth person, a herald of some sort, walked around the dais and strode down the carpet to where Legolas stood with his guards.

Legolas remained still, though he could not help but notice even the herald's tunic was cut of a fine fabric. Legolas glanced down at his own traveling tunic, smudged with the dust of a hard journey and rumpled slightly. If he could ever feel embarrassment, now would be the time, but it was not in his character. And it seemed thus far that the inhabitants of the palace were more interested in who he was rather than what he was wearing, although perhaps the same couldn't be said of Legolas' attitude towards them.

The herald approached Legolas and his guards. In a proud, booming voice, he began to speak in the strange tongue, and Legolas recognized it as the one he had heard the sentries speaking, though it seemed that the herald's accent had an air of formality and pomp to it. The herald was speaking directly to Legolas, so the Elf assumed he was inquiring about his knowledge of the language—which was, of course, zero.

"Ijnebbi, enta fii Mezer al-an. Enta imaam al-malik As-Salahn waa al-malika Al-Mezria, alhamdu lillah. Hal enta tafhamu kelimaati?" The herald finished the question and waited for the answer that surely would not come. Legolas remembered his fear that no one in this region would be able to communicate with him—after all, how likely was it that the Common Speech had traveled this far south? And yet, if Morensar was in this land…

The herald must have realized after a few moments that Legolas could not understand him and he gave a haughty smile. He opened his big, bearded mouth again, and Legolas felt the overwhelming sensation of relief as the herald spoke in Common—rough, heavily accented Common, but understandable nonetheless. Legolas smiled inwardly and had the briefest thought flicker across his mind: perhaps he should feign no knowledge of Common either, speak only Sindarin. Or Quenya, even better. That would surely draw out Morensar. Yet it was too much of a gamble, though leading the people into thinking he did not speak Common would be an effective and deliciously fun way to learn more about them in their natural state—when they were not trying to impress a foreign diplomat. But this was not the time for subterfuge and artifice.

"Foreigner, you stand in front of the great King As-Salahn, and his Queen, Al-Mezria, long may they reign. Sir, you have crossed far south of the boundaries of the world of the Men of Gondor. You are now in Mezer—the Harad as you and your peoples call it. What have you to say for yourself?"

Legolas bowed his head ever so slightly, just to let the King know he came in respect. In his most prestigious Common he spoke slowly: "Thank you, good King and my Lady Queen, for welcoming me peacefully thus far to your land. I am not one of the world of Men, however, and though I have crossed the River Harnen, I do not believe I have yet overstepped my boundaries." The herald raised an eyebrow and turned to the King with a questioning look, but the King merely raised a serene hand and bade Legolas continue. Legolas nodded appreciatively, and took up his narrative again. "Good people of Mezer, I am called Legolas, and I am an Elf from the great northern realm of Mirkwood—a place no doubt foreign in such Southern lands as these." Legolas cast a shrewd eye across the faces of the court of Harad. He had noticed a few eyes flick up toward his ears at the mention of the word "Elf," and—had he merely imagined it?—a look of familiarity and realization flicker across the King's eyes at the mention of Mirkwood. Yet if any of the court had previously heard of the realm—from Morensar or otherwise—they made no overt mention of it. Legolas smiled slyly. This was an intelligent and cunning court.

Before he could continue, though, the herald interrupted. "Legolas—" he said curtly, then fearing rebuke from the King he added: "—Sir, why is it that you have traveled so far south? Have you been blown off course or was Mezer your desired end?"

"I intended to end my journey in this land."

"What is your purpose, then?"

"I am sent by my father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood." Legolas noted the King's eyebrows raise in appreciation of Legolas' nobility, and the Elf could not help but smile as he continued, "And also by a great contingent of northern lords and scholars, including Elrond of Imladris and the great Mithrandir, one of the Istari." Legolas had no idea how much of this was registering for the King, but he expected the names lent importance to him and his quest. "Good King, they have sent me and five other of my race as emissaries and ambassadors to your fair realm."

"Where are the others?" the herald brusquely interrupted.

"They were not allowed to enter the palace with me. I assume they are being held by sentries near the entrance where we arrived. And I hope they are free from harm." Legolas said this with a perfect blend of politeness and threat. Having said his peace, he slowly lowered his head.

This time, King As-Salahn was the one to speak. "Mae Govannen, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood." Now it was the King's turn to smile slyly, as Legolas was clearly caught off guard by the perfect Sindarin greeting that had escaped his lips. "You are perhaps not as foreign to us as you may think, though it is indeed rare that any from the North do cross our path. I assure you your companions are safe now, though perhaps we can discuss their necessity to your mission? You see, we are a private people, and though we would be remiss to turn away a Prince from the Great Wood, the same might not be said for his escorts."

Legolas inclined his head slightly at the King's words. His mind was still reeling from the Sindarin. The clues were adding up in his mind. Morensar surely was here. Legolas could tell, also, from the way the King spoke. His language was so refined, his tone so familiar—it had to be Morensar's doing. The King's very being seemed hewn from the same stone as Legolas' former friend. And yet, so far King As-Salahn had treated him with respect—a trait counted as a glaring omission from Morensar's character. Legolas realized he would have to keep his guard up. Something still felt off, and though Morensar had not yet shown his face, his presence definitely echoed in the King's words.

"I respect your privacy, and perhaps could call on it right now to discuss the necessities of my mission alone with your Highness?" Legolas asked.

The King smiled again. "Prince, the people you see before me are not just my court or my servants. They are my advisers and counselors, and it is my policy that they hear everything I hear concerning matters of state." The King gestured with both hands to the four men that flanked him and the four women that stood by his Queen.

Legolas nodded. "I understand, your highness, and I apologize for misjudging their role, but perhaps the details of my errand would best fall on your ear alone at first, and then be opened up for discussion after?" Legolas was not quite sure why he said this—certainly what he had to say could be said in front of the court, as the King would no doubt discuss it with them extensively. And yet, perhaps Legolas merely challenged the King's policy so as to stay on equal footing with As-Salahn. Or perhaps Legolas requested a private audience so as to draw out Morensar's presence; surely that Elf could not let his puppet ruler have a private conversation with the Prince of Mirkwood…

Regardless of Legolas' reasons, what was said was said, and both parties felt the tension in the room thicken, as As-Salahn assumed a smile of strained civility. "With all due respect, good Prince, I decline your offer for privacy. Would you please care to give us the reason for your journey this far south?"

"Very well, sir, if you could please give me a moment to compose my thoughts. It has been a long journey, and I am quite tired—any omission from my statement would be grievous, so I must ensure this does not happen." This was a lie—Legolas knew exactly what he needed to say, but he wanted a moment to survey the room. Were these people really the King's advisers or were they just there for show? A display of power in this already-overwhelming room. Such a tactic would not be unheard of from Morensar.

The King acquiesced to Legolas' request, then summoned the herald to the dais, perhaps to chastise him for being so course earlier in the proceedings. While this was happening, Legolas trained his eye on the court. The men standing by the King—four of them, each equipped with a long, curved knife at the waist and garbed in white tunics that sharply contrasted their dark skin and hair—looked passable as advisers. Though Legolas had never beheld a true Haradrim warrior, he had seen illustrations, and they were depicted as tall and thin but clearly able to hold their own in a fight. Their eyes were always shadowed underneath large turbans, as if to conceal their true, cold, terrifying power. Yet these four men did not look so fierce. In fact, if looks could be a true judge, Legolas would guess that they actually were intelligent. They were there to debate, not to fight; whereas Legolas had his knives always easily accessible on his back, some of these men had their daggers positioned backwards, making them harder to remove from their holsters in the event of a fight. Yet though they were ill-equipped for battle, they looked alert and ready, with a calm astuteness exuding from their person.

Legolas turned his attention to the women, now, as the King was still conversing with the herald. He had never seen pictures of any women of Harad, though he had heard tales of their dark splendor. And yes, they were exceptionally good-looking, though it was such a strange and exotic beauty. The she-Elves of the North were tall and fair-skinned, and carried themselves with such an austere, translucent elegance. These women of Harad, though, were vastly different. The Queen's advisers (as he guessed them to be) were all of similar height—shorter than any Elf, to be certain, but still as tall than many women of the North. They were dressed in white similar to the men, but their dresses had such a cut of flattery to them it was easy to see where the legends of beauty came from. Each of the women, too, carried a small blade at her hip, and Legolas mused with a smile that the women looked more able to defend themselves than the men. He also noticed that their skin was burnished bronze as well—not quite as dark as the men's, but darker than the Queen's, as if to suggest that these women were not afraid of working under the hot desert sun.

Legolas had not always been the best judge of the feminine character. He certainly respected the she-Elves of Mirkwood, yet was better suited for the archery field, or for roaming with the Mirkwood guard. His dalliances with the fairer sex were few and far between, so it was harder for him to apprise the four women that stood before him. He thought fondly of Aradhel, and tried to compare her to these women. It was difficult, not in the least because mere thoughts of his Mirkwood companion brought pangs of longing to his breast.

It seemed that these Haradrim women all possessed some inner power, though he surmised everyone in the region carried a similar quality—was this the doing of Morensar? They seemed more... connected than the she-Elves he knew, more grounded, and more in tune to the earth, to the world, to their purpose. All of this he felt, and he had not even heard a word from their lips.

Legolas was mildly fascinated by them, two of them in particular. They looked amazingly similar; if they were not twins, then at least sisters. They had dark hair that sprang in wild curls from their face and one had a small silver stud in her nose. Legolas darted his glance toward the men, and could see he was not the only one staring at this pair—all four male advisers were stealing glances at the women. Yet when Legolas looked back at them, he was surprised to see their own eyes boring straight into him. In fact, it seemed that the King's business with the herald was over, and all on the dais were expecting him to speak, which he did with ease, stealing one last furtive glance at the women of the Harad.

"King As-Salahn and Queen Al-Mezria, lords and ladies of the court, I lay before you my mission. As stated previously, a council of learned Elves and the Wizard Mithrandir decided many months ago to send a delegation to the lands of Arda that are unknown to us in the North. Perhaps it was the dawning of the three-thousandth year in this age of the sun, or perhaps it was some other purpose that necessitated this mission, yet all were in agreement that we had been appallingly neglecting our brethren to the south. Indeed, the little information that we had on the Harad—your great land of Mezer—is woefully inadequate and, I am ashamed to report, incorrect."

Legolas surveyed the room. All eleven pairs of eyes were watching him intently, and even the sentries had turned their heads to face his, though he was not sure if they even understood Common. And with such a captive audience, negotiating the next part of his speech would be tricky. What were the alliances of the people of the Harad? Surely they had been distrusted and hated by the Gondorians for ages, but were they truly barbaric? Were they in league with Mordor already, or were they even planning to ally themselves with the Dark Lord? Legolas decided that it was best to follow the shrewd guidance of Mithrandir: best not to overwhelm them with rhetoric of the evils of Sauron. Best not to mention the need for allies in the inevitable War for Middle Earth. Best to sidestep the issue until further reconnaissance was completed.

So Legolas did just that. "I am here, therefore, as a sort of scholar of your people, if you will have me. I wish to gather data for the books of our Northern halls, and, in the spirit of cooperation, I myself am an open book to enrich your libraries here in the South. In these times of lengthening—" he paused. Do not mention the lengthening shadow. "—distances both physical and emotional between the peoples of this world, my elders and I profess the need of this mission humbly to you and your people. If you choose to accept my temporary sojourn into your borders peacefully, I can guarantee reciprocity for our lands. And if you choose to reject our offer of study, then I will return straightaway to my home, with no further commitment ever imposed upon Mezer."

Legolas had followed the words and guidance of his father, Elrond, and Mithrandir perfectly, and it seemed that nothing he had said had displeased As-Salahn. Yet he felt as if he had not said quite enough. Perhaps he could stray just a little from the prewritten speech…

"May I add, also, your highness, that one can never know what the future holds for this world and the people in it. It is my utmost desire to foster and strengthen ties between our realms for the sake of ourselves and for the future of our progeny."

Legolas bowed his head to indicate he was finished, and the King returned the nod as he leaned back in his throne. He raised his hand to stroke his face thoughtfully, and then glanced at the advisers to his right and the women on his left. "Well, Prince Legolas," he began. "You speak eloquently and with convincing passion. Thank you for stating your mission and pleading your case. I now respectfully ask your permission to hear input from my advisers on the matter." At Legolas' nod, he continued, this time in his own tongue: "Hal turiduun an taquluun raiikum?" He must have asked them for their counsel, for the advisers nodded solemnly. "Thank you. Very well. Hamsed, what is your opinion on the matter?"

As the man on Legolas' far left drew in a big breath and began to speak, Legolas noticed that the shafts of light had traveled far from their original places. How long had he been standing in the throne room? It surely was approaching evening, and Legolas realized how hungry he was. Hopefully the discussion would not last until the night. Yet Hamsed seemed particularly long-winded, and Legolas couldn't help but notice that perhaps he had misjudged the adviser's level of intelligence. He listened half-heartedly as Hamsed repeated himself for the third time, but then he lost focus and his eyes traveled over to the women, where one of his favorite two rolled her eyes slightly, and was promptly reprimanded by means of a nudge from her sister. Legolas smiled, then turned his attention back to Hamsed, who was finally concluding: "… And so though I may not see the necessity for this mission at the present time, it would be against our best interests to turn away the Prince. Thank you, noble King, for hearing my opinion."

The king nodded and proceeded to the next two advisers, who said basically the same thing and with similar obeisance. Legolas marveled at the obsequiousness of the three men who had spoken thus far. The way they gave their opinions and did not actually give any opinion at all, the way they all thanked the king for hearing their opinion—all these traits rang of Morensar. He who wanted, above all, total power and control of his subjects…

The fourth male adviser, thankfully, seemed actually to hold his own opinion: "Well, with due respect to my King and to our noble guest, I believe that perhaps this is not the time for Mezer to be accepting foreign emissaries. With other… communications in process, maybe it would be best to keep ourselves unengaged with the rest of the North. A North, I might add, that has never extended an offer such as this before. I might ask why the offer is placed before us now, at this very moment in our history? And sir, if I may say, la ahshuur bimaisuur kaamil maa al-ijnebbi." As he said the last sentence in his own tongue, he sent a disparaging look at Legolas, who returned it with a steely glare of his own.

The king nodded slowly as he thanked the man for his opinion. Legolas had definitely noticed the tone of his words. What did he mean by "other communications"? And what exactly had he said at the end, clearly too important or secretive to be said in Common? He felt the defensive side of his character rise up violently at the insinuation that the offer of study had ulterior motives. Why the offer is placed before us nowcertainly there was more concealed in that statement than met the eye. Yet despite this defensive feeling on the inside, Legolas remembered his polite veneer and nodded his head curtly at the fourth adviser.

Shifting his head to the left, the King sought the advice of the women now. The Queen smiled graciously at Legolas, bade him welcome, and said she would be delighted if he stayed. Legolas smiled openly at her graciousness, and dipped his head low. The Queen returned his bow with a smile of her own, and Legolas noticed that her beauty was striking. Perhaps that was why she was queen: the ability to wield her good looks to her advantage. Certainly the King seemed taken with her; his hand had not left her own during the extent of the discussion, and Legolas noticed that As-Salahn robustly nodded after the Queen gave her opinion.

The first two of the Queen's advisers bowed demurely and said they agreed with the Queen. Apparently this was their general trend, as nobody seemed surprised that they did not have an opinion. Legolas thought that perhaps he had misjudged the women as well as the men. Yet before the third woman—the one that had rolled her eyes earlier—spoke, there was a change in the atmosphere of the room, as if everyone simultaneously braced him or herself.

And with good reason, Legolas soon discovered. This woman opened her mouth and almost shouted her answer. "Due respect, Queen and King, but I vote for the complete rejection of the Prince's offer to stay and study our people. I do not trust the motives of the council of the North, and I agree with Ramahi's assessment of the situation: with other negotiations in progress, surely now would not be the appropriate time for Legolas to conduct his study. Perhaps there will never be a good time for the study, if I may state my opinion overtly. Perhaps the realms of the North and our kingdom in the South should stay permanently apart."

Legolas raised his eyebrows at her words. Certainly he had not been expecting such a rejection from any of them, especially from a woman, but it seemed now that that innate powerful quality he had noticed was truly showing. The King inhaled slowly, a bit taken aback by her statement. "Thank you, Maisara," he said with strained patience as the rest of the court relaxed a bit. "Your opinion, as always, has been heard and noted."

As-Salahn turned now to the final woman—the one Legolas assumed was this Maisara's sister. Legolas quite expected her to echo Maisara, but she did not. "My good King and Queen, I think that my mind is not quite made up as to the request of Prince Legolas. Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting as it is getting quite late, and many more deliberations must certainly be held."

The king cast an appraising glance at her. He seemed to appreciate the calm of her response after her sister's, but was also not satisfied by it. "Yes, Amina, it is late, but I would like to end the discussion tonight. If I could have your opinion as it exists now, please."

Perhaps Legolas was imagining it, but he thought he saw the woman's eyes dart back to the shadows near the door before she spoke. "If your Majesty insists, I would agree with my Queen and bid Prince Legolas welcome to stay, though I may caution against the length of such a stay."

Queen Al-Mezria smiled and the King nodded again. "Well," he said, directing his words toward Legolas, "it seems that there remains some disagreement among the ranks."

"Yes, your highness, I have perceived this," Legolas responded. "Perhaps, though, if I may be so bold as to ask, what is your highness' opinion on the matter?"

This time Legolas definitely saw eyes dart back to the shadows of the door, but the eyes belonged not to Amina, but to the King. The discussion was becoming increasingly strange.

The king spoke: "Prince, it is not too bold for you to ask, but I must call upon one more voice, my most trusted adviser, who always speaks the way I think. I hope he has been listening to the deliberations, and I ask him to step forward."

At these words Legolas felt something pass through the chamber—not something physical, but emotional. It seemed that every one of the advisers stiffened with expectation, and with relief, perhaps, but also with fear. It was hard to adequately describe the change that came over the room, but there was something there… Legolas, too, felt himself tense as he followed all the pairs of eyes to the back of the room…

There was a long pause before a disembodied voice came from the shadows: "By all means, let him stay."

Legolas heard the instantly familiar voice before he saw the body of its owner. And then everything was made clear. A dark figure emerged from the shadows and around the dais, his form walking in and out of the shafts of light cast down by the windows, though he was not strongly illuminated in their dusky shafts.

"Mae Govannen, Legolas Thranduilion, mellon nin." As Legolas heard these words, the speaker moved in front of the throne, now fully lit by the dying sun; a sun that revealed the man—no, the Elf—it shone on: Morensar finally showed his face.