Rhavaniel walked across Mirkwood commons, deep in thought. She was a young Elf, gracefully flitting between the worlds of adult and child.
Her black hair was thick and curly, altogether unlike typical sleek and straight Elf hair. Abandoning hope of taming it, Rhavaniel learned to twist and braid her hair, and pin it with sticks of bronze-dipped ferns collected on her walks through the woods. She favored the ones that were small and unfurled, curled tight like a fiddlehead. This kept her hair out her way for most activity, for she was an active girl.
She was dark complexioned, darker even than most Silvan elves. Her family had always remarked that she resembled a little brown egg in a nest when she was a baby.
Her eyes were a lush forest green, a color once commonly seen when Mirkwood was still called Eryn Galen, before the Great Darkening.
Her eyes lifted from the ground at the sound of a group of younger children, scampering off toward the Keep. They must have dared themselves to take a look at the Dwarves, for they were heading in the wrong direction for classes.
The Dwarves had been prisoners for weeks now, and she had still seen no more than a glimpse of them. She should really be heading to class, but would there be Dwarves in class? Certainly not, and what could be more educational than studying a real, live Dwarf, albeit in an unnatural habitat? Why should she just read about them in books when there were a dozen plus one so close? This was an opportunity for education, as her Uncle so graciously encouraged her this morning.
She sprinted after the other children.
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The younger children must have been coming to see the Dwarves since the first day of captivity, for they were all business. No giggles would give away their presence. They each took a peek through the grate with military precisions, rolling past one at a time.
Theirs was a memory game to determine who could spot the most Dwarves, or add the most details to the collected list of characteristics in a single pass. They had a little book stashed behind a rock at the other side of the grate for taking notes. Rhavaniel could not completely make out their whispers, but it seemed that one of them had spotted "Ax Head". This was cause for great excitement, and that boy was now apparently "in the lead".
They grinned at Rhavaniel from the far side of the grate, and beckoned her to take a look. She should really be too old for this nonsense, but it looked like fun.
Rhavaniel ran low to the ground and dropped flat at the side of the grate, as she had seen the children do. This kept them close to the grate for the best view, and below the line of sight of any Guards, both inside and outside the prison. If they dawdled, they would surely be caught by a Guard and ordered home to report their transgressions to their parents.
She peeked inside and rolled. Goodness! She was so unused to beards, she was amazed that the children could see anything beyond them. She saw a long white beard...a silver beard, tightly braided (she sympathized, his beard must behave like her hair) ... a yellow beard with a braided mustache ... and not much beard at all, though it was hard to say because that Dwarf's dark brown head was tucked low on his chest. But he had a two-finger glove on his right hand. She had found her archer!
Rhavaniel hopped up and over to consult the book. Ugh, they had sketched Ax Head. Their childish descriptions were quite literal, weren't they? She looked through the book and pointed out the ones she had seen: Eldest (how obvious), Silver Coils for her braided Dwarf (now that was quite whimsical), and Dwarf's Gold, they called the fair-haired one.
"Where is the archer?" she whispered. They shrugged, and she flipped through the book again. Thirteen dwarves and thirteen faces, so he must be in the book. By process of elimination she found him, 'Shadow'. It must be him, just dark hair and dark eyes. She scribbled on his page 'ARCHER, right-handed'.
Rhavaniel had seen something else in her pass along the grate - a smaller cell across the hall from the Dwarfs. Fierce axes, maces, and heavy swords were visible beyond that iron door. It must be where the Dwarf weapons were locked up.
She was familiar with parts of the Keep. The blacksmiths routinely inspected the bars and locks, and she had been allowed to follow one of her brothers on such rounds recently - when no prisoners were there, of course. He showed her locks, and even allowed her to take one apart and rebuild it, under his supervision. She could get through the lock she just saw easily enough - it was the simplest kind. The difficult locks were reserved for the prisoners' cells.
When the young children answered the final horn for classes, Rhavaniel hung back. She retrieved the book from under the rock and headed for a service chute.
The chute had a double door, resembling the door to a root cellar, except for the iron bars beneath. Fresh straw was sent in from above ground to below, for the cell floors. That was a simple lock, and she picked it with some of the smaller wax carving tools she kept in her jacket. She took the lock with her - no point in risking getting locked in. She knew she could use the lock as an excuse if caught - she could always say she was bringing it back, repaired from the forge, and had gotten lost.
Carefully closing the chute door behind her, she slid down into the straw heap below. She landed softly and burrowed into the straw, holding her breath until sure that no one saw or heard her. She planned to wait in the straw until she had determined the pattern of the Guards on their rounds, when she felt something brush against her feet. She jumped up with a start. "Rats!" she thought to herself. The straw pile was suddenly far less appealing.
She took a look around, and marveled at her luck. There were no Guards at her end of the Keep, and the hallway was wide open. She could hear the Guards at their main post, around the corner of the Dwarves' cells, but she could only see their shadows, and knew they would not see hers. She heard a commotion at the North end of the Keep, and realized they must be getting a delivery of food or ale. Thirteen Dwarves had kept the sutler and the Guards busy managing supplies every day.
She tiptoed down the hall to the locker of seized weapons. She was getting faster at this lock picking business, and with a quick click-click she was in. She thought she heard a sigh behind her, but dismissed it as drafts in the old dungeon and was not frightened.
In truth, it was Bilbo Baggins. He had followed her during her walk to the Keep, and excitedly slid down the chute after her, formulating yet another escape plan. But now he sighed in frustration that Rhavaniel was so quick and clever. She had not provided him with a proper tutorial on lock-picking. A burglar should know such things.
Rhavaniel ducked to the back of the locker and pulled out the sketchbook. Oh, how she would have loved to take these weapons all back to the forge for proper study. Dûrion was right when he said these were not fit weapons for Elves - the maces were hard to lift and she suspected the largest battle axe weighed more than she did. But she admired the crisp interlocking designs that decorated them. She traced them with her finger and realized that they were one continuous line. "Infinity." she whispered. She opened the sketchbook and noted the patterns and measures in as much detail as she could in this limited time and light.
There were three spiked iron balls on long chains, joined by a link and a leather strap.
"What a good throwing weapon this must be. It must take some skill to hit its mark." She certainly admired their inventiveness. She would make something like this herself right away - a lighter version of course, fit for Elves.
She heard a noise, and ducked behind the pile of blankets kept for prisoners, while two Elf Guards passed. While on the floor, she saw it - a Dwarf bow of dark wood and smooth finish. It was thicker than she thought it would be, as were the arrows in the simple leather quiver beside it. When she tried to pull it back, she could barely budge the string. A sketch was not going to be enough to for her to understand this weapon.
When the Guards doubled back to complete their rounds, the locker was again shut up tight and dark.
The older Guard spoke up, "See here that you get that straw swept up or the Lieutenant will be on us at the end of the shift."
(******************************************)
Rhavaniel climbed back up the service chute with the Dwarf bow and arrows, and Bilbo close behind. She secured the lock on the grate. This was another disappointment for Bilbo. He had hoped that in her youthful folly, the girl would have forgotten and left one exit unsecured.
Bilbo watched Rhavaniel replace the book behind the rocks, and run for class.
Bilbo realized something would have to be done about those children and their game. It would not do to have these extra sets of eyes on the Dwarves at odd hours.
He had an idea. Bilbo retrieved the sketch book and turned to the next blank page. He began to draw himself, in what he thought was a flattering light, with broad smile and a pipe in his mouth. His drawing skills were not up to the task, however. His twinkling eyes came out close-set and menacing. His smiling mouth appeared twisted, and his comfortable pipe now resembled a small leg with a foot still attached.
"Rather frightening," he thought, "but that may be more effective."
Below his self-portrait, he wrote in the childish Elvish he had learned 'ghost'. That should keep the Elf children from the Keep.