Author's note: Chapter 21 went through a slight re-write during the dialog sequence at the very end of the chapter because the conversation was confusing and not made very clear. Re-reading the updated dialog will help make future chapters make more sense. Thanks as ever for your readership; leave a review or give it a follow if you are enjoying this story

Elaenar went from being the most unpopular soldier in his unit to a celebrated hero almost overnight. There was an outpouring of gratitude from his comrades-in-arms; Lúthian was also credited for being a part of the rescue effort, but everyone knew it had been Elaenar's initiative. Perhaps the most grateful person of all was Illian. Curiously, the scars on his cheeks seemed to fade rapidly after Faenar and Aeründal had been returned alive, as though a spiritual healing had manifested itself on the elf's skin.

Even the Gondorian soldiers expressed gratitude to Elaenar, but he snubbed their recognition and received their thanks coldly. It was Elaenar's opinion that the mortal soldiers were simply grateful to him for removing an obstacle in the way of a strategic victory; did they even care that two elvish lives had been saved?

Truthfully, Elaenar wasn't comfortable with the attention that he was receiving, even if it was positive attention. He didn't feel like a hero, more like a desperate madman who was willing to do anything to save his two friends. He reasoned that Aeründal and Faenar would have done the same for him (frankly, the worst thing about the entire ordeal was contracting lice in his hair; he washed his scalp for hours and had to use corrosive, rancid chemicals to kill the disgusting pests from his head).

Fortunately for Elaenar, grudges and accolades are forgotten quickly in the army, and after a couple of weeks Elaenar was just another soldier, no one special (which is exactly how he liked it). It was exhausting acting like some magnanimous twit, constantly having to graciously accept everyone's praise. Elaenar could finally go back to being his normal, ornery self.

The assault on Barad Mendolin was swift and decisive. The orcs at Lug-Gülguh were weak with disease, most of their officers were dead. They were disorganized and badly managed and had little fighting spirit left in them. For the first time in more than one hundred years, the Gondorian banner was raised over Barad Mendolin. But the euphoria of victory was short-lived; taking a fortress is one thing, keeping it is another.

Over the decades that Elaenar had served in the volunteer army, he learned that war is like a game of chess, but with higher stakes. During the integrated army's campaign to take back the northern fiefdom, they had passed up many opportunities to seize various fortresses and strongholds, simply because there wasn't enough confidence that they could be maintained in the event of a counter-offensive. Presently, a few hundred Gondorian soldiers were stationed at Barad Mendolin, but many more were needed to insure their dominance in the region. Everyone knew that this latest victory could cause the enemy to retaliate fiercely. There would be gnashing of teeth among the orc hordes, and their hearts would burn with rage. The Dark Lord would coordinate his Mordor armies against the Gondorians and their allies.

Thrandar and Barothir communicated with other officers in the region by messengers to determine where to draw more soldiers from; deciding carefully which regiments could be relocated to buttress their defenses at Barad Mendolin. According to Aeründal, that's why Thrandar had declined his (and Faenar's) request for an early leave of absence.

"You can't be serious!" Elaenar had exclaimed, outraged. He had come to visit Aeründal in the infirmary as soon as he was able (which meant after exterminating the lice from his hair).

Aeründal nodded and shrugged nonchalantly, as though it were less of an issue to himself than it was to Elaenar.

"After everything that you and Faenar have been through, and he still won't allow two of his soldiers to go home?"

"It's not his fault, Elaenar. He said that he can't provide us with an escort, you know how it is. Military law requires a band of at least fifteen soldiers to travel together between outposts. Anything less would be unsafe; and Thrandar can't afford to dismiss fifteen soldiers right now."

"But what about Faenar? He'll miss the birth of his child."

"Elaenar, it's not our commander's duty to cater to a soldier's individual needs."

"You can't possibly heal here; what about a writ of convalescence, surely you're entitled to one?"

"My shoulder is fine, Elan. It's getting better; the physician has been treating it every day."

Elaenar shook his head. "I didn't just mean your shoulder, Aeründal. What about-(he faltered and struggled with his words)-what about your heart?"

Aeründal's expression remained steady, but he shuddered to be asked so poignantly about his actual state of mind.

"It's been difficult…I still have nightmares." He confessed. Elaenar nodded silently; rumors had circulated that someone in the infirmary had been waking up screaming in the night on several occasions, but out of respect for his friend he declined to pry any further.

"You should be able to go home; it isn't fair." Elaenar asserted.

"I'm just grateful to be alive, El." Aeründal answered. He paused before speaking again.

"You'd think, Elaenar, that after being saved we would be so filled with profound gratitude to be alive, that nothing could trouble us. When we were taken by the orcs, I thought I was surely going to die. I've been given my life back; isn't everything well? So why am I filled with so much anxiety, instead of relief?"

Elaenar reached out and put a comforting hand on his friend's wrist. He couldn't imagine the terror his friends must have felt being a captive of orcs, awaiting death by torture. Like the scars on Illian's face, the scars on Aeründal's soul would require a long time to heal.

"Things will get better with time." He said softly.

"Time heals all wounds?" The elf quoted the axiom like a question, not a statement of fact.

"I think so," Elaenar replied.

After spending a couple of hours in the infirmary talking with Aeründal, comforting him, listening to him (and even on occasion, getting his troubled friend to laugh again) the army physician entered the room to attend to Aeründal's shoulder. Elaenar took it as a sign to leave; even a sociable person like Aeründal needed his privacy.

When he entered the courtyard, he found Faenar talking affably with a circle of his comrades who were eager for him to divulge the details of his nightmarish misadventure escaping from captivity. When Faenar spotted him from across the courtyard, he broke into a warm smile.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Faenar asked his fellow soldiers, while politely pushing past them as he made his way towards Elaenar. As they approached each other, Elaenar felt acutely the surrealness of being in the presence of a friend who, only a couple of days prior, he was certain that he would never see alive again.

"You rascal," Faenar said, smiling, as he embraced the other elf tightly. "Only an absolute lunatic like you could have done what you did; orchestrating a secret mission to rescue us, you know that don't you?"

"Don't forget Lúthian; he deserves just as much credit. I couldn't have done it alone." Elaenar replied humbly (a characteristic quite unusual for the arrogant, fiery-tempered elf). They broke the embrace but grasped each other's shoulder in an intimate, brotherly gesture.

"No, Elaenar. No one was as zealously determined as you were to save us. Thank you, Elaenar. I'm eternally grateful to you; you're the reason why I'll be able to go home to see my family."

Elaenar was at a loss for words; he felt the temptation to cry but his pride wouldn't allow that to happen so easily. Fortunately for him, his friend broke the silence to say:

"I've been thinking about something. I know I said that I wanted to name our child Gillidar if we have a boy, but I've decided that I'd like to name my son Elaenar if that's alright with you."

Elaenar blushed horribly and laughed awkwardly.

"Only if your wife will consent to it." He replied.

"She will," Faenar said, nodding confidently. "I'm quite sure of it." He paused before saying:

"Elaenar, I'm so baffled, how did you…" Faenar said, faltering with his words.

"How did I what? He asked.

"Come," Faenar said, grabbing his arm. "Let me speak to you in private." He ushered him into the privacy of hollow alcove in the wall of the courtyard.

"The Gondorians think you put a spell on the orc, some kind of elvish magic to make the enemy infiltrate the tower and break us free so that we could escape."

Elaenar snorted. "Mortals are superstitious fools," he said with disdain. "They think we're a race of sorcerers and magicians, don't they?"

"Elaenar," he pressed, "are you going to tell me nothing?"

"What exactly do you want to know?" Was his sharp reply; he hoped that his tone would make it quite clear that he didn't want to discuss this.

"Who was that Mordor thrall who approached us in our prison cell?"

Elaenar gulped; he was beginning to feel intensely uncomfortable.

"It's the same prisoner that we took captive after we slaughtered the orc camp." He replied stiffly. "The one we interrogated who told us about the garrison at Lug-Gülguh."

Elaenar knew that, eventually, people were going to ask him questions. Everyone was curious to know how Elaenar and Lúthian had managed to orchestrate this miraculous rescue, but he very much didn't want to discuss it. The truth was, Elaenar was ashamed of what he had had to do for the sake rescuing Aeründal and Faenar. The obstinate elf was both wholeheartedly unrepentant and yet, at the same time, deeply ashamed of his actions. He wasn't sorry (he would do it all over again if it meant saving his friends) but he wasn't proud of himself either. He had dealt with Snaga like how orcs deal with others: with ruthlessness and cruelty. His own actions appalled him; how was he supposed to explain to Faenar that he had terrorized Snaga with the mutilated corpse of one of his own kind? Elaenar wanted to keep the ugly secret to himself…forever. But to his great distress, Faenar asked him very bluntly:

"But how is that you were able to compel the orc slave to find us in the tower, and give us the daggers and the letter?"

"Fear." Elaenar said tersely. "I suppose I did cast a spell of sorts on the orc; did you know that terror is as great as any spell that a wizard ever cast on someone?" He quipped cynically.

"I still don't understand," Faenar said, shaking his head.

"Well, you can content yourself with what I've told you, because I don't want to talk about it any further. I don't want to think about that nightmarish ordeal for even a second longer. Why do I need to tell you anything more; is it not enough that we rescued you?"

"Elan, where is it now?"

"Where is what?" He asked, knowing the answer to his own question.

"The orc."

"Imprisoned in a cell under lock and key; what does it matter to you?"

"You mean to tell me that it's here? That it's still alive?" Was Faenar's perturbed reply.

"What about it?" Elaenar snapped.

"Elaenar, I don't understand. Why didn't you just slash the orc's throat immediately after we escaped from Lug-Gülguh?"

Elaenar's fragile temper cracked; he was livid to be criticized. He could feel the blood rushing to his face; he snatched Faenar's wrist and slapped the key to the prisoner's cell into the palm of his friend's hand.

"Why don't you do it yourself?" He said tersely and he turned to storm away.

'Elan, please. Forgive me, don't be angry with me." Faenar implored while reaching for Elaenar's arm, but he snatched it away.

"How dare you be critical of me, Faenar, after everything I've done for you!"

"Elaenar, please. I didn't mean to offend you; it was only a question." He said, and this time he forcibly grabbed his friend's wrist before he could snatch it away and he placed the key back into the elf's hand.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have questioned you. I trust that you have your reasons. Don't mind anything I said."

Elaenar sat down on a nearby crate in a huff. He released a protracted sigh of exasperation, he shuddered with anxiety and frustration and put his head between his hands. Faenar, observing that his comrade was severely vexed, approached Elaenar tepidly.

"I can't do it, Faenar."

"What do you mean?"

"I know what people say about me. I know that people think I'm heartless, and sometimes I think they might be right. But I just can't…I…." The elf began to stumble over his own words; he couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.

"Can't what?" Faenar asked pointedly.

"You asked me how did we do it, how did we rescue you and Aeründal? It sounds impossible, doesn't it? Sending an orc prisoner to sneak into Lug-Gülguh and deliver the weapons and the lock-pick that you needed to escape. You want to know how I could have possibly possessed so much control over the little wretch? Well, I'm going to tell you, I'm telling you the truth of how we rescued you, and the truth is this: he's a pathetic, spineless, wretched little orc slave. It was so easy, Faenar, to compel him to do everything I commanded. By threats and cruelty, I made the miserable creature malleable to my authority. And now you, and everyone else, expect me to endure his screeches and begging while I slash his throat. Can't you see that even the most hardened executioner would recoil from such a loathsome task?"

Faenar paused before saying: "Very well then, I understand. But as your friend, allow me to give you some advice…"

Elaenar looked up and made eye contact with the other elf.

"Be careful not to have too much pity on even the most abject little orc creature. Don't forget there's nothing but wickedness in their hearts." And with that tersely given advice, he turned and walked away, leaving Elaenar sitting there alone in silence to contemplate his friend's disturbing insight.