1. Tamin

Tamin Rúmilion was not, unlike his imminent patron, a mercurial being by nature. His primary character possessed a cheerful temperament that remained habitually undimmed by life’s unexpected bumps and twists, and despite his youth he maintained a sanguine stance when confronted with tribulations great and small. His constant cheer brought, so the ladies of Dol Galenehtar averred, a blessing upon the fiefdom, and though he was but a minor page in Lord Legolas’ court was oftime used to perform small but awkward tasks to soothe the ruffled feathers of some perturbed visiting diplomat roosting in the Green Knight’s splendid bower. Tamin’s bright and winsome face, and earnest buoyancy, when enhanced by little charities such as bringing a book, or providing a tray of wine and cheese, or producing his flute to play upon it, brought forth the softening of mortal aspects and a tenderness of heart that would benefit his lord not only in the court but the council-chambers. For did not King Elessar himself observe Tamin plying the peevish Lord of Ringló with effulgent smile and fervent wishes his lordship put his feet upon a cushion, and recline himself in the chair? And O was my Lord of Ringló comfortable enough, and would he like his servant to fetch for him a salver of crisp butter biscuits which his servant was fortunate enough to know had just emerged from the ovens of Dol Galenehtar, and had he enough wine, for his servant would be delighted to fetch him some more, for it was the good yellow wine from the lower east vineyards and they had broached a new barrel in the cellar and it was cold and strong and there was plenty, O no your lordship, your servant would be overjoyed and would his lordship like to hear a song that his servant had just learnt that morning? Well, Elessar sat and smiled to himself, watching the Lord of Ringló’s features relax, and the reluctant humor return to the man’s mouth, and when Tamin returned with a jug of wine and his flute the Lord of Ringló was putty in the boy’s hands. Then did King Elessar pull his friend Legolas aside, and ask how much gold would the Elf-lord require to transfer the fealty of the son of Rúmil to Minas Tirith. But Legolas laughed and said no gold nor gems nor any remuneration would suffice to separate him from this daffodil-child. Besides which, Legolas explained to Elessar, Tamin’s mother Maelaëri would pine, and that, he added gravely, was a happenstance to be avoided at all costs; not only for Rúmil Tamin’s father’s sake, but for Legolas’ own, for did Maelaëri pine did her discontent transfer itself upon the other ladies in the tucking-mill, of which Dúrfinwen was chief, and her displeasure when stirred was a terrible thing to behold. Not that Legolas would have given up the boy to Elessar in any season, for in addition to his parents and the pain that would cause them, Legolas was a tender lord, and looked with care upon his subjects’ ease; also was Tamin a steady and honest and unflaggingly jolly boy, and the Lord of Dol Galenehtar anticipated with pleasure the prospect of turning him into a knight of Gondor.

Betimes Fastred son of Faramir would be filled with an exasperated frustration, for his dearest friend Tamin could not be got to be angry; indeed the only unpromising feelings he would express would be sorrow, or the slightest indignation upon another’s part. Fastred would go to the Green Knight and complain, “Lassah, he is so good! Halgond presses him and he but smiles; and if any of my companions go too far he is injured yet strives to hide it from me. What will it take to stir him to be bad?” Legolas had laughed, and assured Fastred that Tamin would learn to be bad soon enough. Fastred was nearly a man grown, and had expected Tamin would age as did he; but Tamin was very young, and retained the innocent brightness Fastred had shed during his sixteenth summer. Tamin, Legolas explained to Fastred, would be a child until his fiftieth year, and at that time he was certain Ithilien would learn how capricious and strong-willed this charming Elf could become.

Yet had Fastred observed his dear friend Tamin as he walked along the flower-strewn meadows of Ithilien that bright spring morning, kicking the sparkling dew aside with his shoe and scowling at the birds as they sang, he might have been comforted; for Tamin was, as Bandobras the Hobbit would have said, in a proper stink, and not in a mood to be happy about the slanting rays of the sun through the bright green of the trees, the little rabbits which stared at him with big brown eyes and swiveled their ears so endearingly, or the blossom-strewn branches laden with petal and fragrance. His day was ruined – simply ruined! – because his mother and Seimiel would not see reason! Why should he be constrained to give up his ride and his hunt, and bathe of all things, simply because today was the day Bandobras son of Reginard won his accolades? It was a perfect day to hunt – Andunië had said so! She had promised to let him use the goshawk – and he and Malinadulin and Fionim and others were to go up to Westering Sun Hill and falcon and enjoy the spring. And Fionim had professed himself to be delighted in Tamin’s company, as though Tamin had been full-grown, which was gratifying; and, of course, it was delightful to simply be with Andunië, for though wed she might be Tamin thought privately she was the loveliest woman in Ithilien, and Himbaláth the luckiest man in Gondor. Though on occasion Tamin did wonder if perchance Dúrfinwen might be, if not lovelier, certainly better company. It was a shame, Tamin reflected, that Dúrfinwen was away – something seemed to be missing from Dol Galenehtar, he determined, when Dúrfinwen was not at home. He knew she had gone with diverse others to King Thranduil’s palace in Eryn Lasgalen, but apart from that, poor lowly page Tamin knew not the meaning behind her departure. Certainly he would rather have gone hunting with Andunië, but to be certain to sit at Dúrfinwen’s side – especially when there was good gossip brewing – had its advantages. But no, neither was to be; Dúrfinwen was gone, and Maelaëri had said Andunië nay, and the huntsmistress had but shrugged and gone her way, leaving a devastated and disappointed Tamin in her indifferent wake. And naught Tamin could say to his mother, no pleading nor wheedling nor even the stamping of his feet, would sway her! She but kissed his forehead, said with a sigh he had got so tall, and told him he could walk to the western olintalari if he liked, but he would have to clean his shoes after breakfast. So, full of ill-humor and thwarted desire, the child stalked along, determined not to enjoy himself one bit despite the world’s springtime charms.

He was glad for Bandobras, of course. It had been years and years ere the Hobbit had entered Lord Legolas’ service, and now that it was Bandy’s thirty-third birthday it was time for him to enter his majority and become a proper knight. Tamin had been involved in the preparations for the evening’s ceremonies, though only upon the periphery. He had been sent with messages from so-and-so to thus-and-such, and ordered to carry this particular object with haste and care to a certain place, and be sure to inform our lord’s secretary that the lord of so-and-so was coming, and give this to our lord’s seneschal as quickly as possible, and above all else to please, Tamin, hold your tongue and do, please, stop asking so many questions! He did so cheerfully enough, for it was exciting planning such a big and important ceremony – even more exciting than the Mereth en’Ehtelé, or Meivel and Hirilcúllas’ wedding – because as many knights of Gondor and Rohan were coming as could, and the guest list was long and illustrious, and even one of the sons of Elrond was there – a terrible and impressive person, who threw poor Tamin into stammers and stalls – and the food and the clothing and the tapestries and banners and lamps and jewels were all new and fresh and O Tamin was very excited and interested, and it was delightful to know he was to be a part of Bandobras’ accolades, though to be sure a small part indeed, for Bandobras was to rise from esquire to knight and Tamin was but a page of the court, and not interesting or important at all. He had seen Bandobras’ suit of armor last night – Gimli Lord of Aglarond had made it himself, and it was so splendid! – and he was looking forward to the knighting ceremony, for he had never seen one; Elves did not of custom indulge in the tradition of squires and spurs, and he was eager to improve his mind with knowledge and experience, especially since his lord had agreed to take him as esquire to train him to be a knight, too. He fully expected to be sworn in when he had proved himself as a page, and thus performed his duties with eagerness and delight, looking ahead to the day he could begin to put his childhood aside, and enter the mysterious realm of maturity.

The guests coming from furthest away had arrived and been properly ensconced in their rooms, and all their servants and retinue given limited rein. The Tower of the Green Knight fairly burst with bustle and activity, and Tamin scurrying to and fro on humble errantry felt near crushed by it. How he longed for the halls to be empty and echoing, the solars and rooms quiet! It was for that reason he had so eagerly anticipated going out to falcon, for Westering Sun Hill had not yet been discovered by their mortal neighbors and an Elf could hunt there in full solitude if he or she wished. Tamin wanted rather to be scrambling about the rocks and waterfalls of Ephel Dúath, exploring and poking round brakes and trees, stirring up quail and finding colorful insects to secrete in Liquíseleé’s bell jars in the apothecary. The commotion in Dol Galenehtar pressed so heavily upon him, and though he could not yet identify the source of his discontent, he wished to go someplace to hide ‘til it was all over, yet greatly desired to take part in the revelry. This dichotomy puzzled and distressed him, and coupled with his disappointment at not being able to falcon, he felt very unhappy indeed.

He trudged along the lesser path, the sun gleaming upon his golden head, his plain brown tunic brushed with dew and bits of leaves, his feet soaking. Over his head a nightingale warbled down at him, and Tamin stopped and looked up at it reproachfully.

“I suppose you have every right to be content,” he said to it; “your nest is not overrun with other noisy chattering birds, and you may hunt if you like!”

The nightingale cocked its head at him and fixed him with a beady eye. It gave a noncommittal trill and sharpened its beak upon the branch. Tamin watched it a moment more and said thoughtfully: “Though I do not think I would want to eat bugs for breakfast – pastries are better. I hope there are some left for the butteries are in such duress. It is terrible when they run out of pastries. Then I am constrained to eat toasted muffins, which are not nearly so nice, though the raspberry jam tastes quite good upon them; not so good as pastries though, especially the cherry ones, when they are dripping with honey. But that is the way of it now, for there are too many folk in Dol Galenehtar and they all seem to favor pastries; even the gooseberry ones, which I do not like quite so well. Is it thus with you, friend nightingale ? If there are too many birds, do you run out of your favorite bugs to eat?”

The nightingale did not deign to reply to this, but spread its wings and swooped away, to land upon the bloom-laden bough of a cherry tree. A little shower of petals fluttered to the ground beneath it, like fragrant snowflakes; despite himself Tamin smiled.

“That was very prettily done!” he complimented the bird. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

The bird ruffled its feathers, and gave a comical squawk; Tamin laughed.

“Yes, you are!” he scolded the bird. “Shame on you; I was having such a fine sulk. Well, where do you lead me next?”

The bird fluttered away, disappearing into the thicket, and Tamin followed. He found the nightingale perched crookedly on a pine branch, worrying at a nascent cone. It let Tamin approach, eyeing him with caution; but Tamin whistled softly to it and held out one finger, and the bird did not fly away, but let the boy lightly touch its head. It submitted to this but for a moment; then when Tamin attempted to put his hand upon the bird’s back it gave him a disapproving look, and flew away. Tamin stood and watched it go; his heart was lighter though he could not have explained why.

He wandered through the thicket for a while, caring not for the state of his shoes nor his ultimate destination; then under the scent of pine and wet wood and cold earth came a most intriguing pair of smells: One of his own kind, and that of a mortal. He paused, eyes wide, listening and sniffing with care; then he heard voices, dim and muffled through the trees, and to his joy identified the dulcet tone and rich piney scent of his lord. He crept quiet as he could through the thick underbrush, hoping the heavy brakes of lavender would disguise him; then peering round a large oak he spied the interlopers.

Lord Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Green Knight of Gondor, of the Nine Walkers, Fell-Beast-Bane, and betimes called the Jewel of Ithilien, sat upon a stone in a small clearing, clad in plain dark clothes, his hair pulled back into a simple plait. He had his arm round Bandobras’ shoulders, and the Hobbit was weeping. Tears also glimmered in the Elf’s eyes, and his face was grieved; even as Tamin watched, Legolas pulled Bandobras to him and embraced him and said:

“My dear Little One! How I wish it were not so; she would have been so pleased I know, and was so proud of you even as mere accolade. That she anticipated this day with great joy should not however rob you of your own! Her absence is a great gap, but her satisfaction flows out of it nonetheless.”

“It was the food she looked forward to, Master,” sobbed Bandobras into Legolas’ shoulder. “And getting a fine new dress. When I saw that bolt of blue brocade in Laivánwa’s cupboard I remembered Dúrfinwen had got it for her especially, and O how it hurt me, Master, to know the dress hadn’t never been made! And after Dúrfinwen and Tuilíndo had picked it out for her too, and Hwindiö had even made the little silver buttons for it, and those cunning hook-and-eyes. O I know I’m being awful stroppy, Master, and don’t go thinking I don’t appreciate the trouble you and everyone else has gone through to make this day special, but – “ he sniffled. “I do miss her, and that’s a fact.”

“My Bandobras, to miss one’s mother is right and proper,” said Legolas gently, ruffling the Hobbit’s brown curls. “Especially when that mother was so good and kind and wise and beautiful. I miss her too; I miss Pearl Took, my Little Mother, who fed me scones and muffins and hot tea with sugar and cream, and bullied Kaimelas about my wardrobe, and scolded me if I got my shoes dirty.” Bandobras gave a strange noise, something between a laugh and a sob, and Legolas kissed his head. “She was so proud of you, and so happy here; even in her illness she was happy, and you must remember that, dear Bandobras.”

“I do, Master, I do that.” Bandobras took a great shivery breath, lifting his head from Legolas’ shoulder and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “And I’m a right fool to sit and whine when this here’s the biggest day of my life, ain’t I, Master? After all Gimli and his crew are here, and that bunch of folk from Rivendell, and all them knights from all over. I ought to be getting ready, not sooking about making you miss your breakfast.” He got up and straightened his tunic. “Come to think of it, I’ve still got that fitting with Gimli for my armor, haven’t I, Master? I’d better run along right quick or he’ll get cross with me, and we both know how he can fuss when he’s been put off, like.”

“That is so,” laughed Legolas. “Go along then, my Little One; I will follow; I have some small thing to attend to yet. Run along before me, as you are still my esquire, and I might order you about; come this evening should I issue orders to you I give you permission to put me in my place!”

Bandobras snorted. “As if I’d ever stoop so low!” he exclaimed. “Why I think I had better luck bossing you when I was your esquire! When I’m a knight I’ll only be able to make suggestions, and you’re not one to take those very well.”

“True enough,” smiled Legolas. “Be well, my Bandobras. Go to your fitting, and stay in your rooms ere the ceremony begins. The other knights will come to fetch you.”

“Thank you, Master,” sighed Bandobras, throwing his arms round Legolas’ neck and kissing him. “What I will do when I can’t call you ‘Master’ anymore beats me. It’ll be right strange, having to make my own decisions.”

“You will do well, Bandobras,” said Legolas with a sad smile. “Run along! Do not make Gimli late or he will shout at me!”

Bandobras grinned, and kissing Legolas again he ran down to the lower path, and disappeared into the wood. Legolas sat very still, his face thoughtful, his hands in his lap; of habit so kinetic, it was strange for Tamin to see them so still, lying like the marble hands of a statue upon the rough brown cloth. Legolas’ eyes were downcast, obscuring the silvery light within, and his shoulders slumped somewhat, revealing by contrast his latent sorrow. All round the Green Knight the spring morning glistened, and Tamin was cut to the heart at the prospect, for he loved his lord speciously and unashamedly, and greedily drank in the sight Legolas made sitting still and silent upon the cold wet stone. The sun flickered through the leaves on the Elf lord’s head, shimmering silver and green, and the breeze shook shining droplets like diamonds, and pink petals down upon him. The unbound stray strands of golden hair stirred round his fair face, touching his smooth cheeks and columbine lips and broad forehead; his throat like a column of marble rose from the dark clothing. Tamin stifled a sigh of contented pleasure and settled in to appreciate his lord, his chin on his palm. Birds chattered and chirruped in the branches, and far off was the sound of a cataract, mumbling deep and sonorous. O but he could not wait to serve his lord! Tamin could remember Celeborn’s departure and the desolation of the Galadrim, and in his young heart all the journey east had he longed for a lord, a prince, a patron to serve, to teach him, to succor and guide his people. And here he was! Legolas son of Thranduil, one of the most famous Elves in the world of Men, rich and splendid and strong and kind! And fair of face and a good warrior and statesman, Tamin was discovering; it seemed every time he learned something new about his impending master it was good, and cast poor Legolas in a brighter light than before. Tamin did not know it, but many of Legolas’ advisors chuckled behind their hands at him in his adulation, and Rúmil looked askance at his son for his reverence The object of Tamin’s veneration however merely shrugged tolerantly and agreed with Gimli, who said Tamin would learn soon enough and to his chagrin that the son of Thranduil was quite far from perfect.

For now however Tamin contented himself with admiring his lord, and imagining what it would be like to not be a page only, but an esquire and then a knight, and to work and live by Lord Legolas’ side. O he would be a good esquire – he would do everything his Master told him to do and would learn as much as he could and wait upon him and take care of him and sing to him when he was melancholy and bring him food when he was hungry and wine when he was thirsty, and protect him in battle and serve him at banquets and –

“Come forth, Tamin,” said Legolas suddenly. “It is unseemly to listen both at oak doors and oak trees.”

Blushing furiously Tamin scrambled out from beneath the lavender brake. He brushed the dirt and grass from his hose and rushed breathlessly across the clearing, dropping to his knee at his lord’s feet, and taking one of Legolas’ hands in his own. “Master,” he said earnestly, kissing Legolas’ hand. “I did not mean to eavesdrop. But Bandobras wept and I did not know what to do.”

Legolas looked gravely down at him, his gray eyes sober. “You were right to not interrupt, Little One,” he said, laying his other hand upon Tamin’s head. “But in the future, when you are surprised by another’s confession or immolation, you must retreat, and listen not to conversations not meant for your ears.” Tamin hung his head, ashamed; thus he missed the twinkle in Legolas’ eye and was surprised to hear his lord say: “Unless it benefits Dol Galenehtar, of course. Then you may listen all you like.”

Tamin raised his eyes to his lord’s, and seeing the humor there was awash with happiness, that he had not disappointed his beloved Lord Legolas. “I will then, O my Master!” he cried, pressing Legolas’ hand to his heart. “I will listen and glean all pertinent information I may! That way I will safeguard your house and improve your knowledge of the secret things which might fester in the dark corners of your home.”

“Well I flatter myself there is not overmuch festering in Dol Galenehtar,” said Legolas dryly. “And do not make yourself a nuisance, Little One! Be you sure to determine betwixt private conversation and dangerous plotting. Difficult betimes, especially with so many strangers in my halls; but I have faith in your common sense, my Tamin.” Tamin beamed at him, and Legolas smiled; he could not help himself, for his little page was so appealing, like a pup gamboling with its toys. “Now tell me, my Tamin, why do you skulk about the perimeter so? Do you have some secret assignation, or did you as I simply follow a much-beloved friend in distress? Or,” he added, giving Tamin a keen look, “are you discontented with your parents, and anxious to put distance betwixt you and they?”

Tamin blushed again. “I was discontent, Master,” he admitted, embarrassed. “I wanted to go falconing with Andunië today but Naneth said me nay.”

Legolas looked thoughtfully up at the sky, peeping pale blue behind the waving branches above them. “’Tis a fine day indeed,” he said with a sigh. “A hunt would have been a good thing, would it not? Though I prefer bow to bird, and a good haunch of venison to rabbit. Well, to-day is not the day for us to so indulge ourselves, my Tamin; it is a big day, and an important one for me, and I must needs keep myself at home to prepare for it.”

“A big day for you, Master?” asked Tamin in surprise. “But it is Bandy’s day not yours! All you have to do is to sit upon your throne in your splendid white robes and wear your beautiful crown and give him his sword and steed and spurs. I have read the ceremony, Master; I am sure it is not beyond you.”

Legolas laughed, and embraced the boy. “Dear Tamin!” he exclaimed, releasing him and taking him by the shoulders, smiling down into the child’s upturned face. “Nay, it is not beyond me; I know the words well, for have I not observed the knighting ceremonies many times ere coming to Gondor? I mean, it is a big day, for my house is full to overflowing, and my heart also; Bandobras Took is the only esquire I have ever taken, and to lose him to his accolade is an amazing thing for me. I am proud of him, and sad for myself, for now he shall not be my little Bandobras, but Bandobras the Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar, and no longer under my protection. It has been a long day coming, my Tamin; he is precious to me, and I love him and would fain release him; yet I know it is my bounden duty to so do.”

Tamin did not fully understand, for he was as yet very young; the pertinent point to him was his lord’s love for Bandobras and high regard for the Hobbit, and he quelled within himself the twinge of jealousy that had sprouted there. But he knew rather he should be glad for Bandobras and he said stoutly: “He will make a good knight Master; you have taught him so well, and he is so brave and wise and well-liked. And is not his armor splendid? Lord Gimli did show it me last evening; the blue inlay shines so, and the plume so high, and the pauldrons so stiff! I hope Spark is strong enough to bear shaffron and peytral for they look very heavy.”

“Spark is a good pony,” said Legolas. “And a strong one too; he is of the hills round Dale and a good, stout steed. Nay, Little One; you are right: Bandobras will be a good knight, and I am proud to have fostered him. But to return to the task at hand; have you reconciled yourself to your Naneth? Are you still cross with her? For you must not bear enmity toward your mother long; you must treat her well, for she is the only mother you will ever have.”

Remembering what he had heard of Bandobras’ conversation made Tamin ashamed to think how he had harbored bitter thoughts toward his Naneth. “O I am not cross with her now, Master!” he said earnestly. “I do wish I could go hunting but I can do that another time I suppose. But I truly do not want to take a bath today, Master; must I truly take a bath?”

“Kaimelas is dragging me to the wash-tub too,” laughed Legolas, squeezing his page’s shoulders. “It is a mortification to be borne for good reason, Little One. Now look! The sun is high and my guests surely will be expecting me about; why, I am to share a pitcher of mead with the eldest son of Peredhil before noon, and I have not even broken fast!” He sighed then, and looked very low, and Tamin’s heart was wrung for him though he did not descry the reason for his Master’s sorrow. He was astonished when Legolas said sadly, “Harry me, my Tamin; be firm with me, and pester me to get me to my chambers, and make me to eat something, and harass Kaimelas lest he forget to lay out my robes; bully me about, for I am but a poor stupid knight and do not know better than to wander round in the woods when my time would be better spent attending my duties.” Tamin stared at him in surprise; then seeing the burgeoning laughter in his lord’s eyes he laughed too, and leaping to his feet he tugged at Legolas’ hands ‘til he rose tall above him.

“Come then, Master!” he cried, pulling him down the path. “Let us get back to Dol Galenehtar and beat the sun to the quadrangle. I am hungry; are you hungry, Master? If we hurry we can have pastries and not muffins! Let us go round the back way – I know where there is a break in the eastern hedge and we can slip round the side door – we can go to the butteries and get something to eat. Pastries if there are aught left, or seedy-cakes maybe, which are better than muffins and more filling beside. Would you like to go to the kitchen for some seedy-cakes, Master?”

“I would indeed, Little One,” said Legolas with a smile. “Let us steal seed cakes and a pot of tea from the butteries, and sit by Hwindiö’s hearth for a while, you and I, Little One, ere the day gets away from us, and we are swallowed in ritual.”

Tamin asked nothing better, and taking his lord firmly by the hand he led them running into the woods; their feet left no sign of their passage, but the nightingale noted their presence for they both laughed together as they ran.

“Elves!” sniffed the nightingale , watching them go. “Better in concert than in solo. Well they are harmless enough I suppose, and that little one did stir up some lovely bugs for my breakfast!” So thinking the nightingale fluttered off, to find its nest and its younglings, tucking them softly beneath its downy wings.

A/N: Many thanks to all who have read and reviewed! Your kind words and encouragement keep me motivated. And a huge, oliphaunt-sized thank you to my beta, Nieriel Raina, without whom this chapter would have looked very stupid. All errors are mine; anything good is her doing. – Le Rouret

“Well Legolas,” said Aragorn, watching the rich red wine rope and glimmer into his goblet. “I truly did not expect this day would come.”

“No more did I!” said Gimli from across the nook; he had already drained half his glass of ale, and puffed contentedly upon his pipe, his stockinged feet propped up onto a stool. “That little scalawag, a knight! Why it seems but yesterday he was stammering his fealty to you in your father’s halls, my friend.”

“So it does!” laughed Legolas. “Was he not so tiny, Gimli? Do you remember how tiny he was? And how young and frail and innocent! Almost was I afeared of taking him beneath my wing, for what knowledge had I of one so small and fragile as he? But he has turned into a hale and doughty fellow, as befitting the name of Took, and I do not doubt me he shall prove he is as strong as the ancestor from whom he inherited his name.” He filled Aragorn’s goblet with a little flourish of his wrist and glanced over one shoulder at Faramir. “Do you want more, Faramir, or think you four glasses shall turn your head?”

“Turn it all you like,” said Faramir smiling, holding out his goblet. “I have naught to do this day save sit and listen to tiresome speeches. Your good red wine shall assuage my ennui methinks.”

“For shame, my friend!” said Legolas, though he smiled as he filled Faramir’s cup. “I have planned no speeches, and the ceremony shall swift be accomplished. Do not drink too much or you will be unable to dance.”

“Éowyn is not much for dancing,” laughed Faramir. “She will not mind if I am rendered unwilling by wine.”

“The same might be said for you, Thranduilion,” said Elrohir with a small smile. “Did I not observe you taking two glasses of mead with me, not two bells hence?”

“You did,” said Legolas, winking at Gimli, who chuckled. “And have you not yet observed the amount of drink I might consume ere my desire to dance deserts me? Just because you restrict yourself to two glasses daily does not imply I follow your austere regime. Just ask your brother; he has erred in his judgment of mine abilities before.”

“I did tell you many years ago, Estel, did I not, that the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen drink overmuch?” said Elrohir dryly to Aragorn, who was laughing. “And yet from accounts given from certain members of Thranduil’s court, you comported yourself quite foolishly your first visit there.”

“I was not so bad, once I had got used to it,” protested Aragorn. “It is just the wine they serve is so strong, and the spirits of Imladris are not up to that standard.”

Elrohir looked affronted, but Legolas gave to him a goblet and said: “Did I say to you that brother whom I referenced was present in this very room? I did not! Elladan did attempt to maintain the same pace we kept in the Hall of my Lord Father but found it a daunting task. That Dorwinion wine! It is stronger than it tastes. O but have you no fear, Elrohir son of Elrond Half-Elven; I am sure an Elf with as impressive a pedigree as yours, coupled with that iron will for which you are so admired, will be up to the task. This is only the red from the western slopes after all … ten years has it brooded in my cellars, and grows the mellower with each year. Do not let it intimidate you! It does not bite back – not much anyway. It is not the strength of the vintage but the inexperience of the drinker you need fear. You do not practice enough; that is why you find it goes to your head. Drink, Peredhel! There are no battles or council-chambers or aught to take you to horse or sword; you have but to rest and eat and drink and laugh and dance, for you are in Dol Galenehtar and its lord requires merriment, song, and feasting!”

“Merriment indeed!” said Gimli with a snort, and Legolas smiled at him; the Dwarf was huffing into his glass. “I bethought me the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen did indeed sport themselves overmuch; that was before I realized what Dol Galenehtar would become, should Legolas Greenleaf take lordship over it.” He gave Legolas a fond look. “You exasperating, merry fellow!” he said; the affection was thick in his gruff voice. “Had I known what would befall your demesne I think I should have made twice as many dance-halls, and half so many council-chambers.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, my dear Gimli,” said Legolas with a slight bow. “I do flatter myself that Dol Galenehtar is a merry place, and folk find themselves the happier here, if not the wiser.”

Elrohir tasted the wine and grimaced. “Any who drink this vintage will be duller not wiser,” he said. “By heavens, Thranduilion, this is potent stuff!”

“Ho!” laughed Aragorn. “Think you this to be strong? You ought to sample what the Dwarves make of it; their brandy from Dol Galenehtar’s stores is heady indeed.”

“Hush, Aragorn!” chided Gimli while Faramir laughed. “You are giving away all my secrets.”

“Speaking of secrets,” said Legolas, giving Gimli a taste of the wine despite his protests, “what said your lord father in his missive to you this morn? I’ll wager it’s not a patch on mine own Lord Father’s letter to me concerning the turmoil in Esgaroth.”

“Why; what news from the Long Lake?” asked Aragorn in surprise. “Nothing ill I hope?”

“No more do I,” said Legolas. “My Lord Father cares not for the new Master of Esgaroth – King Girion of Dale is ever a favorite, but this Malbeach of Esgaroth is, to all accounts, an oily fellow and no better than he ought to be.”

“I cannot believe Thranduil said oily,” said Gimli in surprise. Legolas snorted into his cup.

“Oily? Well, no; not in an official document anyway. I merely interpolated his meaning.”

“In person I am sure he would use the term oily however,” said Elrohir with a faint smile. “It sounds well, and if it describes this Malbeach then I cannot think Thranduil would deign to use the term.”

“Oily he is then,” said Legolas decisively. “He has asked to renegotiate docking fees.”

“That is hardly befitting the description of oiliness,” protested Faramir, for whom docking fees were a continual sore point with his neighbors.

“Without the benefit of the council of either the King of Eryn Lasgalen, or the Dwarves of Erebor?” asked Legolas. “Private council is all very well, but when one’s custom depends upon a congress of trade, why alienate one from the other?”

“Usually to benefit from the defamation from one or the other,” said Faramir with a wince, and mindful of his trade difficulties Legolas solicitously refilled his glass, making an inward promise to apologize to the Lady Éowyn the following morning for any resultant delicacy in the Steward’s demeanor.

“That is true,” Legolas conceded, “but in the case of the Master of Esgaroth it is hardly a cogent point. He controls the outflow of the Lake and without Esgaroth there is no trade outside Rhovanion. For what reason would he seek to ally himself solely with Lord Girion? Surely King Thorin and my Lord Father are allies not to be disparaged. Certainly my Lord Father is more a recipient of trade and not a producer, but the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain provide the lion’s share of the export. And why should Malbeach seek to belittle Eryn Lasgalen’s wealth? It were foolish of him in the extreme to cut off such tender, especially as the bulk of the wine grown round the Long Lake is purchased by Thranduil’s court.”

“Perhaps Galion offended him,” said Gimli, winking. Legolas burst out laughing.

“Perhaps he did! Galion offends everyone. But if Malbeach seeks to sow discord betwixt race and race, his plan has gone against him, in that Thorin and my Lord Father now meet together, forswearing their ancient enmity.”

“Do they indeed!” exclaimed Elrohir in surprise. “How on earth did they manage that?”

“My Lady Mother’s doing, of course!” said Legolas with a wink. “She flatters and cajoles and smiles and sings, and while Thorin and Glóin and the others are entranced she orders up for them the finest guest rooms, the best wine, the finest food, and the costliest gifts, saying all is a gift from his majesty, the Elven King. I am certain your poor father, Gimli, thinks it contrition on my Lord Father’s part; it matters not however, as peace is made.”

“Your Lady Mother is quite cunning,” said Gimli, grinning. “I will keep her secret; it is delightful to read in my father’s letters how ‘mellow’ has become the Elven King. And anything that fosters concord betwixt our sires meets with my approval.”

“It is something, then, that Thranduil and Thorin might congress, and frustrate any plans to divide them,” said Aragorn. “But why Malbeach would wish to estrange Elf and Dwarf from their neighbors is a mystery.”

“Well let us leave our fathers to the solving of it,” said Gimli comfortably. “We have enough trouble of our own down South.” At Legolas’ raised eyebrow he added, “Well, not ‘trouble’ necessarily, but enough to keep us occupied at least. Bandy is plenty to worry us; we need not borrow trouble from our fathers.”

“Still it is unnerving,” said Legolas, sitting slowly and staring into the hearth. “Ever since the destruction of Smaug have Dale and Esgaroth been united, and Dale friendly with the Dwarves, Esgaroth with the Elves; a tentative balance has been achieved. But now this Malbeach – “

The door banged open then with sudden violence, and a voice cried gladly: “Master, Master!” Gimli choked on his wine, and all the men turned, startled; however it was but Tamin who stood, panting a little, his hair in disarray; when he saw the chamber filled with his elders he blushed to the roots of his golden mane and gave an awkward bow. “I, I am sorry, Master,” he stammered, putting his hands behind his back. “I did not know you entertained any guests – “

“Well, do you not be so precipitate, my Tamin; you quite put us off our drink,” said Legolas calmly, setting the jug of wine upon the mantle and approaching the boy. “What is it; some calamity that warrants mine immediate attention?” When Tamin hesitated, his eyes guardedly on Elrohir, Legolas said hurriedly: “Ah! You are wearing your new black tunic. It looks well on you; I am pleased Hirilcúllas did finish it, for I wished you to wear it to Bandobras’ knighting this eve.”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, looking at his shoes in confusion. “I – I came to thank you for it, but – “

“Well next time knock first, then enter,” said Legolas gravely. “You will not risk surprising me in conference then. Is there aught else, or need you go about your many duties?”

Tamin thought for a moment, running through the list in his mind; Hirilcúllas and Leithwen who were organizing the fete had each given him numerous tasks, and though impetuous Tamin was strangely methodical. At last he declared thoughtfully, “Only that Kaimelas wished me to remind you of your toilet, for you complain of a tepid bath, and he does not wish to draw up more hot water than necessary for the guest-chambers are full to overflowing; and O King Elessar, her majesty did request of me I locate you before the fifth bell and remind your majesty how long it takes you to get into your ermine robes because you are not so young as you used to be.”

Gimli suffered a coughing-fit, and all the other men tried very hard to look sober; Legolas pressed his lips together firmly, then said with forced calm: “Anything else, Little One?”

“I think not, Master,” said Tamin, frowning, his brows knotted. “But there is so much in my head I might have forgotten something. If I remember that I have forgotten I will come back and tell you that I have remembered something I forgot that I ought to have remembered, Master. But I will knock first this time, even if what I have remembered I have forgotten is important; will that please you, Master, or should I be precipitate again if it is very important? I would not want to let politesse stand in the way of something very urgent, especially if it is through my forgetting of it and subsequent remembering that brings it to light.”

“That will be splendid, my Tamin,” said Legolas, and gave the blushing boy a kiss on the crown of his golden head, ignoring Gimli’s prolonged cough. “Now run along and complete your tasks; Leithwen is clement but should you cross Hirilcúllas I would not give a brass piece for your hide!”

“Yes, Master!” said Tamin, and impetuously grasped Legolas’ hand and kissed it; then with pink cheeks he quit the room, not quite slamming the door; though the lamps chimed a little with his passing. Faramir and Aragorn let themselves laugh then, and even Elrohir chuckled.

“By the heavens, Legolas,” he said, sipping his wine cautiously; “so delightful do I find the boy that I am sore tempted to find for myself an esquire; I feel I am too serious, and the presence of such a one as he would lighten my mood quite.”

“Well you cannot have that one,” said Legolas firmly, taking his goblet with a grin and filling it up. “Go you to the Shire and find a small Halfling instead – that, as my Bandobras would say, will larn you.”

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Tamin’s mother barely managed to force her son into the bath that day, so occupied was he in the performance of his many duties, both forgotten and remembered. But by the sixth bell Tamin was washed, brushed, and clothed to the best of his mother’s abilities, and she sent him off from their family rooms with a wry smile; Tamin’s cheerful wave as he trotted down the hallway brought tears to her eyes. Rúmil came behind her then, and slipping his arms round his lady wife’s waist said: “He is grown so tall; he is near to mine own height. Can you even mark, beloved, how he has changed?”

“I cannot, my husband,” said Maelaëri dabbing at her tears and smiling. “Do you recall how he would make birch-bark boats, and then float them downstream? I feel like that now, that we have taken such care to construct him, yet he is so fragile still, and we send him down the river with nary a thought.”

“Hardly that,” said Rúmil gently, embracing her. “So long as a mother’s heart beats her thoughts are ever on her offspring.” He drew her inside then and said, “Now, come! Show me what you and that minx Hirilcúllas were giggling over earlier.” And laughing through her tears Maelaëri allowed herself to be enticed within.

Tamin, like many boys, did not spare much thought for his mother, and had he caught her weeping would have merely been worried and puzzled; however he was so preoccupied with his many tasks he had scarcely time to think of his own concerns. He knew Bandobras was in his chambers being prepared for the ceremony, and in spite of his jealousy he felt his sympathies soften toward the Hobbit; this was a tremendous thing Bandobras had accomplished, and Tamin hoped he himself would be equal to the task someday.

As he hurried by on good deed intent he happened to espy several knights waiting in a small dark solar, and recognizing one of them as his lord’s especial friend Cirien the Yellow Knight, and knowing the man was aged and infirm, paused with his arms full of embroidered table cloths; seeing Cirien lacked drink or seat he rushed into the room, gave the group of men a perfunctory bow and said: “My lords all, is there aught you require? For the ceremony does not commence ere the eighth bell and it is hard duty waiting round for something to happen.”

Several knights chuckled, and Cirien smiled; Tamin recognized also Mardil the Silver Knight, and his father by marriage Araval; also within was the splendid Red Knight of Amon Din and diverse others. “Our thanks to you, Tamin the Fulgent!” boomed Mardil, inclining his head to Tamin, much to the boy’s embarrassment. “But we fast with Bandobras of Tookland in commemoration of our own accolades.”

“O do you?” said Tamin curiously; he did not realize other knights would follow the custom. “I have read, O my lords, that betimes some knights will in sympathy refrain from food or drink along with the suffering esquire but I did not realize you should comply.”

“How can we not?” asked a knight of Rohan then. The man’s long yellow braids streamed down his back, and he was clad in a simple green tunic, though the others accorded him full honor Tamin saw. Also was there a crippled knight in brown – Hallas of Lossarnach, the boy remembered; then he realized the knight of Rohan must be Hildáf of the Westmarch. “For did we not all of us to the man observe Bandobras son of Reginard in his first deeds errant? Indeed the traitor Eradan did give to the holbytla plenty upon which to cut his teeth!”

The knights laughed then, and Tamin felt very foolish; of course, Bandobras had been his lord’s esquire for many years, and Tamin had forgotten what he had heard of the Green Knight’s first tournament. To cover his confusion he bowed again, and with a very red face he bolted from the room.

Tuilíndo took the cloths from him and ordered Tamin to help him spread them; this occupied the boy for some time, and Laivánwa further kept him busy running to and fro with a cart full of silver and porcelain. Tamin was well-versed by then in the hierarchy of the court during such functions and neither Laivánwa nor his son found aught to criticize; when at last the tables were properly set and they sent him to the butteries to fetch the trenchers Tuilíndo smiled after him.

“Our lord has made a good choice,” he said with satisfaction.

“We will see!” said Laivánwa gruffly; he was fussed over the preparations and not inclined to sentiment. “He is very young.”

“That the years will mend,” said Tuilíndo with confidence. “Majority would not help a foolish boy, and our lord knows this.”

“Well, perhaps,” said Laivánwa. “If he can be taught to hold his tongue, then I will think Prince Legolas will have truly accomplished something!” Chuckling Tuilíndo agreed, and continued to aid his father in the Hall.

At last the eighth bell rang, and the people began to fill the Great Hall. First came the lowlier folk, those of Dol Galenehtar and of the surrounding regions, minor merchants from Ithilien and Osgiliath; Tamin, pausing by the solar door, saw Andunië’s coppery head, and beside her Himbaláth her husband, and he wondered how had gone the hunt. Also did he see his parents there, and was pleased to note his mother was clad in new clothes, and her gown was very fine. Making sure Tuilíndo did not see him Tamin ran to them where they seated themselves, and throwing his arms round his mother’s neck he said: “O how splendid you look, Naneth! What a lovely dress! Are we not fortunate, O Adar, that Naneth is so beautiful? I declare I have the prettiest mother in Dol Galenehtar!” The people round them hearing this laughed and teased Maelaëri, but Tamin was already gone; he skipped back on nimble feet to where Laivánwa stood with a look on his face as though he were looking for someone. Tamin presented himself ere the man could decide whether or not to be cross, and was proved his forgiveness by being given the task of lighting the candelabra upon the dais tables.

Tamin was careful with the taper, for he knew that if he dripped wax upon the gold cloth he would be required to remove it, and it was a tedious task and unfitting one as energetic as he; however as the crowds swelled he felt someone’s eyes upon him, and looking down at the tables closest the dais he saw his dear friend Fastred, splendid in the black of the Stewards’ house. Fastred smiled and nodded, and Tamin grinned; however when he espied Léodwyn walking frostily by, deliberately ignoring Fastred’s glance, his face fell; for he saw how cut Fastred was, and how angry. Shaking his head over the follies of mortal love Tamin finished lighting the candelabra and hurried back to ask what he should do next.

Laivánwa hushed him, and Tuilíndo smiling told him to seek his family. “But quietly,” he whispered; “the herald is about to start.” Eyes shining with excitement Tamin hurried away, and slipped onto the bench betwixt his parents; the trenchers were yet empty but upon the tables the cooks had piled fresh bread, and bowls of gravy and ragouts, and pyramids of roasted quail, and platters of nuts and cheese. Tamin’s mouth watered and he hoped the herald would hurry. His stomach rumbled, and Maelaëri, hearing this, broke a corner of white crumbly cheese from the plate in front of her, and slipped it to her son under cover of the table cloth. Tamin smiled at her, and ate it as stealthily as he could.

Then there was the blare of trumpets, and everyone rose. Tamin craned his neck to look to the entrance of the Hall. Two rows of five warriors stood there, gorgeously bedecked in shining mail with high-crowned helms; they held tall spears sporting the green and brown of Dol Galenehtar. Tamin could see the gleam of silver threads in the pennants and he smiled; his own dear mother had embroidered those. The musicians set down their cloth-draped horns and stepped back, and Galás of Doriath strode into the Hall.

Tamin knew Galás only as his lord’s seneschal, a jolly, irreverent, and often exasperating Elf. He had never seen Galás in such resplendence, for though Galás was of ancient and noble lineage and numbered his years in millennia not centuries he eschewed fine clothing and more often than not during feasts would be seen in a plain dark doublet, sitting round the wine-barrels singing impolite songs. He looked very incongruous to Tamin, clad in a marvelous robe of sapphire; a broad red sash was bound round his waist and he had a silver circlet upon his dark head. His epaulettes gleamed with gems and his face was sober, though Tamin could see even from that distance that Galás’ grey eyes were twinkling as though with secret mirth. The herald called out, “Galás of Doriath, seneschal of Dol Galenehtar!” and everyone watched him walk up to the dais. He turned at the head of the dais and snapped his fingers. Two Elves brought out a laver; Tamin could see the water steaming in it. Then the herald cried: “Make obeisance to the lord of the feast, his most right and noble highness, Prince Thranduilion, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Green Knight of Gondor, of the Nine Walkers, Fell-Beast-Bane, Legolas our lord!”

Tamin cried out with the others, chills all over his arms from the tributes paid his beloved Master. He saw to his delight that Fionim and Morambel had moved their heads and thus he had a clear view of Legolas as he came into the Hall in all his splendor and majesty. His eyes misted over with gratitude that his lord whom he loved should be so magnificent, and devoured the sight the Green Knight made as he came into his Hall. He was clad, as Tamin knew he would be, in a robe whiter than snow, and covered all over with gems and metal thread and sparkling silver and mithril beads. The tassels on his sash chimed together and the light from the torches when it struck him was shattered into color, gleaming and sparkling and glittering like the stars in the heavens. His hair lay smooth as molten gold upon his shoulders, and crowning his beautiful head was the Circlet of Edlothiel, dazzling the eye with opals and diamonds and other white gems, twisted mithril cleverly mocking the sigil of Legolas’ house. But finer than his vestments to Tamin was his Master’s face, serene, redoubtable, fair; and his eyes, gentle and adamant, with the darkest flicker of temper. Tamin shivered with delight, entranced to watch the old formal ceremony. Galás welcomed his royal cousin, and laved his hands and stood aside; then did Legolas raise his glittering arms to the assembly, and all were silent. He nodded to the herald who said:

“Their royal majesties, Elessar, the Elfstone, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and the Evenstar, Arwen Undómiel daughter of Elrond Peredhil, the King and Queen of Gondor!”

King Elessar and his lovely queen came in then, and Tamin only thought with an inward sniff that it was a shame Queen Undómiel were not as beautiful as his lord. There was more talking then, and his Master washed the king’s and queen’s hands; then Elrohir Peredhel came in, and his Master washed his hands, and then Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn of Osgiliath came in, and Legolas washed their hands, and Tamin began to lose interest, because he was very hungry and O so tired of standing, and many lords and ladies and knights were coming in whom he did not know, and he tried as best he could not to fidget. At last everyone came in who was supposed to, and Galás told everyone to be seated.

Tamin felt very uneasy on Bandobras’ account and hoped the Hobbit were not too nervous. Tamin did not know how he would fare himself, if he were to walk the length of this crowded hall filled with so many great and important people. But the herald announced then, “Bandobras Took son of Reginard, Esquire of the Green Knight!” and Tamin’s imagination flared. Someday, he thought wistfully; someday that would be he the herald announced, coming down the length of the Hall to accept his spurs; someday he too would be ready, would have completed his training and achieved his majority, and earned the right to be announced like any other knight or lord. But Tamin knew he would not be nervous, for he would be walking toward his lord, and he knew his Master would eclipse all others, and in his splendor burn away any fear from his servant’s heart. He strained up on his toes to see Bandobras come in, having to shift right and left ‘til he found a spot betwixt Fionim and Malinadulin; he espied the Hobbit then, clad in a simple blue arming doublet and cap, his jolly little face unnaturally sober. He walked the length of the Hall confidently, and Tamin was impressed, and wondered if the Hobbit too saw naught but his Master and so was strengthened by it. He looked up at Legolas then and his heart turned over; his lord was watching Bandobras approach, his face tender, but also sad; his eyes were filled with tears, and Tamin once again pushed down his invidious feelings.

Bandobras reached the dais, and bowed; and then Tamin realized that there was a crowd of men at the foot of the dais, with Gimli of Aglarond beside them. Each man held a piece of blue armor. Tamin recognized Cirien, holding the plumed helm; Aldamir with the breastplate and fauld; Araval with the pauldron and bevor;

Mardil with the cuisses; Hallas holding the vambraces; Hildáf with the greaves, and Gimli with the sword belt. The armor was very fine, and caught the light, gleaming indigo round about them. Legolas stepped forward, and gestured to Bandobras. The Hobbit ascended the dais and bowed. Legolas knelt, and taking Bandobras by the shoulders kissed him on each cheek; then he rose, and said:

“Bandobras son of Reginard, child of the Shire, esquire of the Green Knight, you have this day achieved to the age of three and thirty years and have made your majority. You have been to your Master a good and faithful servant: diligent, brave, honest, loyal, of good temper and sound judgment, and charitable toward the beleaguered and disadvantaged. You have learnt to use sword and escutcheon, bow and arrow, mace and halberd; you ride and hunt with the knights of my household, and are conversant in the gentle art of the court, in hierarchy and echelon. You have attained the right to the honor and title of knight of the realm of Dol Galenehtar, with all tributes and lands attendant upon that. You may yet realize your freedom though, and leave to seek your own fortune in your own land; you will go with gifts and goodwill to find whatever future you might carve for yourself. What is your choice, Bandobras of Tookland?”

There was no hesitation; Bandobras said firmly, in a clear piping voice: “I, Bandobras son of Reginard, do renounce my homeland the Shire and choose to live out my natural life as a knight of Dol Galenehtar and as the humble vassal of you, my lord and master, Legolas son of Thranduil, Lord of Dol Galenehtar and Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“I knew he would say that,” muttered Himbaláth, and Andunië nudged him with her elbow.

“Since that is your chosen doom,” said Legolas, his eyes shining, “receive you now the gifts prepared for you.” He gestured with one glittering arm, and one by one the knights at the bottom of the dais, guided by Gimli, armed him. At last cap-a-pie Bandobras stood, his small face peering out through the gap betwixt eye-slit and bevor, the white plume dancing over his head. Gimli affixed the sword-belt and scabbard to him, and stood back to stand with the other knights. Then did Legolas reach back, and took from Galás a small sword; it flashed in the torchlight. Legolas held it high over Bandobras’ head.

“Kneel, Bandobras son of Reginard,” said Legolas, and with a creak and a clank the Hobbit knelt, bowing his head to his lord. Legolas bent down, his hair swinging like a shining silver curtain in a gentle breeze round his white face; tears gleamed upon his cheeks, and his grey eyes were shining. He touched the tip of the sword to Bandobras’ left shoulder. “Let your heart be loyal,” he said, and touched the sword to the right. “Let your arm be strong.” He lay the flat of the sword upon the dancing white plume of the helm. “Let your mind hold fast to justice and mercy.” Bandobras raised his head then, and Legolas presented him the sword hilt-first. “Take you your proffered weapon, O Bandobras the Blue Knight; your fealty shall be towards Dol Galenehtar and her principal Ithilien; your lord shall be Legolas Thranduilion the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, and your parcel, ten hectares of olive-grove; your steed, the pony Spark of the hills of Esgaroth; your home, a chamber in your lord’s castle; your fortune, five hundred gold pieces, one thousand of silver, and a half stone precious gems.” There was a small murmur at this, but Bandobras did not even seem to comprehend the wealth given him; his eyes were fixed upon his lord, and all else appeared to be as dross to him. He took the sword and turning it presented the hilt back to Legolas; he said:

“I Bandobras the Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar swear fealty to Legolas Thranduilion Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and declare this day that should my loyalty fade all accolade and wealth, glory and honor be of me stripped and I laid bare, for thus fall all who malign and defame their chosen lords and lands, and may the souls of my fathers hold me fast to this oath!”

Tamin shivered. He did not fear the dead, but he had never met a Hobbit-ghost and was certain they should prove more dreadful than others. But his lord appeared to be pleased with this pledge for he placed the sword in Bandobras’ scabbard, and turning the Hobbit round to face the assembly he said:

“Behold, Dol Galenehtar, Osgiliath, Ithilien, Gondor and all outlying lands! Behold Bandobras the Blue Knight!”

All rose to their feet then, and cried: “Hail the Blue Knight! Hail Bandobras of Dol Galenehtar!” And then the sommeliers came forth, rolling barrels out with laughter and song; with their hammers they broached the barrels and began scooping out the wine with great pewter jugs. These they distributed amongst the tables, and all laughing filled their cups; Tamin noticed that other pitchers had been set upon the dais table, and Legolas had poured a silver goblet full for Bandobras, and handed it to him with a laugh, though Tamin could not mark what Legolas said. Cirien and Mardil and all the others were laughing and toasting him, and Gimli had started to sing; all the Dwarves sitting on the end of the dais were singing too, and raising ale-cups brimming and foaming. Rúmil poured a dram of wine into his son’s cup, and Maelaëri with an acerbic look at her husband filled it with water; Rúmil gave it unto his son with a smile and said:

“And think you, O Tamin my son, that soon it shall be you who is so greatly honored! Drink and be glad, for Bandobras has achieved a great thing; he is to be praised indeed who has borne such a load and been proved victorious!” Tamin agreed, though when he tasted the watered-down wine he grimaced; he would rather have had plain water after all.

Everyone sat and let the servingmen bring the roasts and fowl, and Tamin with the rest of them ate and drank, sopping the gravy with a roll in his trencher and picking the bones. But when he had eaten his fill Tamin found a servillete and wiped his mouth, and leaning in to his father’s ear said: “I am going to find Laivánwa; I am sure he is frantic by now, and I want to see if I can help in any way!” He scrambled down from the bench and hurried back to the buttery hatches, and Rúmil watching him fondly said to Hwindiö beside him:

“How my heart burns within me to let him go! But ‘tis a better thing for his future and his fortune than I could ever give to him.”

“Be of good cheer!” said Hwindiö, refilling Rúmil’s cup. “Legolas Thranduilion is a clement master, and there is a plethora of things worse than serving him.” To this Rúmil agreed, and the other Galadrim who had joined the Green Knight’s household concurred with another toast, and proclaimed loud commendation concerning Legolas Thranduilion’s generosity.

That good lord sat upon the dais, and watched the people in high revel with fondness. He had not even passed a score of years in Ithilien yet had built for himself and his people a safe and comfortable place, filled with light and laughter and song and merriment, and brought others of his wandering kin safe behind his strong walls. Bandobras by his side ate voraciously, for no Hobbit fasts well; and the other knights in attendance, Cirien and Mardil and Araval and the others, laughed and ate and drank; Gimli was regaling King Elessar with some tale regarding the perfidy of the Men of the Mark, with Hildáf laughingly objecting; Undómiel and her brother spoke quietly and gently to each other, immeasurably grateful for the chance to converse; and all round him, Legolas saw people happily celebrating: Men and Elves, men and women and children, rich and poor, noble and lowly; the Hall was filled with the scents of roasted meat and bread and rich spices, and with the sound of laughter and music, and the sight of gaily-dressed folk, splendid in their finery, the lamps gleaming and swinging overhead, the columns and statues polished – was that a hat on the statue of Thingol in the corner? Galás again; still a scamp and at his age; Legolas could not help but laugh – through the tall arched windows he could see the stars twinkling, and the dark branches of the trees round the Tower waving in the wind.

He gave a melancholy little sigh, thinking of the many happy years he had spent with his little Bandobras trotting at his heels, fussing at him for getting his clothes dirty, encouraging him to eat more, standing staunchly by his side in battle, and insisting upon regular baths. To think that his Bandobras was now a knight! The Hobbit had removed his helm and gauntlets, and sitting with the other knights he gleamed and flashed as did they, his armor fresh and shining blue; he was speaking animatedly to Hildáf, and passing the wine jug to Aldamir, splendid in red; Araval in brown upon his other side was laughing, and teasing his son-in-law Mardil, who blushed from some wicked comment. Legolas let his eyes wander. There was his dear friend Undómiel, her glorious eyes sad, and beside her, dark and dangerous, was Elrohir, sorrow evident in his hard face. Legolas’ heart twisted within, for it was difficult enough to lose one’s mortal friends; but to lose a kinsman to mortality near unspeakable. His gaze traveled round the dais, and when he saw Faramir and Éowyn he felt better, for their love was a love of deep delight and vibrant virtue; however seeing upon the White Lady’s side Léodwyn, pale and angry, and Fastred, grimly picking apart his pheasant, made him frown; Fastred could be so stubborn sometimes, and Léodwyn … Legolas had hoped their match would be firmly set by now, yet here came Halgond, the rake, to claim her hand in the first reel. Léodwyn accepted with dignified grace, glancing at Fastred; Fastred merely glared at his pheasant and made to ignore them. Legolas saw the Lord and Lady of Ithilien exchange worried looks and Legolas wondered, just for a moment, if he might interfere. But then the memory of Dúrfinwen’s wrath, and the ghostly recollection of a woman’s shoe striking his temple, returned to him, and he recalled his oath to her to abjure match-making. “A pity,” he thought, watching Fastred stew in chagrin. “’Twould be an easy thing … “ He shook himself though, and seeing the feast was winding down, looked round for Tamin Rúmilion.

The place on the bench between Rúmil and Maelaëri was vacant, and Legolas’ quick eyes found the truant. Tamin was running out with the rest of Laivánwa’s servants, carrying the subtleties; he was balancing a big one, that resembled a bowl of fruit covered in meringue coins, in his arms, and laughing at something Tuilíndo said in passing. Legolas smiled. Laivánwa had said himself that he would not ask Tamin to aid him in the feast, and yet there the boy was, willing, eager, energetic. He watched Tamin carefully slide the subtlety upon the trestle-table and speak cheerfully to the people there; then Legolas saw him step back, rub his hands together, and look round thoughtfully, as though wondering where his assistance might next be needed.

It was time. Legolas rose to his feet, and the Elves in the assembly, seeing him rise, rose as well; silence fell over the Hall. The fires in their pits crackled, and through the open windows one could hear the sound of the trees soughing in the wind, and the dogs gnawing the beef-bones; but the people were quiet, and watched Legolas as he stood, the beads and gems on his robe sparkling, his diadem in mithril shining round his pale head. Legolas spread his arms and a million tiny rainbows chased themselves across the faces of his companions.

“Tamin Rúmilion,” he said; his voice echoed through the hall. “Come to the dais.”

Tamin jumped, startled, and stared with anxious eyes at his lord. What had he done? Had he offended someone in some way? Had he failed his Master? But bravely he trotted up the center aisle, bearing the curious stares the people bestowed upon him; and when the boy had gained the dais Legolas stepped away from the table, and stood at the top of the steps. Tamin knelt then, and Legolas gazed gravely down upon him.

“Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien,” he said. “You with your mother and father traveled from the forests of your birth to Dol Galenehtar to seek shelter of the Green Knight. You have with your family and kinsmen sworn to me your duty, your fealty, and your friendship. As a page in my court you have labored long and tirelessly upon errands great and small. You have befriended Elf, Man, Dwarf, and Halfling alike, seeing all with clear eye and open heart. You have through battle and service proven yourself worthy of due accolade, as many years ago upon the plains of Rohan, by the estuaries of the Onodló, you did request of me. Now, O Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien, Galadrim, archer, swordsman, denizen of Ithilien, do you still hold to this desire? Wish you yet to be the servant of the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, to be my esquire, to follow me, to serve me, to do my bidding for the most noble and honorable goal of accolade and knighthood? Do you, Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien?”

Tamin trembled upon the lowest step of the dais. Did he yet! Had he thought of nothing else ere laying eyes upon his lord upon the plains of Rohan? Were there no other aspirations in his mind? Did his heart not beat the same beat as the rhythm of Dol Galenehtar? Did he not gaze upon the knights in their splendid cuirasses, riding their mighty destriers, with envy and impatience, firm in the conviction that he but awaited the fulfillment of that desire? Lifting his shining face to his beloved lord he smiled and cried out in an eager voice: “Yes! Yes, O my lord, my esteemed, my only Master! What have I in life but this, to live with you and to humbly serve you? O let me be your esquire, Master! I have longed for this honor ere I saw you sitting upon the banks of the Onodló, leaf-crowned, willow-sceptered, blessing the children of Lórien and Dunland!” He stammered to a halt, remembering suddenly where he was; however the people round him murmured in approval as well as amusement, and the Green Knight smiled at him.

“Come forth then,” he said, and holding out his hand to Galás he took a sword in an intaglioed scabbard. It was longer than Tamin’s old sword, and the hilt not wrapped in wire but worked richly in leather and inlaid metal; it looked very old and very deadly. Quivering from head to toe Tamin rose and stumbled up the dais steps, and with tremulous hand took the sword from his Master. It was heavy, but beautifully balanced betwixt blade and tang, and there were little gems set in the pommel. Galás and Tuilíndo had pushed a heavy chair to the head of the dais, and upon this the Lord of Dol Galenehtar sat, laying his hands in his lap. Then Galás took Tamin by the shoulder, and guided him to kneel before his Master, and said:

“Put your sword in the Green Knight’s lap, Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien.”

Tamin laid the sword upon Legolas’ knees, and Legolas placed his hands over Tamin’s. Tamin’s fingers were cold and shaking, and Legolas when he looked down into the boy’s face saw he was white and anxious, though smiling with trembling lips, his eyes shining with delight. Legolas’ heart turned over, and he could not but glance at Bandobras then, remembering how the little Halfling had placed his tiny sword upon Legolas’ knee, and stammered out his fealty in clear and piping voice. Bandobras met Legolas’ eye, and though he looked sober and decorous enough the corner of his mouth twitched, and he winked. Fighting back a rebellious smile Legolas turned his attention again to Tamin, who seemed ready to fly apart from anticipation; taking pity upon the boy Legolas said:

“Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien, you have stated before this assembly your desire to become the esquire of the Green Knight. Give unto me now your oaths, that you and I may be bound to them, for these folk here are our witnesses, and once claimed our vows to each other shall constrain and bless us in our association.”

Tamin asked no better; he had memorized the oaths two years hence. “I, Tamin Rúmilion of Lothlórien, Galadrim formerly under the protection of Lord Celeborn the Wise, do declare this day that I renounce my previous allegiance and do pledge fealty to his highness, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, the Green Knight of Gondor, so that for the remainder of my childhood ere I achieve my majority I shall be his humble slave, to go where he wills, to do as he wishes, to act as he says, to learn as he teaches. I shall be ever by his side, speaking when commanded, silent otherwise; I shall serve, obey, and apply myself to his authority wholly, without complaint or argument. My allegiance shall be to him and to Dol Galenehtar and no other, and with every part of me, heart, soul, and mind, shall I place before me the welfare of my Master and his demesne over all other considerations, including my family, my friends, and the realm of my birth. I do all this with the hope that my service might prove worthy of the order of knighthood of Dol Galenehtar, and I place myself entirely in the hands of Legolas, the Green Knight, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Lord of Dol Galenehtar, my Master!”

The only sound in the hall was the crackle of flames, and the sound of a stifled sob somewhere near the lower trestle tables, but Tamin did not hear it. Legolas did though, and glancing over at Maelaëri saw the poor mother’s eyes filled with tears; smiling encouragingly Legolas answered Tamin and said:

“I, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Green Knight of Gondor, do declare this day that you are my esquire and I your true Master. I accept from you your fealty and do promise that the lands and peoples you have renounced shall be supplanted by mine own demesne and peoples. I will guide, instruct, succor, nurture, protect, and provision you. I pledge that I shall lay no burdens upon your shoulders you are not strong enough to bear, and no one’s hand shall be against you unfairly; I will defend you from injustice and mistreatment, and care for you as mine own son. I do all this with the hope that your service might prove worthy of the order of knighthood of Dol Galenehtar, and I take your life and your labor entirely in my hands. I, Legolas, the Green Knight, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Lord of Dol Galenehtar, do swear this to you, Tamin Rúmilion of Dol Galenehtar, that you shall be the Black Knight, third in the chivalric order of my demesne, upon achievement of your majority and accolades.”

“Hail Tamin Rúmilion, esquire of the Green Knight!” cried Malbeth of Celos from the far side of the dais, and Legolas laughed, for the Black Knight would have an Elven brother. The Hall erupted in cheers, and Tamin, blushing to the tips of his fingers, kissed Legolas’ hand firmly ere taking his new sword and strapping it proudly round his waist. Legolas rose and taking Tamin by the shoulder attempted to announce Tamin’s status to the assembly, but none heard him, and even the Men and Dwarves were cheering and stamping their feet. Through the cacophony Legolas leant over to whisper to Galás, who smiled and nodded, and when the noise died down he cried in a loud voice:

“Rúmil Tauronion and Maelaëri of Lothlórien, come forward!”

Then did Tamin’s parents rise and approach, Rúmil proudly, and Maelaëri still with tears upon her cheeks; it was only then Tamin noticed that his father also sported new clothing; his doublet was black, and upon the breast piece was embroidered the sigil of Dol Galenehtar. Galás brought them to the table below the dais, where sat many noblemen and Elves of higher rank; and the places for them were set with fresh trencher and knife, and silver goblets given them. Raising his arms Legolas called out in a loud voice: “Know all you here that I have elevated the station of Rúmil Tauronion of Lothlórien and his lady wife, in accordance with the eminence their son Tamin has achieved. I therefore command you all now to rejoice and be glad, to eat and drink and dance and sing, for this is the will of the Lord of Dol Galenehtar!”

The Hall exploded into noise once more, and the musicians began a lively reel in the corner. Legolas watched Tamin and Fastred embrace, and then Tamin was passed round the table of knights and noblemen, his hand shaken, his forehead kissed; the last Legolas saw of the boy, Mardil had taken him in hand and was speaking kindly and soberly to him. Smiling a little wearily Legolas found his seat, and picking up his golden goblet took a deep draught. Gimli came to him then, and plunked himself down in the vacant chair beside him; he had a glass of ale in his hand, and his rich red doublet gleamed with gold thread and sparkling gem; his beard was neatly plaited, and round his neck hung a tiny box on a fine gold chain. He patted Legolas’ knee heavily. “Well!” he said. “Do you think you have had your fill of ceremony now?”

“I have indeed,” sighed Legolas, looking round the Hall with satisfaction. “I am pleased with my choice, for though Tamin needs not accolade I wished to advance Rúmil; he is a good man and a wise leader. His council will be a welcome addition to my chambers.”

“And of course, Maelaëri will be able to keep Dúrfinwen in check,” grinned Gimli, and his friend laughed. “It does seem strange to me, though, Legolas, that Dúrfinwen is absent. I miss her winsome face in revels like this; she is the only lady in your court who marries beauty to tomfoolery. And speaking of tomfoolery, who was it put that cap on the head of the statue of Thingol? One of the little ones of Lothlórien perhaps? See how enviously they do watch your new little esquire! Well I hope you have better luck with this one than the last.”

“Now, what do you mean by that, Gimli?” asked Bandobras, coming up behind them; he had a cup of ale in one hand and a pasty in the other. Gimli winced, but Bandobras looked at him with good humor. “I was not so bad, now, was I Mas – I mean, Legolas? Bless me,” he added, shaking his head. “That won’t be an easy change to make, now, will it?”

“It will not,” agreed Legolas a little sadly. “But you have certainly earned the right to call me by my name, my Bandobras.” He paused and said a little mournfully: “And now I suppose I am constrained to dispense with the personal pronoun before your name, am I not, Bandobras of Dol Galenehtar?”

“Nonsense!” scoffed Bandobras, popping the pasty in his mouth. “I could travel miles away from home, and you could take all the esquires you wanted, and I’d always be your Bandobras. Goodness gracious me, who else could I possibly belong to? Now don’t you go getting sooky on me, Mas – I mean, Legolas – you’ve had too much to drink if you’re going to act in that fashion. You need to dance. Let me see now; you can’t dance with Dúrfinwen, for she’s gone; and you can’t dance with Andunië, for see, she’s taken; so’s Léodwyn, and Hirilcúllas and Meivel have claimed every last dance with each other – sickening, isn’t it? – there goes Liquíseleé – where is Seimiel? She gives a pretty turn about the floor.”

“My minstrels will be playing soon,” said Gimli. “With whom shall you dance the Bariz-Sigin, Legolas? Andunië again? You have only beaten her once.”

“I might ask Arwen, if Aragorn will let me,” laughed Legolas. “I would ask Neumë but she went with Dúrfinwen to my Lord Father’s keep. With whom shall you dance, my Bandobras? I did note Fríma and Óla were about; or do you claim turns with them, Gimli?”

“Pah!” said Gimli waving his hand. “Go dance with Óla, Bandy; she’s a merry girl. I claim Fríma for myself though; hers is not a sympathetic character but I like the way she dances.”

“And I,” said Legolas, draining his goblet, “shall ask that maid over there – she came in with Turgon of Minas Tirith – a distant relative of his wife’s, I believe. She has done naught but murmur to her neighbors and blush and stammer; she seems to me to be bashful, and needs some encouragement to be gay. Once the young men see that the lord of the feast has chosen her for a reel her dance-card shall be filled to overflowing, and my good deed done!” He rose to his feet, and Bandobras shaking his head said:

“My dear Mas – I mean, Legolas – bother that! – you always think of the well-being of others, now, don’t you? That’s uncommon good of you. And I’ll take me to Óla, seeing as Gimli’s got no objections; and Gimli, you and Fríma take a turn round the rushes. What fun this is! Thank you for my lovely party my – Legolas – everything’s been so nice, and the mushroom pasties are right toothsome, they are.”

“You are quite welcome, O Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar,” said Legolas, bowing; then Bandobras bowed, and Gimli in effervescence of spirits bowed, and they all laughed; then the three of them did descend the dais to lose themselves in the fray.

(A/N: Many thanks to my superb beta Nieriel Raina, without whom this chapter would not have been ready! And thanks to all of you who read and review; you are all so kind that you make the process delightful. -- Le Rouret)

3. The Little White Horse

When the mornings ceased to herald the day with frost upon the tips of the grass leaves and olive branches, and the scum of ice on the pond behind the eastern wall finally dissolved into a marshy bog, and the frogs began to twang and croak their ardor in the reeds by the River, the Green Knight’s guests went home. This was to the great satisfaction of the Green Knight’s new esquire, who through abjuring his pagely duties no longer was constrained to run to and fro on humble deeds errant, yet found the constant standing about in the dark corners and warm hearths of Dol Galenehtar’s myriad solars and chambers waiting upon his Master to be far more tedious, especially to one as active as he. Tamin was anxious to begin his training in those gentle arts of war and combat, and marked not how his Master bid him take heed to the more subtle education offered him by listening in on conversations not meant, perhaps, for ears as young as his.

So one by one they all bid the Lord of Dol Galenehtar good-bye, these noble visitors, and went on their separate ways. First, for he had the farthest to go, went Elrohir son of Elrond, declaring himself glad to rid himself of the constant feasts and fetes, but in truth decidedly mellower in outlook. He even smiled on occasion, and admitted to his sister the queen that Thranduilion’s halls were curiously heartening, and he felt the lighter in spirit for having sojourned there. To Elessar’s astonishment, he even expressed a desire to return someday, to continue his argument with Meivel concerning the use of trebuchets. Then went Hildáf of Rohan, with his wife Éodild and all their numerous brood, laden with gifts of cloth and weapons, bearing also missives and offerings from Éowyn to her brother and his family, especially the small daughter now residing in Meduseld, who was, all declared, an even bigger surprise than her elder brother Elfwine had been. Also went Mardil of Ethring and his father by marriage Araval. Mardil was anxious to leave on his wife’s behalf, and Araval scarcely less so, though he had been a grandsire before; Mardil’s wife was the favorite of his daughters and he hoped mightily she might bear a son, unlike her sisters, who thus far had followed in their mother’s footsteps, and provided daughters only. Traveling with them a ways went Cirien the Yellow Knight to Langstrand; a great distance it was for that hale old campaigner, and Legolas in vain begged him stay longer. But Cirien’s heir Gilmir was to produce for Cirien another shoot upon the grafted branch, and Cirien like Araval was eager to see this offspring, and promised Legolas he would come back in autumn to see the winter out with him. With this the Green Knight had need to be satisfied, though it was with anxious heart he bid Cirien farewell, and watched the old man’s wain as it dwindled out of sight; Cirien had aged poorly the past year, and Legolas was not sanguine about his return.

Last to leave were the Lord and Lady of Osgiliath, with their children and retainers. Legolas and his esquire were of like mind concerning Fastred son of Faramir, and Éowyn’s maid Léodwyn; the situation had not improved during their stay in Dol Galenehtar and Legolas, watching them ride away at opposite ends of the caravan, pursed his lips and shook his head, his arms folded across his chest. Tamin stood silently beside him, marking the discontent on his Master’s face; then as he watched from the balcony he saw the small speck that was Halgond upon his horse ride up beside Léodwyn, pause, and then continue on at her side. He let out a huff in frustration, and Legolas smiling looked down at him.

“She is only trying to make him jealous,” he said, though he too sounded irritated.

“But what of Halgond, the rake?” asked Tamin, aggrieved. “What thinks he? Is he not Fastred’s oldest friend? What would drive one to treat an intimate in this fashion? Poor Fastred! O Master, how my heart burns on his behalf!”

“Let it simmer rather,” said Legolas firmly, and turned from the prospect, the riders disappearing into the thick forest upon the winding paved road. Something gleamed through the leaves, then flickered out, and the travelers were gone. “We can do naught to aid; you know that well, my Tamin. Fastred must find his way out of this himself, the poor lad.”

“What an impediment to happiness it all is!” exclaimed Tamin, following Legolas from the bright balcony into the cool blue shadows of the upper halls. He trotted behind his Master, blind now to the magnificence of statue and mirror and lamp and courtier in his familiarity; had he a moment to contemplate he would have wondered at this, for a lowly Galadrim to become so accustomed to such wealth. But he had eyes only for his Master and his Master’s business, and mind at the moment only for Fastred and his troubles. “Love, I mean, Master; all the courtship and bowing and dancing and the giving of flowers and other such ritual.”

“Maids adore courtship and flowers,” said Legolas with a smile as they walked along. Betimes a lady might courtesy, or a passing vassal bow, and Legolas acknowledged his folk with the inclination of his head; he knew, though he did not turn to see, that they with their eyes followed his steps and those of his little esquire, and smiled knowingly after them; he did not begrudge them this however, knowing Tamin was so well-loved and amusing. “It is how one gets them to notice one; with gifts of sweets and playing upon a harp, or using pretty words; it turns their heads and makes them inclined to listen to one’s suit.”

“But when one is married, one does not treat one’s wife in like fashion, does one, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously. “At least, Adar does not, and Naneth does not seem to mind, and they are very happy, you know, Master; at least, they do not quarrel, and when they look at one another, it gives me the strangest feeling in my stomach – a sort of fluttery one, you know, Master, so I suppose Adar is doing something right at any rate. I would not like to think, Master, that when I am wed I shall be constrained to treat my wife so; it would be exhausting, would it not, Master, to be so continually about the business of entertaining her thus? With flower and music and poetry and such stuff, I mean, Master. There will surely be other things to occupy us, and all those other trappings – well, they take time, do they not?”

“They do, Little One,” agreed Legolas seriously. They reached the top of the central stair and began the long spiraling descent; Tathardil of Lothlórien passed and bowed his head to them, giving Tamin a proud look as he climbed on modest exploit intent. Tamin heeded him not however, as he was listening intently to his Master’s wisdom. “There is an anticipatory period during the relations betwixt man and woman – longer for the woman than the man, unfortunately – in which the man is expected to lavish upon the woman gifts and sweet words and declarations of devotion; but these things are and must be temporary, my Tamin, for the press of life, of its many cares and worries and concerns, crowds out such insubstantial fluff; any woman worth her weight will know this, and allow for the incurrence of more mundane expressions of felicity, for her husband labors to support and protect her, and she in turn builds for him the home and cares for the children. It is a partnership, O my Tamin, one of equal balance, equal importance, equal labor, and equal weight; it would be foolish for one partner or the other to waste such precious vigor on sweet froth like that, like eating the cream, and leaving the strawberries behind.”

“But what are these mundane expressions, Master?” said Tamin sounding puzzled. “If not flowers and gifts and jewels and songs, what then? For Fastred has tried all of those, and Léodwyn at first seemed accepting; now she is so indifferent, and naught he does turns her head as it used.”

“Some women do not want flowers and jewels and songs,” smiled Legolas. “Think of Andunië; do you suppose Himbaláth courted her thus?”

Tamin as he followed along tried to envisage Himbaláth playing the harp for Andunië beneath a moonlit window, casting flowers at her and giving her gold collars; his imagination failed him utterly though, save thinking perchance she might have set her dogs on him. “No, Master,” he said thoughtfully. “I cannot see Andunië enduring that sort of thing. It seems to me she would rather have a new falcon, or harnesses for her dogs, or new gauntlets.”

“You are close to it,” said Legolas. “What she wanted was a man who would take her as she was, and love her for it; once she saw Himbaláth did not expect her to leave the mews and kennels, and moreover wished her to remain there, did her cold heart soften; glad am I to see it, for they are well-matched, and he is better for her than others she might have had.”

“Like Brytta,” said Tamin innocently, and Legolas laughed.

“Brytta indeed!” he said, and looking back at Tamin he smiled; Tamin smiled too, his heart turning over for he had pleased his Master so. “You see too much, my Tamin; how did you know Brytta of Rohan had a tendresse for her?”

“Well, by how he looked at her, Master,” said Tamin simply. “It is how Meivel looks at Hirilcúllas, how my Adar looks at Naneth that makes my stomach feel so funny. I would like to have a wife someday to whom I can look like that, and who looks back at me the same way. Would you not too, Master? I suppose I shall wed to Dúrfinwen though, since I cannot have Andunië. I think Dúrfinwen would make a good wife for she is amusing and energetic and not so pretty that one would feel dizzy looking at her – like Queen Undómiel; she is very lovely, almost too lovely, Master, meaning no offense, and I am certain King Elessar appreciates it; but frankly I should rather have a wife that men would think is good fun, than one who does things like eclipse the stars – does Queen Undómiel eclipse the stars, Master? The Lord of Ringló said she did, and he is middling intelligent, so I thought perhaps he might be correct, though I wished to ask you first. How does a lady’s beauty eclipse stars? They are so fiercely lovely it would be difficult, methinks.”

Legolas did not reply, and was careful to keep his face turned from Tamin’s so the boy would not see how he struggled to keep his mouth from grinning; at last he said carefully: “I have seen no lady, mortal or immortal, who might attain to that level of beauty, my Tamin; likely it is the Lord of Ringló was simply flattering the queen. Well, wed to Dúrfinwen if you wish, though you will have to battle betwixt several other hale and mighty warriors for her attentions – if such a thing appeals to her; frankly I deem she would find it more amusing than enthralling.”

“I would like to get Léodwyn to look at Fastred that way though,” said Tamin wistfully, pattering after his Master down the back hallway to the courtyards. “She used to, and I do not know what stopped her looking like that. It is very puzzling, Master, and I do not understand why a maid cannot decide upon a fellow, and stick to him.”

“The same might be said for the fellow,” said Legolas sagely, and allowing a passing journeyman to open the big oaken door, he and his esquire went through into the noon sunshine.

They passed the smithy and the buttery hatches, waving to Hwindiö and the new farrier and the coopers who had stood by the kitchens for a taste of the fresh bread, and went through the postern to the back courtyard, scattering hens as they went. A stray goat hopped up to them, lowering its head and twitching its legs side to side; Legolas splayed his palms to him and said: “Ho, varlet! Have at ye; take me if you dare!” The goat reared up and charged, and Legolas took it by the horns and wrestled with it good-naturedly; it tossed its head to the side and bounded away, sending a nearby milk-cow into a lowing fit. Tamin laughed, and scooping up a nearby puppy waddling past, let the little dog lick his cheeks and chin, and trotted after his Master into the fray that was Andunië’s and Tyarmayél’s domain.

They passed the kennels; there was no yelping or whining or barking, which they took to be a good sign, and Tamin released the puppy, who went wobbling back to find its mother’s milk with scarce a backward glance; then on to the mews, with its high vented crown; they could hear Andunië within, calling to her birds, and the falcons and goshawks answering with shrieks and whistles. Legolas paused at the door and peering in called: “All well, Andunië?”

“All well, my lord,” she replied, coming forth into the light; she had a big eyass on her gauntlet, and was feeding it bits of mouse from a bloodied trap. “Those three hatchlings were delivered yesterday and I think they shall be fine hunters.”

“And the dogs?” asked Legolas, looking round the mews. Tamin sidled up to a large goshawk with yellow eyes, which stared belligerently down at him; he wondered if he put his finger in the cage if it would bite it off.

“Not bad,” said Andunië with a shrug. “That last litter was disappointing – three runts, and two stillborns; that little fat pup is the only one that will be worth anything. I ought not to have bred that bitch out of Vorondil’s kennel for her hips were far too narrow. The bitch I got from Aldamir, though, has proved to be a good one; she has produced four litters so far – there is one now,” she added casually, pointing to the door; three half-grown terriers gamboled in, snuffling and sniffing Tamin’s and Legolas’ boots. “Good shoulders, wide heads, strong grip. I will start training them next month.”

“Excellent,” said Legolas, satisfied. “Will the hounds be ready to go out after rutting?”

“I have instructed them to take naught but bucks, my lord,” said Andunië, turning to go back to her birds.

“As always,” said Legolas with a laugh. “Good work, Andunië.”

“Hm,” said Andunië; she was already distracted. Legolas gestured to Tamin, and they left the mews.

Tamin had been born in Lothlórien during a war, and it had seemed to him that his life there was either quiet, and dull; or filled with smoke and death. Dol Galenehtar he was discovering was neither. It was noisy, and busy, and happy, and full of song and laughter and work and sweat and food and drink and dancing and song; there was a constant stream of visitors and statesmen and merchants and nobility, and a continuous run of parties and balls and dances and feasts and celebrations. It was as impossible to be unhappy here as it was to be bored, and Tamin loved it with all his heart. As he and his beloved Master passed from the mews through the cattle-pens and on to the stables he felt himself almost swell with happiness, and restrained himself from flinging his arms wide, and bursting into song. What a delightful existence was his! He was young and strong and lived in a bustling, bountiful land, had good stout friends and a comfortable room and agreeable parents and O his Master, his wonderful, beautiful, wise Master was beside him, calling out to the shearman and thatcher who stood for a gossip by the allure, his bright hair shining in the sun, his grey eyes full of wisdom and mirth and not a little mischief. Then Tamin was distracted by the call of a woman: “Coo – oop! Ho there, my beauty!” And there was the sound of thudding hooves, and the fine smell of hay and manure and equine sweat, and Tamin was at the round pen, watching Tyarmayél longue a big red mare. She stood in the center of the ring on a big grindstone, a long whip in her hand, and the mare ran round about her, snorting and gnashing her great teeth, cantering and bobbing her head. Tyarmayél did not acknowledge them as they approached, but the mare did; she rolled her eyes at them, and flecks of foam flew from her mouth.

“A fierce beast, that,” remarked Legolas to Tamin. Tamin put a hand on the rail, but Legolas gently removed it, and Tamin guiltily placed his hands behind his back. “Do not distract her, now.”

Tamin did not know whether Legolas meant Tyarmayél or the mare, so he held his tongue and watched. After a few moments the mare lowered her head and began to grind her teeth; Tyarmayél let her slow then, and said: “Whoa!” The mare halted, dropping her nose to the dust and letting out a long sigh. “There we are then,” said Tyarmayél with satisfaction; she went up to the mare, who snuffed at her, and nudged her pockets. “Yes, my beauty; you may have one,” the stablemistress said, and taking a rather battered meringue from the depths of her riding skirt pocket she held it out. The mare nosed it, then lipped it up, crunching contentedly. “Ah,” said Tyarmayél, caressing the mare’s ears. “That is better, is it not? Now, no more biting, or I shall clip you again!”

“Not ready for the list, is she?” asked Legolas. Tyarmayél looked up in surprise; she had not even noted their presence.

“No, my lord,” she said, stroking the mare’s nose. “She is too proud and stubborn; she would make a poor destrier now, though she is ferocious and brave. But she has only five seasons; let me work with her, my lord, and she will charge the tilt as well as any stallion.”

“I think me betimes the mares are fiercer than stallions, at least on the lists,” said Legolas. He ducked under the rails and Tamin followed him; Legolas approached the mare and touched her damp forehead; her withers were coated in foam. The mare looked suspicious but allowed him to pet her. “See that fine curved neck, my Tamin!” said Legolas, gloating. “And mark the conformation of the canons, the full croup! Now this is a well-set animal. Not like my poor Hatchet, who was I own the ugliest steed I ever had under saddle.”

“He was that,” grinned Tyarmayél. She looked over Legolas’ shoulder and called: “Ho, Bandobras! What have you done to my pony?”

“Your pony; excuse me?” said the Hobbit indignantly. Legolas and Tamin turned and saw Bandobras leading Spark by the halter; the pony limped though did not appear disconsolate, but fixed them with a lively eye. “As I recall, miss, Spark was given to me; he is mine. You’re a grabby girl and no mistake.”

“You forget, O Blue Knight, ‘twas I who bred Spark by Thistle out of Buttercup just for you,” said Tyarmayél with a laugh. “Is it his feet or his legs?”

“His hocks I think,” said Bandobras, petting Spark on the nose. Spark nudged his elbow and nibbled on his coat buttons. “Here, none of that, you. Hwindiö checked and said his frogs looked good, though I’m none to certain about that new farrier of yours, Mas – Legolas.” The mare gave a loud whinny, and Spark snorted. Bandobras eyed her suspiciously. “Though you look as though you’ve got your hands full. Shall I stable him for you?”

“No need; I am finished with this beast for now. Let me put her in the back paddock and I shall take a look,” said Tyarmayél, and speaking softly to the red mare she led her from the ring and around the back of the barn. Legolas and Tamin followed, with Bandobras behind them, leading his limping pony.

“How do the olives look, Lit - Bandobras?” asked Legolas of the Halfling as they stood and watched her turn the mare out. “Are the trees filling in well?”

“Very well, M – Legolas; there are thousands of little baby olives all over the branches, and the leaves are nice and thick. Fainilyas is mighty good with trees, he is, which is not surprising, seeing as he’s grown up round them. Good fellow, that.”

“Yes, Fainilyas loves trees,” said Tamin. “He always has. Naneth says he loves trees almost too much for a Galadrim though I do not know what she means by that. We Galadrim love trees certainly, for we are accustomed to living in them, are we not? But perhaps Fainilyas misses living in trees and that is why he loves your olive groves so.”

“Hadn’t thought o’ that,” said Bandobras thoughtfully. “You know, Mas – Legolas, perhaps I’ll tell Fainilyas to camp in the groves this summer. He might like that, and the trees won’t suffer for it.”

“An excellent idea, my – Bandobras,” said Legolas, then laughed. “How silly this is! I cannot seem to call you anything save Little One and my Bandobras; it is very unfitting to speak to one of my knights in this fashion.”

“Well, I can’t seem to keep from calling you Master,” grinned Bandobras. He turned to Tamin. “D’yer mind if I keep calling him that? Not trying to horn in on your duties, now, Tamin, just having a hard time remembering to use his name.”

“Well,” said Tamin uncomfortably; he truly did not want to share the title with anyone, but knew Bandobras had every right to call the Lord of Dol Galenehtar anything he wished. “Perhaps you ought to practice more, or call him my lord like everyone else does, for it might be more accurate than Master.”

“That’s a thought,” said Bandobras, brightening. “Shall I simply call you my lord then? I can’t bring myself to call you Legolas nohow, even though you’ve gave me permission. Seems awful disrespectful to me and I’m not sure if my mum would of approved.”

“Well then let us please your mother’s memory at all costs,” said Legolas. “Call me my lord if you like, but for Tamin I reserve the title Little One ‘til he is big enough to thrash it out of me.”

“O Master, you may call me Little One all you like, for ever and ever!” exclaimed Tamin happily. “I will never tire of hearing you say that to me, even if I grow up to be taller than you, which is not likely because both Adar and Naneth are short, so I think I shall be short, so you may call me Little One always.”

Legolas smiled and lay his hand on Tamin’s head. “Very well, Little One, I shall hold you to this,” he said.

Tyarmayél walked up then, wiping her hands on her riding skirt. “Well then!” she said briskly. “Let us see what is wrong with our little Spark here.” She knelt and started running her hands down the pony’s legs and asking Bandobras questions. Legolas stood silently, marveling in Tyarmayél’s knowledge and instinct, and remembering how irritated his Lord Father had been when she had proclaimed her desire to be stablemistress to the Prince. “How unfair he found it!” thought Legolas with a smile. “Though I am the one with the horses and stables and destriers and knights all round me, he knew I took the best from him for my back courtyard, and it has paid.”

He noticed after a moment that Tamin was becoming restless and bored, and when the boy looked up apologetically, Legolas nodded, giving him permission to wander. So Tamin did, disappearing into the cross ties and stalls, poking round and stirring up roosting starlings and sparrows; now and again Legolas could hear him speaking to a horse or one of the barn cats. By the time Tyarmayél and Bandobras had brought Spark out to the round pen to bring him up to a trot Tamin came dashing back, his eyes full of eager curiosity.

“Tyarmayél, Tyarmayél!” he cried breathlessly. “O excuse me Master, and Bandobras, I do not mean to interrupt, for I know it is very vital for you to determine what is wrong with Spark, for he is a good pony and Bandobras will need him to go round the olive groves and Thistle is getting older and it would take too long to walk but O where did that dear little white horse come from?”

“Little white horse?” said Tyarmayél, puzzled. “What – O him! What of him?”

“I do not recall any white horses in your barn,” said Legolas in surprise. “Have you been purchasing stock behind my back, Tyarmayél? I declare you are as bad as Andunië.”

“My lord! You are unreasonably harsh,” smiled Tyarmayél. “Nay; I paid naught for him, though he certainly eats more than his share of grain and hay. I am not certain what to do with him; he is only a cart-horse.”

“Where on earth did you manage to find a cart-horse in Dol Galenehtar?” asked Bandobras. “It’s not like they go wandering round Ithilien on their own.”

“O think you not?” she laughed. “Do you remember, my lord, O Blue Knight, the silk merchant from Erui, who would bring his wares to the tucking-mill by waggon?”

“The fragrant one?” said Legolas. “I do indeed! Dúrfinwen and Tuilíndo are quite vocal about him, for his mouth is as foul as his odor, though his merchandise quite fine.”

“Well he is fouler than ever now,” said Tyarmayél. “Or at least he was when the patrols found him. He was dead on the seat of the waggon, and his horse standing waiting for someone to come fetch him.”

“Dear me!” said Bandobras. “That’s awkward, that is. Erui’s not exactly what you’d call a neighborly distance from here. His poor family must be worried frantic.”

“I do not think me he had a family,” said Tyarmayél. “He spoke to Hwindiö betimes, you know; Hwindiö gets on better with mortals than most of us do, and the fellow seemed to like him well enough. Tormal, his name was, I believe. Anyway Meivel brought him, body, waggon, and horse, to Hwindiö, and they went through his things; he had but a blanket, and a packet of food, and a chest of gold and silver. We gave the waggon to a family on the River who could use it for their farm, and the blanket and food we discarded for they were worthless; the money we left in holding to pay for the horse’s feed ‘til we could decide what to do with him. He I believe is young, from the condition of his teeth, and seems well-trained, though he is not what I would call a good example of equine conformation and has a primitive head.”

“O do not speak of him so!” exclaimed Tamin. “He is dear and so sweet! O do come and see him, Master; he is lovely!” And he dashed off again, his golden hair flying behind him.

Legolas sighed. “Well his bay mare is getting long in the tooth,” he said; “will this horse make him a good mount?”

Tyarmayél made a face, and tying Spark to the crossties she went along with them to the back of the barn. “He is a strange little horse,” she said in an undertone to Legolas and Bandobras. “Thick neck, short legs, sloping croup, and a very odd gait. It is for that reason I think he was made a cart-horse; I have not put him under saddle yet.”

“Look, look!” Tamin was crying eagerly; he stood in a small sheltered paddock next to a stout white stallion. The little white horse was as Tyarmayél had said an odd creature, fully four hands smaller than the destriers round him but with a large coarse head and broad neck set heavily on narrow shoulders. His barrel was good and round though, and when Legolas ducked under the rail he saw that the black hooves were small, broad, and very sound. “Look, Master! Is he not darling? See his pretty white hair, his beautiful eyes! He is the dearest thing!”

“Hm!” said Legolas noncommittally, and looked the horse up and down. “He is rather unprepossessing, is he not, Little One?”

“O do not say that,” said Tamin, horrified, reaching up to cover the horse’s ears. “He can hear you, you know.”

“No fear, Tamin my boy; he’s from Erui; he don’t speak Elvish,” grinned Bandobras. He put one foot up on the rail, and leaned against a post, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of straw. “Not the prettiest animal I’ve ever seen. Not a bad face though. Ugly but generous and good-natured.”

“I will call him Araval then,” declared Tamin, flinging his arms round the short thick neck. Bandobras looked shocked, but Legolas gave a shout of laughter.

“That isn’t what I’d call rightly respectful,” chided Bandobras. “Naming a beast after poor Lord Araval!”

“But it is like him,” insisted Tamin. “You said so yourself, Bandobras; ugly, but generous and good-natured. And is he not sweet, Master? You may put your hands all over his face and he does not bite but only kisses you.” The horse lipped at Tamin’s cheek and the boy giggled. “He is so whiskery! And O feel his coat, Master! Feel his coat, Bandobras! It is fine as velvet! And such a pretty color!”

Legolas ran his hands over the horse’s flanks. The horse fixed him with a lively and intelligent eye, and when Legolas cupped his muzzle he got a handful of tongue for his efforts. “He is very soft,” agreed Legolas, stroking the broad flat nose. The little horse whickered and nudged his belly, nibbling at his belt buckle. “And he seems friendly enough.”

“Is he not a dear? Is he not pretty? See how pretty he is! There are no white horses in the barn and he is such a pretty color, and so soft, and so sweet! And look at his dear little hooves! And see, Master, how long and luxuriant are his mane and tail! O may I ride him, Tyarmayél? May I, Master? O please do say I may ride him, I want to get on him straight way! Please? Please?”

“Tamin – “ began Legolas doubtfully, but Tyarmayél laughed.

“Let him, my lord,” she said, ruffling Tamin’s hair. “The beast is good-natured enough, and they certainly seem to have taken a liking to each other. Let us see what he is like for your esquire.”

“Well – “ Privately Legolas thought the beast would throw Tamin at once, for poor men’s cart horses are rarely ridden; however the little horse seemed friendly enough, and was engaged in attempting to unfasten the buttons on Tamin’s tunic, to the boy’s delight. Tamin was stroking his ears, and touching his eyes and face, and laughing and embracing the horse, so it seemed unlikely the beast would be peevish; but Legolas did not want Tamin to get hurt, and was reluctant to take the risk. But then Tamin turned to him, his big gray eyes pleading and his little rosebud mouth wistful; he begged: “O please, please, Master? May I ride him? O I am desperate to ride him; O please, do let me try!”

“Mine esquires do conspire to remove from me all authority over them,” said Legolas, glancing down at Bandobras, who chuckled. “Very well, my Tamin; but be careful, do; if I bring you back to your mother with any broken bones she will have my hide.”

“I shall tell her I did it without your permission so you will not get in trouble, Master,” said Tamin stoutly, jumping up and clapping his hands. “Look, Araval! I am going to ride you! O how fun!”

“Let him ride, but for the love of all that’s good, don’t let him call the beastie Araval; it ain’t right,” muttered Bandobras to Tyarmayél. She smiled, and taking a rope halter gave it to Tamin.

“Here you are,” she said briskly. “You wish to ride him; he is your responsibility, and if he throw you, I charge you to get up straight way, and get back on; otherwise he shall think he is in control, and that, O Tamin, is disastrous.”

“I know, Tyarmayél,” said Tamin eagerly, taking the halter. He went up to the little horse and said to him: “I am going to put the halter on you now. Though you do not need it, do you? We will do it simply to make Tyarmayél happy, for this is her barn and if she is not happy then none of the horses are happy, and I want you to be happy, dear one, and I so want to ride you! Come, Araval; let us go!”

Bandobras groaned as Tamin slipped the halter over the horse’s head. “Don’t call him Araval! That’s a terrible name!”

“Lord Araval likes his name well enough, does he not, Master?” said Tamin. Bandobras with a sigh opened the gate, and Tamin led the little white horse through. “I do not think it disrespectful to name a horse after a man, if you do not use his title. I would not call the horse Lord Araval; that would be impertinent, for though he is a dear animal, he is a horse and not a lord.”

“Fear not, my Bandobras,” said Legolas as they followed Tamin out of the paddock into the bright noontide sun. “I am sure the Dun Knight would find this amusing.”

“It still don’t seem right,” muttered Bandobras. He looked critically up at the white horse’s croup. “Not much to his backside, is there, Tyarmayél?”

“He is strong enough,” she smiled. “A willing worker, and very energetic. Take him into that eastern ring, Tamin. He has a lively character, and has already learnt how to unfasten the bolts on the stall doors; not two nights ago we caught him wandering round the barn, trying to let the mares out. He even lets the goats’ kids hop up onto his back and ride round on him, and makes up to the barn cats. If Tamin must fall in love with a horse he at least chose one with good temperament, though I am not certain he will like the action.”

“I can see that, just by watching him walk,” said Legolas. He shut the gate after Tamin and the three of them stood watching as Tamin led the white horse into the center of the ring. “He steps very high, though the cadence is good. You are certain, Tyarmayél, he will not throw my Tamin? I do not wish for my little esquire to come to any mischief.”

“There is no harm in this beast,” Tyarmayél assured him. “If he become agitated and Tamin fall, he will not trample him or seek to hurt him in any way. He is simply ugly and short.”

Tamin pulled the mounting block up to the little horse’s side, smiling excitedly; they could hear him speaking but could not descry his words. The horse’s ears swiveled to and fro, and his dark eyes were fixed on Tamin; unlike most cart horses his head was up, set and proud, and he regarded his new charge with spirited interest. Legolas held his breath. He did not want Tamin to be hurt; in his mind’s eye he could see the beast bucking and bolting, and his poor little esquire left crumpled in the dirt. “Tyarmayél,” he said anxiously; “you are certain – “

“Dear me, my lord; you are as bad as an old woman sometimes,” said Tyarmayél cheerfully. “Pull yourself up, Tamin!” she called out. “Do not put all your weight on his back at once. Let him feel you slide onto him.”

“Shall I be getting the splints and strappings now, my lord?” asked Bandobras dryly as Tamin draped himself across the horse’s back. Legolas bit his lip and tightened his grip on the rail.

The horse did not move, but tipped its large head round to see what Tamin was doing. Tamin looked up at him through his tangled golden hair and grinned; the horse whickered. Suddenly Tamin grasped the horse by the mane and jumped on.

“Tamin!” exclaimed Tyarmayél. “That is not – “

“It is all right, Tyarmayél!” called Tamin happily. “Look! See; he has no notion of bolting!”

Sure enough the horse stood still and patient, and Tamin patted his neck. Legolas watched, his heart in his mouth, as Tamin had the horse walk to the rail and start a great circle.

The walk was big for such a small animal, but surprisingly smooth. After one full pass, during which time Tamin’s beaming face outshone the sunlight, they heard him say: “Trot.”

This the horse did not seem to take to as readily; it was a jarring, jolting gait, and as they jogged by Tamin said through rattling teeth: “I d-do n-n-not li-i-i-ke his-s tro-o-ot at-t a-a-a-a-l-l-l!!!!” But then he clicked and the trot melted away into the most beautiful canter Legolas had ever seen.

“Ha!” said Tyarmayél. “Oh!” said Legolas. And, “Well, well!” said Bandobras, and Tamin laughed and spread his arms wide, holding on to the horse with his legs as he floated weightlessly round the ring. “I am flying, flying!” he called with delight. “My little white horse, you have wings on your feet!” The little white horse broke gait into a full gallop, which was if anything smoother than the canter, and Tamin grasping the mane laughed and laughed and laughed. His golden hair, and the horse’s white mane and tail, streamed along behind them; and it seemed to the Green Knight the white horse shone beneath Tamin’s sober black clothes, like the new moon holding the old moon in its arms. He took a deep breath, relieved, but his heart yet hammering. Tyarmayél laughed and patted her lord’s hand.

“You see, my lord? Naught to worry about; I told you he was a good beast. And see that canter? I had but brought him up to a trot when I longued him, and thought only he had a terrible gait. Well it serves me right not cantering him; what pretty action!”

Tamin with a whoop brought the little white horse up to them; it stopped, snorting and pawing, eager to go on. Tamin’s hair was in disarray, and he had white horse hair all over his black tunic, but his face was brighter than the day. “O is he not a dear! Is he not beautiful! O Tyarmayél do not sell him, I beg you; Master, Master, do not allow Tyarmayél to sell him, please! I want to ride him whenever I come to the barn, Master; tell Tyarmayél she must not sell him!”

“And who’s giving the orders now?” asked Bandobras, winking at Legolas, who out of relief laughed and brushed it aside.

“Mine esquires are commanded to command,” he said. He turned to Tyarmayél. “Well, stablemistress? We had discussed getting a new mount for Tamin, since his bay mare is elderly. What say you?”

She grimaced. “Well it is a good thing Tamin is only an esquire,” she said. “I would not put a knight or lord on such a humble beast, good action or no. But it is rare to find a horse with whom one has such sudden sympathy, and I can tell simply by the way they move together that they shall ride as one. I have no objections, my lord.”

“Hear you that, my Tamin?” smiled Legolas. “He is yours! But you must not name him Araval, for though that good knight might find it amusing, many in the courts of Minas Tirith would consider it discourteous, and feel we slighted our Lord of Tarlang. You may call him Isilmë, which is a good name for a white horse.”

“Isilmë!” Tamin threw his arms round the horse’s thick neck. “O I am so happy, Master! Thank you, thank you!” And flinging himself from the horse’s back he clambered over the rails and into Legolas’ arms, embracing him enthusiastically. “My own little horse! O thank you, thank you, Master! I want to ride and ride and ride! May we ride now, Master? O please let us ride, let us take Isilmë and your Hammer out and ride and ride and ride! Please, please, Master!” He hopped up and down, his eyes shining, and Legolas laughed. “Please, please!”

“Well, since you ask so prettily!” he said, and turning to Tyarmayél he said: “Tamin and I shall put Isilmë through his paces, stablemistress! You may get you to the weightier matter of the Blue Knight’s pony. Yes, Tamin, I am going! Get Isilmë to the allure and I will meet you there. Would you like to come along, my Bandobras? You may ride with me on Hammer whilst Tyarmayél sees to Spark.”

“I’d love to, my lord, truly I would,” said Bandobras, watching with amusement Tamin leap and dance; Isilmë seemed to appreciate it though, and kept trying to catch Tamin by the edge of his tunic with his teeth, stirring the boy into laughter. “But I’ve invited Gimli up to my place for a drink and a smoke before luncheon, and he’s going to show me the shaffron he’s designed for Spark, so I’ll pass on that. You two’ll be galloping off anyway, and I’d rather not find myself a-dangling on a tree branch in the fray.”

“Very well, then, Bandobras!” said Legolas, embracing him. “Thank you, Tyarmayél; I will get me to Hammer then, and should Galás or Laivánwa come seeking me, to sign papers, or meet with dignitaries, or pass amercements, you shall say that you rather think I have stepped out, but do not know whither I might have got myself.”

“I did not even see you leave, my lord,” said Tyarmayél, winking, and as Tamin leapt again upon his little white horse she and Bandobras watched Legolas return to the barn.

“Was I that bad, Tyarmayél, when I was a lad?” asked Bandobras thoughtfully, watching Tamin as he chattered excitedly to his new mount.

“I do not think Tamin is bad at all, Bandobras,” chided Tyarmayél. “And yes, you were.”

Bandobras snorted. “Well, he’ll likely grow out of it as I did,” he said.

“O I hope not!” exclaimed Tyarmayél, and led him back to the crossties.

(A/N: Thanks to all of you who read and reviewed! You are very encouraging. And thanks to that paragon of grammatical excellence and punctuational perfection, Her Most High Ladyship, Nieriel Raina of Tolkien-Nitpickery!)

4. Letters From Rhovanion

Thranduil Oropherion, King of Eryn Lasgalen, Prince of Doriath of Old,

To His Beloved Son, Legolas the Green Knight, Protector of Dale and of Ithilien, Renowned of the Ring War, Lord of Dol Galenehtar,

Greetings.

Gladly do I hail you, O my beloved son, and gladly also do I reflect upon the certainty that this missive shall reach you in due time, and you bestow upon it your consideration and attention and concern, for myriad are the cares in the courts of the Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, and in the sharing of burdens are the burdens’ weights then lessened. For though I possess indeed a council of wise men and statesmen and warriors, and rely also upon the goodwill of Girion King of Dale and Thorin Stonehelm of Erebor, do my thoughts go continually to my son, whose judgment and fine nature have placed him high in mine estimation, and thus do I divest my thoughts unto you, my Legolas, in confidence you shall aid me in this conundrum. Indeed your Lady Mother did insist upon this, seeing how I was beset and perplexed, wishing also for your presence, for in mine anger do I speak too soon and she seeks your clement nature to temper mine own; yet rather should I have, in addition to your person, my son, your sword-arm, and two hundred knights to succor me; though it is as yet uncertain to whom I should direct a charge! Yet I know full well that you would be pleased simply to comply, for the delight of the challenge. But you know, you need not tell your Lady Mother this; she presses peace upon me you know, and it would serve but to raise her ire, and you and I are in congress to prevent such happenstance, I trust.

As you will recall in my last epistle, O my son, Malbeach Master of Esgaroth had made himself obnoxious to King Thorin III and to me, by his continuing to treat covenants with none but Girion of Dale, seeking, so we believed, to cut Erebor and Eryn Lasgalen from the traffic in commerce from Long Lake to the River. Girion did display to Thorin III and to myself these documents, and my spies, ever present in Girion’s court, relayed to me also that Malbeach and his advisors do press upon Dale the importance of trade betwixt Man and Man, renouncing industry with the First Born and the Sons of Durin. And furthermore, O Legolas, I did say to you, that Thorin III and I are so far of like opinion in this matter, that we agreed to convene, recognizing such a thing was inimitable in its novelty; for though Dwarf and Elf conspire with Man together, as separate beings our dealings have thus far been constrained by our suspicions of each other, and our natural proclivities toward hostility, that our temperaments demand. But the situation rapidly disintegrates, for Girion wavers, and is unwilling to detach himself fully from Esgaroth; for as you know Dale pays Esgaroth heavily for the use of the docks and locks at the southern end of the Lake, and should Malbeach close them down, Dale shall be beggared.

Now neither Thorin nor I wish for this to occur; Thorin does not recall, but I do well, how prosperous Dale was of old; and it is with joy I watch its rebirth. And also does Thorin know full well that the wealth of the Dwarves will hold Erebor satisfactorily, yet should Dale fail to provide adequately then my people and Thorin’s shall be obliged to look elsewhere for grain and meat. Now, O my son, do you well know we are capable ourselves of such labor, but I should rather use my people for trade, and diplomacy, and merchantry, than for agriculture and husbandry, though I admit you have built Dol Galenehtar admirably upon these pillars of commerce. But for centuries have my folk lived thus, and it would bode ill methinks to turn farmers out of attachés (though I contend it would do Galion some good). Thorin is in accord with me; yes, O Legolas, smile if you dare! We have been spoilt by the crops and orchards and ricks of the Long Lake, and though we erect our fortunes upon this trade, we do not wish to change tactics at this date, nor do we want our friend Girion to fall on hard times.

Thorin’s council would not however agree to have their king come to Eryn Lasgalen, fearing, perhaps, some new treachery of the Elves (Dwalin I believe was instrumental in this belief); I then offered to come with my commission to Erebor, but was hindered by some of them – Valanya and Morsul in particular – who objected; as you know, they were with me at the destruction of Doriath and hate Dwarves; naught I might say to them will rid them of this prejudice. So Stonehelm and I decided to be reasonable and meet in the keeping-field of Mellomanin, which the Dwarves call Harak-Barûn, and bring only with us those counselors friendly, or at least tolerant, toward the other. This, O beloved son, was a difficult task; for with Thorin came only Glóin and Fundin and Fonbur and Óli son of Tháli. And I brought with myself Baranil, our good friend, for he is a stout fellow with a clear eye; and Belias and Silmë and Methlon, for they like Dwarves, yet find them not amusing, which as you know is disastrous in these circumstances; for though we Firstborn thrive upon that preconception it is abhorrent to the sons of Durin.

So we met at Mellomanin, and O my dear son, how you should have laughed at us; for all our apprehension and preparation, in keeping with that ancient enmity, we had expected deep suspicion of each other; however good Silmë had insisted upon bringing a cart bearing two barrels of wine, and Óli doubtless of a mind with Silmë had himself brought several kegs of good stout ale. The conference was protracted and noisy, and we came to no firm conclusion, save that Fundin cannot sing, and wine makes one feel worse the next day than does ale. But good came of this, for Thorin and I feel much more at ease round each other, and Fonbur has developed a disturbing love of wine, despite his delicacy the following morning, and word has gone round Erebor that Stonehelm and I set each other drunk, so that I am not looked upon with such deep misgivings, nor thought pretentious anymore. Dwarves are such strange creatures, are they not, my son? But I admit to you, they can hold their drink, far better than the sons of Men, and moreover do not succumb to melancholy when under its influence, which is gratifying.

The only damage that proceeded from this meeting was that Malbeach does press the heavier upon Girion, fearing the might of Elf and Dwarf collectively, and now does send to Thorin letters of inquiry, to have the Dwarven smiths to make certain precious items for him, no doubt seeking to draw them away from amity with Eryn Lasgalen. I have it from the inestimable Glóin that Thorin contemplates doing business with Malbeach, to line his own pocket to be sure, but also, Glóin assures me, to see how treacherous the Master of Esgaroth might prove. Woe betide the man, should he seek to swindle Thorin son of Dain! Indeed I believe I would have need to do naught but sit back and watch the war wage betwixt Man and Dwarf, though I am certain, my dear son, you would chide me for this and urge me to join the fun.

Aside from that, my Legolas, it is quiet, for the Mereth en’Ehtelé has passed, and seeking to affront no one we invited no one. I had not marked before how uninteresting our revels were, deprived of mortal blood – but do not tell anyone I admitted this to you! In particular divulge this not unto your Lady Mother, who remarked to me when it was over, how nice it was to have such a quiet and subdued holiday, with no feathers ruffled by visitors and dignitaries. Though of the Galadrim I may say, despite their quiet natures and willingness to serve, they drink just as well as do we; and though Orophin is subdued enough his offspring has more mischief tucked in her little bosom than all the other children pooled. I believe your Blue Knight would call her a “harum-scarum;” I have heard him use the phrase before, referencing those children of strong will and insatiable curiosity. From your missives it sounds not like her cousin, your new esquire, is quite so bad, and I envy you this, O my son; little Bragadel has earned the switch from every lady in the court, and even a visiting couple from your own, Legolas, excepting Dúrfinwen, who claims she finds the spawn amusing. The daughter of Orophin’s latest escapade, Legolas, is worthy of the Blue Knight; I will let Dúrfinwen tell you of it, and say only that it involved knitting needles, a plank of wood, and a great quantity of hot pepper. Your Lady Mother and I dared not laugh, not before Bragadel anyway; but when Orophin had hauled her away for a lashing I confess we near collapsed of mirth. Baranil, poor fellow, was not so amused however, even when he regained his sight.

Your Lady Mother did instruct me, O my son, to send to you a request, that you let her keep Dúrfinwen here with her for a time, and not send her back this summer as planned; as you know Dúrfinwen is your Lady Mother’s Little Laiquenda, and as close to a daughter as any lady of the court might attain to, and she has been greatly missed, by myself too I own, for her gifts of merriment and wit and sweet impertinence. She is indeed the last of her kind we have been able to determine, and whence came she is yet a mystery; yet this detracts not from her allure, and well do I remember, O my son, how surprised you were to see the infant dandled upon your Lady Mother’s lap, and how you would twist your fingers round her curls, such unusual things for an Elven child to possess. She is still young you know, and has said to us on many occasions how pleasant it is to be back in Eryn Lasgalen her first known home; she foregathers with her old friends here, and is the light of the dances, for though in beauty outstripped by many of the other ladies she eclipses them through sheer charm, beguiling all who see her (in particular Belias, who is entranced anew, though to your Lady Mother’s disappointment Dúrfinwen marks this little, flirting with all in perfect equity). Indeed Girion’s son Bard III upon seeing her in Dale at his father’s court was enthralled and could scarce take his eyes from her the whole night, poor boy; though as you know to have a mortal fall for an Elf is no surprising thing – regrettable, but expected.

Lastly, O my beloved son, I have another small area of concern, though it is awkward and might cause some undue concern if revealed to any but you – in particular your Lady Mother, who is vocal on this subject, and so I entrust to you, my Legolas, your reticence and due respect for this problematic quandary, that you might give to me if not advice in how to unravel this dilemma, reassurance that I make, as your Blue Knight would say, mountains out of mole-hills. Malbeach’s wife – I hesitate to call her “lady” – has on numerous occasions, and with escalating intensity, offered certain services to my person that, strictly speaking, are not hers to give, nor mine to take. I have mentioned this to no one, and I beg of you to do the same, for it is tricky, and though she is fair enough to look upon, her brazenness, not to mention the cut of her bodice, upon which your Lady Mother has commented with some acerbity, is repellent; however short of giving offense I can do nothing to counteract this, and though I have been the object of mortal desire before (have you not as well, my son?) this is the first time such shamelessness has been thrown before me, and I find myself reduced to starts and stammers, much like an untried youngster. I know not what it is – the fire in her eyes perhaps, or the low deceit of her voice – Malbeach is troublesome, but his wife repulsive; yet I am like a bird held in thrall by a snake – I know she is deadly, but betimes I cannot move nor speak. Have you, O my son, come across a woman of this type before? Is this some mortal thing that they possess, a magic against which we the First Born have little defense? I hesitate to speak of it to any of mine advisors, for they would think me weak; and I tremble to think what might occur, should your Lady Mother catch wind of it! Though it might be a relief to me, as she would I expect dispatch the trollop with a single blow, and so remove her troublesome presence; though it is likely that I, innocent though I might be, should receive her wrath as well, which would be inconvenient and, as you might well suspect, painful.

That is all, my dear son; only to say, how I miss you! Though you might have left me for decades at a time before, on errantry intent, I did not miss you so much then, for I well knew you should return to our bower; but now, though it has been but three years ere we have foregathered, my father’s heart is bowed, for my son dwells elsewhere, though I am proud of him, for he is a wise and clement lord over a happy and prosperous people. When will you come to Eryn Lasgalen again? It is pleasant to see your people who have come calling, Dúrfinwen most of all (though I own Belegtilion is a joy too), but it is my son whom I long for, and for whom my heart yearns. How I wish we could sit together, we two, upon the ledge over the west entrance – looking out over Eryn Lasgalen, the sea of leaves waving and undulating beneath our feet, a jug of wine between us, cups in hand. Do you remember, my Legolas, the smell of the oak leaves warmed by the sun, the lichens steaming, the black emperors fluttering and floating round our heads? And the sough of the wind in the branches; the low call of birds, the chuckle and crack of the rivers! O that you were here, my Legolas, to share this with me; summer is peering round the corner at me and I miss my sparring partner. Do come, my son; bring Tiriméar with you, and I shall unsheathe Kírgothnar, and we shall battle together ‘til one bleeds, or our hands freeze to the hilts, or your Lady Mother bids us cease (which, as you well know, my son, is likely to happen first). The white deer call to your bow, and there are barrels of wine to breach!

Were your Lady Mother to ascertain I wrote to you, she would send her love and devotion; as she does not, we shall take it as writ, and you may accept all of it you like; it is unbounded and free after all, to my endless delight.

With deepest affection,

Father

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Legolas Thranduilion, The Green Knight, Lord of Dol Galenehtar and Devoted Slave to his Seneschal, Valet, and Esquire combined,

To His Royal Father, His Majesty Thranduil Oropherion, Jewel of Eryn Lasgalen, and Pole-Star of Sindar Hearts,

Greetings, my dear Lord Father! Gladly did I receive your missive, and laughed well upon reading of little Bragadel’s depredations! Rúmil did relate unto me many other stories, though we did laugh and Maelaëri did not; Tamin also disapproves of his young cousin, and soberly shakes his golden head over her mischief. Though I own Tamin shall cause enough trouble on his own; the girls from Minas Tirith and Osgiliath sigh and swoon over him, though bless him, he has no knowledge of such things, and simply questions their digestive difficulties. He is currently embroiled in the trifling problem of Fastred Faramirion’s troubles with the little imp Léodwyn; Halgond son of Hallas his friend appears to be walking away with the prize, and Fastred is too stubborn to try to appease her. Tamin is a gentle boy and not given to anger but he is fast finding it intolerable, for Fastred is his dearest friend and he aches to see the son of Faramir hurt so. Dúrfinwen made me promise to not interfere, and so I shall not; I am uncertain however what she should say were I to encourage Tamin to do so. I believe that would fall beneath the legal boundaries of my contract, would it not? Tamin fears Léodwyn shall be lured away, and shall wed to Halgond; however I think not she is so stupid; I believe she is only trying to make Fastred jealous, the minx. Ah, the follies of love – if one might call it “love;” I do not, and avoid it with all vigor and concentration.

Your difficulties with Esgaroth appear to be increasing, which is not comforting, O my father, though I am delighted to hear that you and Thorin Stonehelm look to be developing a détente of sorts (aided and abetted by wine and ale; for shame, Lord Father!) and that Glóin takes your part over the opinions of your Dwarvish detractors. He is encouraged I know by his son, my dear friend Gimli, and also by Frera, that delightful little mother – have you danced with her yet, Lord Father? You should; she is surprisingly light on her feet, and I do not think Mother will object – and to have Glóin, whom you imprisoned, on your side will do much to sway the estimations of his fellow Dwarves in your favor. Malbeach sounds a “right crook,” as my dear Bandobras would say, and his wife a libertine – I shall dwell on that subject more fully later – and should Girion prove weak, you and the Dwarves of Erebor must needs find congress with each other, to strengthen and sustain each other in these times.

All the same, dear Lord Father, it would behoove you methinks to put some consideration into clearing the old fields and pastures; certes it is you may not depend upon the sons of Men for your fodder, and you have many mouths to feed. Gold and gems are all very well when one’s neighbors have food in abundance; however I have found, even in my short time as Lord of Dol Galenehtar, that oil and wheat and marrows though fleeting are precious tender indeed. But upon reflection it has been three centuries ere the ricks and paddocks were used; I am certain they are gone by now, are they, Father? And the fields ought to be so overgrown as to be unusable. Well, my people reclaimed the slopes of Ephel Dúath; perchance some other pastureland might present itself to you. Does Dale still own the fields to the east of the edge of the forest? And what does the land look like round the estuary? Now that you have forced your territory southward you might think of opening those old pastures round Celduin where the mountains’ feet step out of the forest; I know it is far to the south but the land round there is fertile and, last I knew, uninhabited. A good hundred hectares could be reclaimed, and if worked in congress with the little villages round there, suitable labor for the poor and disadvantaged would serve to elevate your station in their sight. Certainly Esgaroth has done little for them over the last few decades. When last Gimli, Bandobras, and I traversed that area, it was very depressed; the villages squalid, the inns uninhabitable, the land unmanaged, the people poor and untutored. Well, it is just a thought; I know you dislike farm work; for myself I love to see the green and growing things, and the fruit on the vine – particularly the grapes; grapes are great favorites with me, as well you know!

And now, o my father, I shall breach that most delicate of subjects, which seems to have thrown my imperturbable, my resilient, my staunch Lord Father into what Bandobras calls “a tizzy,” to wit, this not-lady of Esgaroth, the little whore who seems to be dazzling you by shaking her breasts in your face like a scully cleaning a dust-mop. Great heavens above, Father, it is rare a mortal woman can claim beauty beside my Lady Mother; what charms has this harlot that has so turned your head? Need I remind my lord what occurred some hundred years hence, when the Lady of Carnen bid you dance with her not twice but thrice in one evening, during that ball in Dale? How polite you were to not refuse her; yet my Lady Mother’s indignation was writ large in her countenance, and the Lady of Carnen retreated with smoke emerging from her ears! Yet that was not all; did you not purchase for your Lady Wife those two diamond and mithril stars from the smiths of Erebor, to appease her? Have mercy upon your exchequer; avoid the little trollop at all costs, and throw some other unsuspecting Elf at her in the meantime – Galion, perchance; that ought to put her off the Eldar for a while. It is unlike you to be so diffident, Lord Father; put it aside, and use your temper rather; that is a more comfortable instrument.

So my Lady Mother wishes to keep Dúrfinwen? Well she cannot have her; my tucking-mill will not run itself, and Galás will pine, which is intolerable. Besides which, Dol Galenehtar is not quite as bright a place without her. It is rare to find someone whose absence speaks so loudly, and we miss her here; tell my dear Dúrfinwen, if she objects, that if she refuses to return to Ithilien, I will start match-making again. That ought to change her mind. And do you please inform Belias that Dúrfinwen eschews poetry and flowers and moonlight! If he wishes to charm her he need do little save be honest and straightforward; a less romantic maid I have yet to find, and she puts great store in wit. I have not much hope for him, knowing him of old – a fine fellow, and a brave warrior, but a little flat for her I fear. Then again, she would have insufficient need to throw shoes at him, and she might like that for a change.

The summer is here already; it is getting nicely hot, and the trout are running. O but you should see my vineyards, Lord Father, and the olive groves, and the herb gardens! So fragrant and fine is it here, with hot and cold winds gusting, and the Anduin gleaming like brown topaz beneath us, the golden fields of the Pelennor, the dark green of the pines, serve to remind me that I have made a good choice to live here; we bless the land we serve, and it serves and gives unto us its riches in return. I miss you too, O Lord Father; would that we could spar as of old, the clang and ring of our swords together! Though Fastred renamed your sire’s sword; it is no longer Tiriméar but Irmatenagar, and will give Kírgothnar a good fight. Come to Dol Galenehtar, Lord Father! We will climb the hills of Ephel Dúath together, and explore the crevasses, the cataracts, the meandering trails and rocky slides; then we shall go to my tower, to drink and eat and watch the stars come out. Gimli is here, for Aglarond prospers; and Bandobras of course, who will regale you with tales of his little demesne; and Galás and Kaimelas and Meivel would be delighted to foregather with you. And little Tamin will run to and fro, and bring us food, and play upon his flute for us, until he nods and drowses and I send him off to bed, so that we old warriors might talk and sing together ‘til the sun rises over the high slopes to the east.

I know you will not show this letter to my Lady Mother, for it contains within it that subject you wish to hide from her; this amuses me, for it is the first time I think I have caught you in such duplicity. I say to you again, avoid the creature; be rude if you like, even if you are in another’s court; for are you not Thranduil Oropherion, and immune to others’ opinions? I shall send to Mother a separate letter, full of dismay she seeks to wrest my Dúrfinwen from me, and begging her to come to Dol Galenehtar, to see what good fun mortal feasts might be. And now, O my Lord Father, Kaimelas is here, to inform me that Hallas of Lossarnach, and Malbeth of Celos, and Mindardil the Indigo knight, here for a small tourney – one day’s joust only; do not I beg you Lord Father be jealous of me! – all wish to dine; so I shall get me to my valet, dear father, and let him dress me – the white doublet again, I fear – though I believe I shall let Tamin brush my hair; he does not tug so, fearing my discomfort. Be well, beloved father! And be of good cheer! Dwarves make good allies, and mortal women are fickle!

Your most devoted son,

Legolas

A/N: Many thanks to all of you who read and reviewed! I'm working part-time now, so I can't be as on top of things as I used to; but I promise I will respond to each review (when I have time).

Many, many thanks to the brilliant and incomparable Nieriel Raina, my beta and Tolkien nit-picker, who so kindly informed me that there were thirteen, not twelve, dwarves in the Elvenking's dungeons. D'oh!

Le Rouret

5. The Dream

Legolas awoke with a start.

He lay very still, his warrior’s training bidding him assess the situation ere any sudden movement might alert an enemy. His skin was clammy and his forehead damp, and he could feel he clutched with his hands at his bedclothes; slowly he relaxed them, flexing the long fingers, his heart beat drumming against his chest, his breath sounding very harsh and tight. He blinked the tears from his eyes and looked around.

Pale, watery moonlight flooded his chambers, casting periwinkle shadows across the gleaming marble floor, pricking the tufts of the fur rug by the hearth into hedgehog-quills, shimmering across the surface of the water in the crystal pitcher by his bedside. The tall cut-glass windows were flung wide, letting in fragrant cool air, still damp from the previous evening’s rain; he could smell pine, and loam, and the faintest remnant smokiness of fires burning out. A nightingale trilled softly far below, and he descried the tinkle of the inner courtyard fountains, and somewhere far off, the steady monotonous rumble of a waterfall. Something clicked against the glass of the nearest window, and he flinched at the sudden sound; it was but a ladybird, however, striking and falling; it lay on its back, tiny legs undulating in a vain attempt to right itself.

Reluctantly Legolas concluded his mind had deceived his body, and decided there was no sense in lying prone when his bedchamber posed little threat beyond ladybirds and water pitchers. He sat up and wondered why in the midst of deep slumber he had experienced the sudden unnerving sensation of a snake in bed with him.

He could still feel its cold coils, its sinewy body rippling against his own, sensuous, sickening. He brushed nervously at his arms, trying to rid himself of the phantom feeling. Yet he could taste the tongue in his mouth, taste the stench of the poisoned fangs, hot and bitter, the scent of agony and slow death, the foam on his lips, his limbs convulsing, his veins afire. Shivering he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, burying his toes in the plush fur rug, willing his traitorous heart to slow. And in the dark corner of his mind beat still the soft hissing voice, murmuring menacing things that faded even as he struggled to recall them. Only a few stray words still clung to his memory – mud … lick … gold … crawl, harlot; crawl … -- he wrapped his arms round himself and bent over, his hair tickling his bare legs, closing his eyes to the calm dark serenity of his bedchamber, trying to remember the dream. A cavernous darkness, flickering with low fire and filled with the putrid scent of decay; bones, bones, bones …

He shook himself and rose, stretching his long arms up, watching his shadow-fingers graze the high painted ceiling. The gold stars against the blue and red panels were dark now but he knew they were there, grey in the dimness, only the barest glint of gilt in the moonlight, peering round the curving bosses in the vaults. He crossed the cold white floor, bemused by the gold-speckled marble sparkling like stars beneath his bare feet, and walked out onto his balcony.

The moon was at three-quarters and stared lopsidedly down at him, disdaining the wisps and tatters of leftover cloud that whipped by, streaming white and streaky across the luminous dome. Far below in Dol Galenehtar the wind was gentled, soughing in pine and cedar, sighing through the buttresses and mullions, ruffling the feathers of roosting rooks, and rippling the fine linen night-shirt that the Green Knight wore. Legolas rested his palms on the cold smooth marble balustrade and let the wind lift and twine his hair. He took a deep breath, seeking to clear his lungs and therefore his head; but the revolting scent of burnt and rotten flesh persisted, like some black slime clinging to his limbs in stagnant water. He was unnerved; rarely did he dream thus, even when in deep slumber, and found it difficult to shake off the cloying fear.

He closed his eyes to the splendor of his demesne, the rich velvety purple and black shadows, the grey and silver light; gone were the steeps and cliffs, the rocks and thickets and streams, the heady scent of fir and the sound of running water. He lifted his head, breathing evenly. He reached down, far back inside himself, to the still quiet core whence came his perpetual tranquility, seeking clarity to counteract his harrowed mind. Like a small swift ship backed by a stiff gale he sped along, images flashing past him, exhilarating, renewing; he felt himself slip back further, the cool night air abandoned, weightlessly sailing the ruffled surface of his past, watching in a single moment the oak’s acorn sprout, shoot mightily to the heavens, then totter and crumble into mouldy dust. The stars wheeled above him, spinning in their ponderous circle, eternal and comforting; beneath his feet the earth breathed the seasons, from death to life and death again – crisp clean snow; crinkling rusty leaves; pale green shoots –

- Twisted, slimy coils crushing, harsh laughter and nauseating hunger; trees aflame, their pyre reaching to the lowering sky – screams, an arm reaching out from a pile of bones, desperate fingers clutching, and on the forefinger a silver ring with a pale stone – crawl, harlot; crawl -

Legolas’ knees cracked on the marble pavers and his forehead struck the curve of a baluster. He retched and clutched at his stomach. The stench, the taste of poison in his mouth, was too much for him; he scrabbled to his feet and lurched back to his bedside table, fumbling with the pitcher and cup and spilling half of it over his hands. He drank desperately, trying to wash the remnants of the bile from his tongue, tears streaming down his cheeks; he set the cup and pitcher down with a thunk and knelt by his bed, breathing hard.

Where had his serenity gone? How had it betrayed him thus? What was this serpentine nightmare? A branch brushed the wall below his balcony and he started, his mind full of the images of scaly skin crawling up stone. “Ridiculous,” he said aloud; his voice sounded like a large stone dropped into still water. His mind cleared, and he added, “A dream; that is all. Take hold of yourself, Thranduilion! You are no infant to be discommoded thereof; let the ghasties gambol in mortal minds; you are better than this.”

He rose, straightened his night-shirt, and climbed back between the silky-soft sheets, sinking into the downy bed pillows with a sigh. He was irritated to feel the slightest qualm at returning to slumber; what if the dream returned? But dismissing this fear he rolled over and pulled the coverlet round his shoulders, telling himself ‘twas for warmth only and not comfort.

For some moments all he heard was nightly noise, the chirruping of some insect, the breeze through the room, his own breathing; he let the yielding bed surround him, sinking down into its warmth, growing drowsy again. Sleep rose up to meet him, welcoming, pleasant, inviting, and he surrendered.

Now he was running in the sunlight, his people around him; they ought to have been happy, but Legolas was searching for something, something he could not find but desperately needed. All round him were faces he knew – Silmë – Belegtilion – Baranil – Kaimelas, with an arrow protruding from his chest, his leather armor soaked in blood; but he laughed and talked with the others, seemingly unaffected by this – his mother, looking round and round, a puzzled expression on her face; her blue dress and silvery hair were streaked with soot. “Where is she?” she cried. “Where is who, Mother?” Legolas asked her, but he started to look too. Where was she? Where had she gone? Then he remembered he had left his bow and quiver behind and went to fetch it. But it was in a trunk, and the trunk was locked; he looked through his pockets for the key but could not find it. “Bandobras will know where it is,” he thought, but he could not find Bandobras; he only saw poor Thistle, the halfling’s old pony, its stomach ripped open, the ground stinking with hot bile and blood.

Legolas knew he dreamt then and struggled to free himself; but the images wrapped themselves round him like a cocoon to smother him. Before him stood a woman, a mortal woman with immortal eyes; when she smiled at him blood spilled from her mouth. She went to embrace him, her arms and legs enfolding him, but her limbs were serpents; they choked and crushed him, and her head became a serpent’s head and went into his mouth and down his throat so that he could not breathe. He forced an arm free and saw upon his finger a silver ring with a pale stone.

With a sickening lurch Legolas hurled himself out of bed, dragging in hoarse breaths, clutching ineffectively at the phantom limbs he felt yet holding him down. His head was like wool, and there was the taste of serpentine scales in his mouth. He stumbled across the room, eyes blinded by tears, and fetched up against his wardrobe, his palms splayed against the polished mirrors; he could see his breath clouding his reflection, blurring his features. His tousled hair looked dark in the dimness and his face was teasingly familiar; he looked at his right hand, bereft of ornament, and remembered the ring – the silver ring with the pale gem – his father’s ring – Oropher’s ring, on the hand that reached so desperately out of a pile of bones. Then he saw the eaves of his home forest burning, the limbs and branches going up in flame, trunks quivering with the horrible heat – Eryn Lasgalen in its death throes. In his mind’s eye he saw his father’s people, screaming and desperate, trapped in the caverns far below the earth; fire above and cold slimy death in the river beneath.

Legolas did not panic often, and even as he pulled on a pair of breeches and quit his chamber he told himself he was acting a fool. But as he flitted down the dark quiet passageways, he knew he would find no rest ere he had unburdened his mind to another. But whom? Tamin’s door he passed first, but he would not lay such a heavy load on that young innocent heart. Galás? No – he would laugh at him and call him a child. Meivel? He would but stare disbelieving. Meivel was unimaginative and incurious and did not believe in visions. Himbaláth, perhaps … but he was back in the eastern wing, exploring the dubious pleasantries of his chilly, red-haired wife. Kaimelas? No; Seimiel would have his head for disturbing them –

The answer was so obvious Legolas felt lack-witted for having forgotten. Gimli was there in Dol Galenehtar, enjoying the comforts of the tower he had built. Legolas had insisted, when Gimli first drew up the plans for the great Tower and Hall, that the Dwarf construct for himself a chamber, underground if he liked, filled with all the luxuries and conveniences of his own home in Aglarond. And so Gimli had done precisely that – designed a big hexagonal room, filled with bright lamps and heavy carven furniture, rich velvets and plush rugs, and best of all, a huge fireplace, big enough for an entire tree to burn therein, and a quantity of comfortable chairs and cushions spread before it. Gimli would look at him askance as Meivel, but he would listen at least; and though he express Legolas’ thoughts as foolishness would not belittle his friend. So down the stairs Legolas went, down down down into the depths of the Tower; his fingertips trailed the newels and traced the grostesques and carvings, his bare feet making no sound upon the pavers. He ducked into niches to avoid his own guards, and once slipped into a broom closet to evade Tuilíndo, on some nighttime errantry; at last he descended into the very bowels of the main Tower, feeling the earth rise up round him, and thence to Gimli’s door.

Once there, he felt foolish all over again; it was the dead of night, and everyone ought to be asleep, himself included; yet there he stood, thoughtless Elven prince he was, in his night-shirt and a pair of wrinkled breeches, barefoot and tousle-haired, awakened like a small child from a bad dream and seeking comfort from some friendly hand. But the memory of his father’s ring and the lingering ghostly stench of death propelled him forward, and he lightly scratched at the chamber door.

He stood, holding his breath, listening intently for any movement within; he but heard Gimli snoring, and realized he had not made sufficient noise to waken someone with hearing less keen than his own. So he knocked very softly, hoping no one else heard, and behind the door Gimli snorted and grunted; Legolas tapped again, and there was silence, then the creak of the bed, and feet stumping heavily across the floor.

“Who is it?” growled a voice at the latch; Legolas sighed in relief.

“It is I, Gimli – Legolas,” he whispered, keeping his voice low to avoid discovery. “O let me in, please; I must speak to someone or burst!”

There was incoherent grumbling then, and thick fingers fumbling with the latch; then the door creaked open, and Gimli blinked up at him; his ruddy hair was matted and he had so hastily thrown on his gown that it was hitched round his shoulders and lay crookedly across his chest. But he stood aside and let Legolas slip in, and shut and latched the door behind him. Legolas went straight for the hearth, upon which a great log smoldered; he took a handful of kindling and cast it thereupon, and blowing on the embers, watched them catch; taking up the poker, he stirred up the ashes and groped about for another log. He heard Gimli come up behind him, and when he looked up from his place on the hearth rug saw the Dwarf rearranging his robe and looking very put out.

“What in the name of the twelve lower levels of Mandos do you mean, knocking me up at this time of night?” grumbled Gimli, sitting on a pouf and folding his thick arms across his chest. “It is late and I am tired. Do not I beg of you say that you woke me simply because you wanted to talk!”

“It is not that, Gimli,” Legolas assured him. He made sure the fire was stoked, and when it was blazing merrily away, he sat upon a thick cushion and wrapped his arms round his legs, resting his chin on his knees. He was still shivering, and Gimli grunted, rose, and fetched a rug to cast about his shoulders. “Thank you,” said Legolas, and pulled the rug about him. He was not cold, but comfortless, and the warmth reassured him.

After a moment of silence, Gimli said, “Well, what is it? Are you in love? You have the look of a man escaping from some midnight tryst – partially dressed and deeply panicked.”

Legolas looked at Gimli reproachfully; he felt his cheeks flush. “Of course not, Gimli,” he said, offended. “You know I am not like that! Besides which, who in Dol Galenehtar – no, I will not ask that question; I do not wish to know your opinion in this matter!”

Gimli chuckled at his friend’s pink face and busied himself with a heavy decanter; the wine glugged into the goblets, and Legolas gratefully accepted the drink. It was rich, purplish wine, potent and sharp, and he took a deep draught. Gimli sat at his back in a low chair, and Legolas was comforted by his proximity; he nestled further down into the rug and untangled his limbs, leaning against the arm of Gimli’s chair and stretching his bare feet out to the flames. There was comfortable silence for a time; Legolas was marshalling his thoughts, and Gimli was waiting, knowing that Legolas could never keep silent long.

“I dreamt evilly,” Legolas said at last; his voice sounded thin and thready in the large room. “The detritus of the evil lingers still in my mind. I am puzzled and fretful and know not what to do.”

Gimli said nothing a moment, but pondered his friends’ words; at last he drained his goblet, and setting it down on the floor, leant forward, his elbows on his knees. “Well, tell me of it then,” he said gruffly. “I am awake and unlikely to go back to sleep after a declaration like that. Speak, since you cannot be silent.”

So Legolas spoke, and as the words left his mouth, he felt their evil lessen and recede from him, and the poison ingested dwindle in potency; his heart slowed, and the tale seemed stupid, convoluted and meaningless and certainly far beneath Gimli’s attention. But Gimli listened, and when Legolas spoke of the snake’s head sliding down his throat, he put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and squeezed him soothingly. Legolas shuddered; that yet nauseated him, though the pressing horror of the dream had faded. When he had wound up his tale he felt as though he ought to apologize to Gimli for troubling him with such nonsense, but Gimli was silent, thinking about what Legolas had said.

“The ring,” he said at last. “You saw your father’s ring not once, but twice?”

“Yes, Gimli,” said Legolas. He drained his goblet and handed it to Gimli, who refilled it and gave it back. “Once on his hand, reaching out from the bodies; then on my own hand when the snake-woman took hold of me. And I saw Eryn Lasgalen aflame, and my fears for my father’s kingdom – “ he stopped himself, suddenly annoyed. “It was only a dream; it is foolish of me to so impose upon you. I am sorry, Gimli; I will go and let you sleep.”

“Will you sleep though?” asked Gimli soberly. “The horror of it rests with you yet; I can feel you trembling.”

Legolas shook his head slowly. “I know not, Gimli,” he said, hesitant. “It was not real – I knew it was not real as I dreamt. But that lessened not the terror of it; it served to increase it rather. For though it was but phantasm, I tasted and smelt and felt upon me the snakes, the fire and the poison. And it would not leave me – it pursued me, though I sought to evade it; when my mind stilled it came over me again. O this is foolishness,” he said suddenly, putting his goblet down and running his long fingers through his pale flossy hair. “I have never suffered such torment from a dream before – it is nothing – dismiss it rather, O Gimli; get you to your couch, and I shall leave you; by morning-time I am sure even the echoes will have faded.”

“It is very unlike you to let such specters assail you,” said Gimli, patting Legolas’ shoulder. “For that very reason I think I cannot dismiss this, but will accord it full attention.”

“What do you mean, Gimli?” asked Legolas, turning to him in surprise; Gimli’s face was thoughtful, and he regarded the Elf with concern.

“You are right, my friend,” said the Dwarf. “You do not dream bad dreams, or have evil visions, or are discommoded by midnight terrors. You rarely dream at all, when you do sleep; and though I find you silly at times, I have not seen that you ever let fancies and fears overtake you. But tonight you dreamt not once but thrice of evil, of snakes and fire and death. You are a Sindar prince, and though I am dismayed to admit it, grow wiser as the years pass; it is not inconceivable some deeper insight might be visited upon you.”

Legolas stared at him. “But it was only a dream!” he protested. “It was unpleasant, but one cannot ascribe foresight to a dream!”

“Faramir may,” said Gimli gravely. “So might Fastred.”

With sinking heart Legolas saw Gimli spoke with wisdom; yet he fought against accepting his vision as truth, for the visions had been so horrible. “It is only that I got a letter from my Lord Father,” he said, seeking to convince himself as well as Gimli; “and that we have been so concerned about this vile fellow Malbeach. Why I am certain there is nothing in it – “

“Why; what said your father?” asked Gimli suspiciously; Legolas blushed again.

“I, I cannot speak openly of it; he begged me not to,” he said, very uncomfortable. “O Gimli, it was silly, and meaningless I am sure – now that I sit here with you before the fire and can clear my head, I am sure there is nothing to the dream.”

“You mean you hope there is nothing to the dream,” corrected Gimli with a grim smile. “Drink up, Legolas … do not breach your Lord Father’s confidence, for I know between you and he is the sympathy of father and son at its peak; but do you listen to this, for as your father might confide in you, so does mine in me.” He dug round in his desk a moment, then took out an envelope with a breached seal; Legolas recognized the blue mark of Glóin son of Groin. Gimli withdrew a letter, smoothed it on his knee, and while Legolas sipped at his wine Gimli read:

“There is something funny going on in Esgaroth, Gimli, and I am not comfortable about it at all. Strange as it sounds, I like Thranduil well enough; but I do not think he takes a hard enough line in this, in particular with Malbeach’s wife Renna – she is a nasty piece of work, and no better than she ought to be; perhaps it is because your mother is so pretty but I do not think Lady Renna as beautiful as everyone says. Odd I find her, and Malbeach no less so; I wish Thorin had not agreed to make those collars for him. I would be satisfied if I never went to Esgaroth again. If you see that lad Legolas you might put a flea in his ear over it, and I confess I would not be disappointed if the two of you came up here to give us a clear eye. It seems no one can make a decision, or turn one way or another; we are all muddled, poor Girion in particular, and I am disappointed in the Elvenking – it seems to me that a man who would not turn a hair at throwing thirteen Dwarves in the dungeon for no good reason ought to brace himself up enough to send that little trollop on her way. Why good Lady Edlothiel hesitates to kick him down the front steps is a mystery to me. When last I was at Malbeach’s house I felt odd – heavy-headed and stupid – I do not know what it is, but it is affecting us all to our detriment. If we do not find out what is wrong in Esgaroth I fear we shall all go mad, Elf and Dwarf alike. And people keep going missing – farm folk, and Men, so it is none of our business I suppose – but it unnerves me to see those empty barns and houses. Even the cattle are gone.”

Gimli looked up; Legolas was staring at him in mingled surprise and apprehension, his goblet forgotten in his hands. “So you see, my friend, when you speak of Eryn Lasgalen in flames, and your Lord Father at bay, I too am minded of my father’s words, and my unease increased not lessened. For months it seems have we heard naught but ill dealings from the new Master of Esgaroth, and now the bad tidings come to you from some dream-land, whence have never come such speerings to you. I know you sought sound, earthy advice of me,” he added kindly, seeing his friend’s face grow even paler than before. “I am sorry, but I think you have received a warning, and coupled with our fathers’ missives … well, Legolas, I know not how to counsel you; I am confounded as are you.”

Legolas drained his goblet in one long draught, put it down, and rose to his feet, casting off the rug. “Then we are leaving now,” he declared breathlessly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We cannot stay here. We must go, and go now!”

“And do what?” asked Gimli, amused. “Will you bring your army with you? All your knights and archers, and the war-dogs too? Will you attack Lake Town and put all to the sword? I bid you good luck convincing Meivel to empty Dol Galenehtar on the strength of a dream and a couple of letters!”

Legolas stared at him in despair. “But we must do something!” he insisted. “I cannot sit back and wait for the worst to happen. Letters take three weeks from my Lord Father’s palace to Ithilien. Who knows what may have happened after he wrote – last week – what may be happening now? O Gimli, surely you must see we must go, and go quickly!”

“Well, we could,” admitted Gimli, refilling his own goblet and holding the decanter out to Legolas; Legolas fetched his cup and let Gimli pour. “I cannot see bringing many with us though, not with such little information. Galás and Meivel would never consent; nor would Nórin; they would think their lords’ wits had gone wool-gathering, and they would not be half wrong. They might let us go for a visit though,” he said thoughtfully, sipping his wine. “Just to make sure our peoples were foregathering well … and of course it would be polite to meet the new Master of Esgaroth … but we would have to go near in stealth, to escape suspicion, and give some other reason. You might pack lightly – only bring courtly items - ”

“Such as my glorious green armor of course,” said Legolas mockingly, and Gimli laughed.

“Certainly, if it pleases you! And a cook so we might have mushrooms. And we ought to travel without urgency, as though this were but a social visit.”

Legolas eyes sparkled over the rim of his goblet. “With waggons and mules,” he said impishly. “And tents and an esquire. And my lances, Gimli; do not forget my dragons-head coronels!”

Gimli regarded him severely. “After all these centuries, when will you grow up?”

“What fun is that, dear Gimli?” Legolas sat on the rug, his back to the fire, grinning. “I shall challenge Girion’s son to a joust – “

“Legolas – “

“No; come; Gimli – it is a good plan – the weather is good, and no one shall suspect us – “

“Do you truly think your seneschal so stupid? He will know the moment you opine – “

“I shall say Tamin misses his cousin,” said Legolas stoutly. “And – and – and that my Lord Father asked me to come. He did; that much I can say with accuracy.”

“Legolas – “

“And that my Lady Mother seeks to keep Dúrfinwen, and I cannot spare her from the tucking-mill and must go to fetch her.”

Gimli grimaced into his goblet. “That will raise more suspicions than you seek to quell.”

Legolas went pink again. “I – er – well,” he stammered, “perhaps I will not use that particular excuse.”

“Why not? It is as good an excuse as any you have postulated. Come, Legolas; do you not be so precipitate! Let us sleep on it at least, and speak to Bandobras tomorrow; he is practical you know, and may give good counsel to us, who fret for our fathers.”

Legolas sighed and wrapped his limbs round himself; he said: “O very well, Gimli; but fill my cup again – I do not think sleep shall visit me tonight, and if she will, shall bring visions odder than before.”

“What a naysayer you are!” exclaimed Gimli, but emptied the decanter into his friend’s goblet. “Drink up then, and do not think any more of leaving straight way; let cool heads prevail, son of Thranduil.”

Legolas smiled and conceded; yet in some moments when Gimli nodded off, he put his goblet down, and fetching another rug he covered the Dwarf, and sat huddled by the fire, staring into its flickering depths. Yet he saw the forest that had borne him engulfed and heard the cries of his people; he knew sleep would be far from him for some time, and he resolved the more to go himself to Eryn Lasgalen, though what he might do there, or what he might find, he did not yet know.

(A/N: Many humble apologies for how long it has taken this chapter to emerge! I actually sent it in to my beta, the inestimable Nieriel Raina, last week, but she rightly pointed out some rather egregious errors and omissions. I have since repaired them, and as she has approved my final work I present it to you, with the caveat that anything you find wrong with it is my fault and not hers. -- Le Rouret)

6. The Seneschal Twice Confounded

When Gimli awoke the next morning, he had been decorously arranged upon the couch, and a thick fur rug spread over him; the fire had been banked, and the door was closed but unlatched. Wondering what Legolas would do now that the harsh light of day burned down upon his dark and demoralizing dream, he rose, attended to his ablutions, and when he had finished and dressed went in search of the Lord of Dol Galenehtar.

Legolas’ bedchamber was bright and welcoming, but the only Elf therein was Kaimelas, seeing to his lord’s magnificent wardrobe. “He got away from me,” the valet laughed, holding in one hand a canary-colored doublet embroidered with green, and in the other, a silvery robe studded all over with shimmering glass beads. “I thought I had hooked him and made to dress him in something severe and forbidding; for he has on his catalog that insidious Man Morbel and it is essential he impress upon our mortal neighbors the severity of those peculiar and odious crimes. But he has eluded me; he slipped out unnoticed, and hied him away; and no doubt now sits in the Hall upon his throne, with neither robe nor crown nor even jewelry! How anyone can take him seriously like that is beyond my ability to comprehend.”

“O I do not know Kaimelas,” said Gimli thoughtfully, fingering the finely boned lapels of the glorious silver robe. “Morbel is a terrible man, and his deeds abhorrent; for Legolas to array himself in fine vestments as these would confer upon the filthy rake his importance and stature, and entail value to his vile actions. I do think me Legolas has it right, to direct the trial with sobriety and weight, inferring Morbel is not worth the effort to dress well.” Kaimelas but shrugged and put the garments away, and Gimli stood and looked round the bedchamber. Knowing his friend’s disinclination to rest had persuaded Gimli to design it in such a way that the occupant would seek out its especial delights without feeling constrained to sleep. It was a vaulted and spacious set of rooms, and all the windows were tall and arched, and glazed with faceted and tinted glass. There were shelves full of books and parchments and charts, and many strange and curious items Legolas had collected over the years – statuettes, and twisted roots, and carven boxes, and odd jeweled fetishes, and the forbidding vacant-eyed skull of a lion. There were little nooks with low comfortable chairs, tables with decanters and goblets, mirrors with sconces and candles, a large glittering chandelier, and cupboards built into the very walls in which Legolas might store those items he did not want Kaimelas to remove. Brightly colored tapestries softened the high walls, and the sparkling marble floors were strewn with plush carpets that begged one to shed one’s shoes and walk on them barefoot. Central to the room was the massive bed, big enough, so Legolas averred, for three full-grown Elven princes and all their esquires and perhaps even a pony or two; it was crowned with a high airy canopy held up with intricately carven poles, draped with swags and embroidered curtains and large beaded tassels that let off soft whispery jingles when the breezes stirred them. The bedclothes had been straightened and the pillows rearranged, so Gimli could not see any evidence of the Green Knight’s restless dreams the night before; he wondered if Legolas had slept at all.

“Will Tamin be in the Hall, when Legolas hears the indictment against Morbel?” asked Gimli suddenly.

Kaimelas paused in his chore of straightening his lord’s boots, and turned with a frown to Gimli, his fair face disturbed. “That, I know not,” he said slowly. “I hope not – Tamin is so young and so innocent; I am certain he has never heard or even imagined acts of such desecration before. And he is a fine lad, but he is a Galadrim, and they do not suffer mortal Men as do we; in fact I do not think me he has yet to see how evilly Men might act, especially towards the weak. To his little mind there are but two sorts of Men: the good Men of Gondor and Rohan, and a smattering of bad fellows that his Master and good Lord Faramir must needs put down on occasion. Thievery and cheating and even rebellion, which are bad enough, are all he has yet seen, but this … “ Kaimelas shook his head, and bent down again to his task. After a moment he said in a subdued voice: “Did you see the body?”

“Of the girl?” asked Gimli with misgiving. “Nay; I was yet in Osgiliath seeing to the drains.”

“I saw her,” said Kaimelas hoarsely. “It was terrible.” He glanced at Gimli through his dark hair. “Andunië found her, you know – I have never seen our huntsmistress so shaken. The child was torn within and without, and the look on her poor pinched face – “

“Stop,” begged Gimli, holding out his hands. “It is bad enough I have read the docket and know the allegations brought forward!” He shook his head angrily. “Men! Of all us mortal races they are the most prevalent, the most invasive, the most violent! No Dwarf would dream of such a thing – nor a Hobbit either. And how Men turn on each other; how they split and scrap and kill! It is almost enough to convince me to take my people deep into Aglarond and have naught to do with them again.”

“That is so,” sighed Kaimelas, chucking a stray boot in the box. “Betimes when Dale and Esgaroth quarreled would our king sit back with arms folded and say, ‘We have naught to do but let them be, and they shall destroy each other, and trouble us no longer!’ It is no wonder to me Galadriel sought to hide the Galadrim. It is safer methinks for us, who are not Men, to avoid them. And yet,” he said, picking up one of his lord’s greaves; it was black, and figured beautifully with a silver tree and stars; “and yet there are Men, such as Elessar, and Faramir, and even Girion of Dale, who are good Men, and wise and just and fair and noble. I should find life the duller without Men such as these, and their children and subjects too. I only wish – “ He paused, as though to consider exactly what he wished; but Gimli thought he knew.

“You wish they would simply behave as do we,” he said. “Odd it is, Kaimelas, that a Dwarf find himself in sympathy with Elves and not Men! But Men like Morbel do make one wonder.”

“They do indeed,” smiled Kaimelas. “Well, let me to my work, good Lord of Aglarond; and if you should find my lord wandering round his halls in his old leather tunic, do you haul him up here so that I might at least make him look like a prince and not a huntsman!”

Gimli laughed and agreed, and bidding the valet farewell quit the chamber. He descended the Tower, passed through the courtyards and down hallways he had designed himself, answering passing Elves’ cheery greetings, and agreeing with their assessment of the fineness of the day. At last he ascended the grand staircase up to the Hall, he chuckled to himself over Legolas slipping through Kaimelas’ clutches and running off in a simple tunic, with the beleaguered valet trailing behind, crying plaintively of black ornamented doublets. But it was early yet, Gimli mused; still could Kaimelas descend upon his recalcitrant charge and stuff him protesting into those costumes so beloved by the court, the epaulettes and elaborate collars and capes and furs and gems and circlets that served to further elevate Legolas’ rank and reputation, while at the same time frustrating the Green Knight with their tight collars, scratchy seams, heavy shoulders, and cumbersome sashes. It was a great pity, thought Gimli, that Edlothiel had only had a son and no daughters upon whom to lavish garments; it seemed not a month went by without some gift sent from Eryn Lasgalen, containing therein for the Lord of Dol Galenehtar an offering from his Lady Mother, beaded and tucked and pinned and bedecked; Gimli was certain the queen sent these items in good faith her son would enjoy them and knew not the look of dismay her contributions engendered.

Legolas was holding court, clad as Kaimelas had lamented in a somber brown tunic, his hair pulled severely back from his face; he looked very forbidding, a slim dark figure upon the white High Seat, his face shadowed by the canopy, his eyes dim and hooded. Gimli hoped to see Morbel squirming before the dais and wished it had been up to him and not Legolas to decide the villain’s fate. Legolas could be so impartial and urbane with Men, and Morbel’s actions deserved cruelty analogous to his heinous actions. “To be drawn-and-quartered would yet be too kind,” thought Gimli; however when he looked closely it appeared Morbel languished yet in the dungeon, for there was a strange Man there, roughly dressed and very dirty, and Laivánwa was reading his transgression calmly to his lord.

“ – did deliberately and with forethought traverse by stealth and uninvited into your lordship’s demesne, and climbing the wall appropriated vegetable matter belonging to said demesne, in particular the apothecary, with no thought of seeking permission or providing funds for said vegetable matter, though Captain Meivel did assure the court he yielded himself without resistance.” Laivánwa brought the indictment down to the desk where sat his lord’s secretary, scratching busily on parchment; Hirilcúllas took the paper from him without looking up, and slipped it into a small box at her side.

A minor territorial infraction then, Gimli decided; he had often wondered why the apothecary gardens flanked the westernmost olintalari and were, though legally within the borders of Dol Galenehtar, upon the fringes of open territory. Liquíseleé was there also standing before her lord’s throne, and Gimli was rather surprised to see the leech, of wont so clement, with flushed cheek and flashing eye. The unfortunate farmer who had harvested her vegetable matter, which Gimli discovered after a moment was agrimony, was having a rough time of it, between Liquíseleé’s indignation, and Legolas’ blandly worded questions of stone walls and clearly-marked and labeled garden rows and rather obvious irrigation trenches. The poor Man was sweating, and looking round with wide frightened eyes, and turning his cap round about in his shaking, dirt-crusted hands. Gimli saw to his relief a latent twinkle in his friend’s eye, indicative of amusement and not affront, and deciding Legolas’ temper was well in hand, walked round the wall of the great Hall where he would not interrupt and watched the proceedings with gratified interest.

Tamin was, as usual, standing behind his Master, attending with care to the trial; the child’s face was a study of conflicting thoughts, ranging from offense to pity, dependent upon which person spoke. When Liquíseleé presented her grievances did Tamin’s expression harden; however when the poor bedraggled peasant pled poverty and his family’s anxieties, compassion suffused the boy’s demeanor, and as the Man described his wife’s afflictions, Tamin’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. But at this point Liquíseleé rounded upon the fellow, and arms folded across her chest she exclaimed with exasperation:

“Agrimony, for her lungs? What nonsense! Do you take me, varlet, for some ignorant country apothecary, with no judgment and less learning?”

“Agrimony my grandmother did say, mum, so agrimony I shall use,” muttered the Man disaffectedly into his tattered wool scarf. “Agrimony makes us breathe right, she said.”

“Agrimony will do naught for her but make her to pass water and give her sun burns,” said Liquíseleé angrily. “Agrimony! Of all things to steal from my garden! What foolishness!”

The Man grumbled into his collar again, and Legolas said mildly: “To debate the efficacy of one herb to the other is, I think, beneficial save in those instances when culpability is being questioned, O good leech; still must we determine the sentence for this Man who stole the wrong herb for his wife.” He fixed the Man with a stern eye, and the Man squirmed and stared at his feet. “It is not in Dol Galenehtar’s interests to allow strangers to traverse our lands and take for free what we grow for mercantile purposes, and such behavior must and shall be discouraged. The agrimony was, I understand, trampled in the confusion and is therefore unusable?”

“It is,” said Liquíseleé angrily. “Completely ruined. And he harvested not only the stem and blossom but the root too!”

“I see,” said Legolas gravely. “Well, it is unlikely he can produce a like plant to replace what he has taken; perhaps he might remunerate the apothecary gardens – “

“O sir – I mean, my lord – I have no money,” protested the Man miserably, twisting and pleating his regrettable hat. “Why, the leech in Osgiliath who came to see my wife asked a gold piece, which we did not have, so I sold the cow to pay him, and then he prescribed an unguent and asked another gold piece – “

“A gold piece for an unguent!” Liquíseleé was aghast. “Why, it ought to have been included in his fee, since it was so exorbitant. No wonder you decided to try your hand at healing her yourself! A gold piece!”

“Yes, mum,” said the Man nervously; he rolled his eyes at Legolas sitting in silent judgment over him; he was sweating like a nervous horse. “And I recalled what my grandmother used to say, that agrimony was good for the lungs, but none of my neighbors had any, and it is hard to find on the eastern banks – “

“And so you stole mine,” said Liquíseleé angrily. “And you have placed yourself and your poor wife in this intolerable position! Not only to have a half-wit husband but he be a thief as well! And for naught but agrimony! Appalling!”

“Shocking,” agreed Legolas mildly. “A bunch of agrimony; what would be the selling price – Hirilcúllas; do you know?”

“Half a brass piece, if at all,” said Hirilcúllas from where she sat taking proceedings, her quill scratching busily. “Why if I recall from our last list of accounts – “ She set down her quill and leafed through a separate ledger, followed her finger down the page and said, ”Yes – an equivalent herb would be, what, Liquíseleé, sticklewort?”

“Sticklewort and agrimony are the same herb, gosling,” said Liquíseleé scathingly. Hirilcúllas glanced up at her lord, who widened his eyes at her; she fought back a smile. “Were I to sell a bunch of agrimony I would not ask but a quarter – nay, an eighth of that – “

“It is used for the liver, is it not?” asked Galás, sprawled on the lower steps of the dais next to Himbaláth, who had as headsman been summoned for the trial of a thief, and sat idly fingering his halberd, much to the Man’s distress. “The liver and other digestive organs – loose bowels – “

“I have never suffered from loose bowels,” said Himbaláth absently, running his thumb along the halberd blade.

“With all the wine you drink? I am astonished, Himbaláth!”

“I do not drink so much as you,” said Himbaláth with a smile. “I am happier than you are, methinks.”

Galás snorted. “Marriage has ruined you, my friend. Why you used to sit with me at the barrels and drink and sing ‘til the rafters rang!“

“I have better things to do now,” said Himbaláth with a naughty wink. “You ought to see to it for yourself, Galás – find a nice little wife who will cure you of such tomfoolery, and of the loose bowels engendered when one overindulges in drink. Why, when Dúrfinwen returns – “

Galás gave a strangled noise of protest, but Legolas interrupted. “Enough,” he said. He appeared to scratch an itch on his nose, but Gimli was certain he was hiding a smile. “I do not recall this unhappy fellow complaining of loose bowels, or of excess of drink, but of his wife’s lungs.”

“What is wrong with them anyway?” demanded Liquíseleé. “Is she short of breath, or do they make a noise when she breathes – a creaking? A clicking, perhaps? Do you hear a rasping or any guttural noise?”

“I – I do not know, mum – my lady,” the Man said, perplexed and afraid. He rolled his eyes at Himbaláth, who had taken out his whetstone and began to run it across the blade; Galás at his side had put his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. And ever Hirilcúllas scratched away, her inky fingers dispassionately recording his every damning word; the indifference of the Lord of Dol Galenehtar’s retainers unnerved him. He turned to Legolas and pleaded, “Sir – I mean, my lord – I know what I have done is wrong – but I thought – I thought it would heal her – and she has been ill so long – “

“Peace, fellow,” said Legolas a little severely, though his eyes were kind. “You did steal from my demesne, from the apothecary’s stores and you admit you did so in full knowledge of the wickedness of your depredations. Now, you are a citizen of Gondor, and according to the ancient laws set in Minas Tirith the punishment for larceny is the loss of one hand – “

The Man gave an agonized cry, and Liquíseleé turned to her lord in astonishment; Galás opened one eye and said: “A just pronouncement, by Heaven!” Himbaláth snorted, but Liquíseleé was horrified. “My lord,” said she, her fair face distressed, “to punish the Man for the sake of a piece of brass – “

“Your indignation robs you of your decorum, O leech,” said Legolas firmly, and Liquíseleé shut her mouth with a snap, though she looked mutinous. “Let me finish! There are three more cases upon my docket, and I have not even broken fast. As I was saying, mortal Man, you are a citizen of Gondor, but your infraction took place in Dol Galenehtar – only just; another ten feet and I should have been constrained to send you to the White Lady who deals judgment in Osgiliath; a fearsome development indeed! – and so I have decided, as your transgression was committed within my borders, you shall be subject to my laws instead. Let me see,” he said, glancing at Hirilcúllas. “A quarter of a brass piece … how much labor, do you think, would it take to make that back?”

Hirilcúllas considered this, casting her eyes to the high vaulted ceiling and tapping her chin with the quill. “Hm … half a day, perhaps. It is difficult, my lord, because in accounts of this size, it is usual to round the sum either up or down, dependent upon where it falls in the center of the coinage.”

“And it is such a remarkable sum,” Galás interjected. “A quarter of a brass piece! Be you sure to brush up on your mathematics, Hirilcúllas.”

“Hush, seneschal.” Legolas glanced irritably at Galás. “Cousin or no, your inclination for verbal exposition grows quite irritating. And so, Hirilcúllas, at a quarter of a brass piece – “

“Well,” said Hirilcúllas thoughtfully, “the quarter itself is less than half the piece of brass, but as a half-brass has been minted in Minas Tirith as an actual coin, it is dead center, and I fear it would be up to you, my lord, to determine the judgment.”

“Such a keen mind!” exclaimed Galás to Himbaláth. “I wish I were as good at sums.”

“Your dicing partners are thankful you are not,” said Himbaláth.

“Enough, I say!” said Legolas. He glanced back at his esquire, who was looking askance at Galás and Himbaláth; then Legolas fixed his eyes upon the Man. “Tell me your name,” he said.

The Man swallowed heavily and blinked. “Ardún,” he whispered.

Legolas smiled. “Ah!” he said. “A good name; I knew a Man by that name and I liked him well.”

“Very propitious,” agreed Galás; Himbaláth shushed him.

“Well, Ardún,” said Legolas, “I ought to sentence you to a half-day’s labor in my courtyards, but I am dissatisfied, for it seems to me as though there are questions yet to be answered. Himbaláth, will you go to this Man’s village and inquire of the denizens thereof as to his behavior and character? Also take with you Celelindë to see to the wife, to ascertain if her condition is as grave as he claims. If she is too weak to work – “

“My lord,” interrupted Liquíseleé stubbornly, her fists upon her hips. “If the woman is too weak to work, and it is indeed a weakness of the lungs, and if there are children in the house – “ She glanced at the Man. “Are there?”

“The baby,” he said uncertainly.

“There,” said Liquíseleé, lifting her chin. “A wife who is ill, and a baby, and you propose to let him work a half day here, and send him back without even the agrimony – “

“If the wife is as ill as that,” said Himbaláth, “then she cannot take good care of the infant.”

“Well, Ardún?” asked Legolas. “Is your wife too ill to care for the infant?”

“She is,” admitted Ardún. “She coughs all the time – and is too weak to rise – and her milk has gone, and now that we do not have the cow – “ Then his eyes overflowed and he fell to his knees. “O sir – I mean, my lord – have mercy upon us – that is, you have shown me much mercy already; but please, please, my lord, if there is any herb or unguent, I would gladly sell myself to purchase it – if it meant my wife’s life – “

“Ardún,” said Legolas severely. “How long have I lived in Dol Galenehtar? And how old are you? Do you fall back upon those old wives’ tales of the inclemency of the Firstborn, or does my reputation speak the louder? Surely you know by now that I am no slave-merchant; at least you ought to, if you have been paying the slightest bit of attention to your lords and your lands this past score of years. All you need concern yourself with is paying back your debt. Let me see; I believe Hwindiö and the farrier have need of some labor – “

“My lord,” said Liquíseleé; she still looked recalcitrant. “If I might make a suggestion?”

“When have I ever been able to keep you from doing such a thing, O leech?” asked Legolas, resigned. “Suggest away; I am listening.”

“Agrimony to be given for an ailment of the lungs – preposterous,” she spluttered. “Nay, my lord; let me take him to the apothecary, and he shall aid me in the shifting of barrels and urns sent me from Belfalas, and help me in organizing my stores; and I shall attempt to disabuse him of the absurd and erroneous notions regarding herbology and physic.” She shot the kneeling man a scathing look and he flinched. “Otherwise, when the babe colics, he shall poison it with barberry root instead of psyllium husk, and kill it outright. But if he aid me, in this fashion he shall repay his debt to you, my lord, and gain insight, improving both your demesne and his mind.”

“That is a capital idea,” said Legolas, his face expressionless; Galás gave a snort of laughter, quickly quelled when the leech glared at him. “Ardún, I fear your punishment shall outstrip your crime however; will you submit yourself to be chastised by my apothecary here?”

Ardún gave Liquíseleé a cautious look. “I declare that I deserve all the harsh treatment meted out to me,” he said carefully.

“A well-balanced observation,” said Legolas dryly. “So be it, then. Take him and use him well, O leech.”

“My lord,” said Liquíseleé, dropping the barest hint of a courtesy; Ardún scrabbled to his feet and gave a clumsy attempt at a bow, but found himself dragged by the collar down the Hall and through the doors. All in the Hall could hear the leech expostulating: “Now, listen well, Man: Agrimony is bitter and vulnerary, and works primarily upon the upper colon and those digestive organs in the production of bile – “ And the Man protesting desperately: “Yes, mum – no, mum – but I – but certainly, mum – “ Legolas kept his face serene until they had quit his Hall, then when he was certain they were gone, leant forward with his face in his hands; Galás laughed unashamedly, and Himbaláth was grinning.

“A bunch of herbs,” groaned Legolas, sitting up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “All this pother for a bunch of herbs. Did you get all of that, Hirilcúllas?”

“I did, my lord,” said Hirilcúllas absently. She tucked a lock of her raven hair behind one ear and left a smear of purple ink across her cheek. She blotted her paper and pinned it to the docket. “I shall give this unto Tuilíndo so he may balance the account in the ledgers.”

“Thank you, Hirilcúllas. In the small things shall the great things be determined. What is it, my Tamin? You have a question writ large across your little face and I am certain you will rest not ere I have answered it.”

“Well, Master,” said Tamin slowly, “it is only this, and I am certain it is a foolish question, and I ask it only because I am ignorant; yet if I ask you not, how may I mend mine ignorance? So please, O Master, do you disclose unto me your reasoning in this matter: why did you not simply discharge the debt? You did so last month, when that girl knocked the hand off one of the statues in the courtyard; you said it was too small an amount to bother with, and sent her on her way.”

“That is so,” admitted Legolas, straightening with a sigh. “But the maid in question was the daughter of the Lord of Ringló, and she is as fractious as her father; ‘twere easier to dispense with them, than to haggle with his lordship over the sum; and anyway they are a family much disposed to over-eating, and my butteries were much strained; it was a relief to my cooks and store-rooms to have done with them.”

“Oh,” said Tamin, then he started and exclaimed, “Are you hungered, Master? I have just remembered; you said you had not yet broken fast and you have three more suits – “

“I would commit a petty misdemeanor for a glass of wine and a corner of cheese,” Legolas smiled. “But ere you dash off to the butteries, my Tamin, let us continue your education as mine esquire and so dispel yet more ignorance of you. Tell me, Little One, why you think I keep Ardún here, instead of absolving his debt, and sending him to his wife.”

Tamin hesitated and shifted back and forth on his feet; he looked unsure. “Do not fear my censure,” Legolas assured him. “Put yourself rather upon this throne and hear his plaint with your ears not mine. Would you have sent him back?”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin immediately. “I would have sent him to Lord Faramir and let him deal with him, as he was a Man and ought to have rather been subject to the laws of Men not Elves. Then remuneration would have been given Liquíseleé and the apothecary from the court of the Prince of Emyn Arnen, sparing the man the time spent to compensate for his infraction.”

“An interesting solution, and very conventional,” admitted Legolas. “And what do you suppose would have been the outcome?”

“Disorder, mayhem, and chaos,” said Galás with a melodramatic gesture, grinning impudently when Legolas shot him an irritated glance.

“Remuneration, Master,” said Tamin, confused. “And I doubt me he should have stolen from us again.”

“Possibly not,” said Legolas. “What do you suppose would have happened to his wife and infant?”

Tamin stared at his Master in burgeoning comprehension. “Oh,” he said slowly, and when his Master nodded and smiled he said: “Likely his wife would die, and without his cow he would be constrained to sell himself into servanthood at any rate, and perhaps the babe would sicken without its mother and die too, or he should give unto it agrimony and kill it outright, and perhaps then he should be despondent, and start to steal from his neighbors, a cow perhaps, thinking he was owed it, and then be caught again, and have his hand removed, and fall into drink or some other vice – “

“Well, perhaps not so bad as all that,” smiled Legolas. “But this leech who asks a gold piece for a consult, and a gold piece for the wrong physic, would certainly continue his iniquity regardless; and perhaps the wife would recover, perhaps not – I am unwilling to take the risk anyway. Himbaláth, do you go with Celelindë to the village and bring back with you Ardún’s wife and baby; put them in the south wing, under Seimiel’s care; if any woman in this demesne can nurse them back to health it is she I deem. Ilterendil, fetch my next victim … And Galás, if you do not cease laughing at me, I shall be forced to eject you.”

“How will you do that, cousin?” asked Galás impertinently. “Himbaláth here is off on munificence bound, and Ilterendil is bringing up that wart Morbel from the dungeons for your judgment – I dare not say amercement for a guiltier fellow I never saw – do you propose to expel me yourself? O your highness, it has been long since we have wrestled, but I aver I can still give you a stinging lesson!”

“I shall set Gimli on you,” said Legolas blandly. “I challenge you to disparage his talents in mine own Hall, seneschal.”

Galás sat up on his elbows, and espying Gimli in the corner, gave a crow of laughter. “Ah!” he said. “The son of Glóin brandishes his pipe at me! Well I am vanquished ere I begin, your highness, and retreat in a cloud of confusion, demoralization, and pipe-smoke.”

“I should be so fortunate!” said Legolas. “I do think me my Lord Father did set you as my seneschal to penalize me for taking the strength of his cavalry from Eryn Lasgalen. Do you not have tasks of your own to see to this morn, or do you delay your duties in order to harass me in mine own Hall?”

“I was given to understand, my lord, that King Thranduil did send Galás to you to rid himself of the seneschal’s most noxious presence,” said Himbaláth innocently. Galás threw a stale piece of bread at him, which he ducked. “By your leave, my lord?”

“O begone with you,” said Legolas rubbing his temples. “How my head aches! Gimli, do you come up here and sit beside me; else lacking your clement nature I shall set my headsman against my seneschal simply for the fun of seeing which one is quicker with the knife!”

“Tamin, my boy,” chuckled Galás; “get you to the butteries and quick; your Master is so hungered he will gnaw his own arm off if he does not get something to eat.”

“If you are not careful it shall be your arm not mine, Galás,” said Legolas.

“It is not so bad as that, is it, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously.

“It is close,” said Legolas. “Bread and cheese and hot mulled wine for all save my seneschal, by your leave, O mine esquire.”

“At once, Master!” exclaimed Tamin, grasping Legolas’ hand and kissing it; then faster than eyes could mark, he fled from the Hall. Galás opened his mouth to speak, saw the burgeoning fire in his lord’s eyes and thought better of it, and rising to his feet, bowed Gimli to the dais. “What does the Lord of Aglarond require of me?” he asked mellifluously. “A cushion? More pipe-weed? A copy of the docket perchance?”

“A cold cup of ale,” declared Gimli, fixing the seneschal with a shrewd eye. “Dark and stout, an it please you, and nicely hopped; not that milky stuff you served Lord Faramir last month, but something with some bite to it, and a good sharp cheese to compliment it – crumbly and white and firm, and strong enough to stand up to the ale.” He sat in Legolas’ right-hand chair and arranged the cushions to his liking. “Well do not stand there staring at me; hop about!” He waved his hand dismissively to Galás, who stood there staring in surprise; Galás glanced at his prince, who but raised an interrogative eyebrow at him; the seneschal smirked a little, and with a bow withdrew, well and thoroughly routed.

When Galás had quit the Hall Legolas allowed himself a loud clear laugh. “O well done, dear Gimli!” he exclaimed. “How he has made himself obnoxious to me this morn! And I am so tired,” he added in an undertone; “I could not sleep you know – and here is this awful Man to appear before me – that poor young girl, seeking my sanctuary, to be caught upon my very slopes – well, it is a nasty case, Gimli; I am glad Tamin is gone to the butteries, for I do not want him to hear the particulars.” At that moment Ilterendil and the lackey brought up the prisoner, and Legolas sat up, his shoulders and mouth set; Gimli saw him fix the Man with a severe look, and sat back with a grim smile; it was gratifying to see Legolas handle such evil so resolutely.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

“Gimli,” said Legolas over the fish. “I am going to Osgiliath tomorrow.”

He spoke in an undertone, for he did not wish Tamin to hear; the boy had been grieved enough on his friend Fastred’s account, and he did not wish to excite his little esquire with the news of a visit, at least not ‘til supper was over and his duties wound up. But Bandobras overheard, and at Legolas’ left he leant in, still busily extracting a bit of bone from between his teeth.

“There now!” he said with satisfaction. “Going to see to that there leech, are you? A shame it is, that men such as him go about their business robbing the poor folk of their hard-earned money, and giving them naught but bad advice in exchange. How he can sleep at night is a mystery to me.”

“If he is getting two gold pieces from every peasant he counsels, he is rich enough to afford a comfortable bed at least,” said Legolas. “Yes, my Bandobras, I shall speak to Faramir about the leech. Would you like to accompany me? I did hear from Tyarmayél that Spark’s hock is healed well and he is spoiling for a run.”

Bandobras brightened. “Why, yes, my lord; that would be quite gratifying! And you come too, Gimli; that little hill-pony of yours is getting fat and needs a little exercise.”

“Of course I shall come,” said Gimli, glancing at Legolas, who smiled in relief. “The Prince of Emyn Arnen sets a fine table; and anyway I should like to check on those allure walls my folk repaired last winter. Now that the weather is warm the settling should start, and I would like to make certain the foundations hold.”

“Excellent; let us leave at dawn – “ Legolas cut himself off, for at that moment Tamin bustled by, refilling their wine goblets; the boy looked uneasy Legolas thought, and kept glancing down at Nwalmä, who was chatting and eating at a table across the Hall; when the lieutenant laughed at something Fionim said Tamin frowned. “Little One,” he said, and Tamin startled turned to his lord. “You seem to me to be silently accusing Nwalmä of coarse feeling.”

“O no, Master!” said Tamin hurriedly. “I only wondered – how can he eat, after what he was constrained to do today? And look at him,” he added, distressed; “there on the table before him the boar’s head sits, and he but carves the cheek and eats of it – should it not connote to him his sad errand, and so rob him of his appetite?”

“Sad!” exclaimed Galás on Bandobras’ other side. “A great relief I call it! Nwalmä did good work today. And execution is hard work; I do not doubt me he worked up an appetite for some good roast pork.”

“The ground clove is a nice touch,” agreed Bandobras. “And the crackling very fine.”

“I aver naught tastes so good after an execution than fine crackling,” said Galás comfortably.

“Little One,” said Legolas kindly to Tamin, who looked more distressed than before; “do you not worry your dear little head about Nwalmä’s sensibilities – he is a stout and kind-hearted fellow, and in the implementation of his duties, made Ithilien the safer, and dispensed justice swiftly and efficiently. I know you think putting a Man to death a cold-hearted function, but it is Nwalmä’s, and he did not do so cruelly. Though Morbel had no blood-money, the axe was sharp and the blow clean.”

“’Twas a better death than he deserved,” said Gimli firmly. “Cheer up, Tamin; you did not hear the proceedings, so you do not know what that horrible Man did, but trust your Master’s verdict; Morbel deserved death ten times over.”

Tamin nodded, but his eyes were still troubled; he went down the High Table with the jug of wine, and Legolas, seeing Bandobras involved with Galás, leant over and whispered in Gimli’s ear:

“I want to talk to Faramir about dreams.”

Gimli raised his eyebrows and looked in surprise at his friend; Legolas had held up well all day he thought, betraying no sign that he had spent such a distressed night; he had held court and eaten and laughed with his folk, and Gimli had wondered if Legolas finally dismissed the dream outright. But now Legolas seemed restless, and Gimli noted he had not touched his food. “Well,” he said in a low voice, “he would be the one to ask I deem … have you not mentioned it to anyone?”

“Nay; none save you, my friend,” said Legolas, poking a little dispiritedly at his fish. “It may be nothing – I hope it is nothing – and I wish neither to alarm nor amuse anyone else. So let us go to Osgiliath, and thence – “ He glanced at Galás who was laughing at something Bandobras had said. His grey eyes glimmered in the lamp light, and it seemed to Gimli that he was not looking at his seneschal at all, but had been transported elsewhere and saw evil things. Legolas shivered and rubbed his hands over his upper arms as though pushing something away, and Gimli wondered if he thought of his dream-snake. “And thence?” Gimli asked after a moment of silence.

Legolas’ eyes focused and he turned to Gimli. He looked very grim. “And thence Eryn Lasgalen,” he whispered.

Gimli’s heart sank. “Whither you go, so go I,” he said, and Legolas managed a weak smile. But then Gimli’s attention was taken by Leithwen upon his other side, who plucked his sleeve and asked a question about his demesne; he answered absently, too polite to put her off, and when their conversation wound down saw that Legolas had regained his composure, and was speaking to Galás rather firmly.

“What do you mean, why should I go? Why should I not go? Is not the Lord of Osgiliath a dear friend? If I wish to pay him a visit I do not see why I should not.”

Galás was regarding his royal cousin with a shrewd look. “You saw Lord Faramir and his family not a fortnight ago,” he said; “I do not know of any calamity occurring in the meantime that would force you to foregather with him on this issue, when a mere missive would satisfy the problem.”

“I do not want to write him a letter; I want to speak with him myself,” said Legolas stubbornly. “There is naught of import to occupy my time right now, and should anything arise this week, I am certain my seneschal may attend to it with all wisdom and diligence; else why should I keep a seneschal at all?” He turned back to his trencher and gave his pork a stab with the blade of his knife; Galás looked suspicious and said,

“You will take Kaimelas with you of course.”

Legolas looked darkly at him through his hair. “I have mine esquire; I think I might dispense with my valet’s assistance to dress for a few days.”

“Nevertheless, I think I shall insist.”

“Shall you?” Legolas tapped his lips with his serviette and picked up his goblet; his eyes were smoldering. “And what reason shall my seneschal give his lord to convince him to bring Kaimelas to Osgiliath?”

“Does my lord want his seneschal’s contrived reply, or the truth?” asked Galás looking angry.

“The truth first. Then, if my seneschal fails to convince his lord, the seneschal shall be constrained to give unto his lord the contrived reply.” Legolas drained his goblet and set it on the table with a thunk, glaring challengingly at him. Galás’ mouth worked furiously a moment, but he regained his temper and spoke evenly.

“Very well. I want Kaimelas to keep an eye on you. You lie poorly, my lord, and I know you do not go to Osgiliath simply to speak with Faramir about this leech. I also know, for I am well-acquainted with you and your caprices, that you will not give to me the true reason for this little jaunt; therefore I shall not ask, but treat you with full skepticism, and send your valet to hobble you in your movements.”

“Hm.” Legolas shrugged, and attended to his trencher as though Galás had not spoken harshly; he looked rather unconcerned, though Gimli could tell his friend’s mind was working very quickly. “And the contrived reason?”

“To keep your robes pressed.”

“Ah. How astonishing that the contrived reason is shorter than the truth. Oftimes it is the other way round.” His eyes twinkled, and Galás glowered.

“That is so.” Galás looked past his lord to Gimli, who pretended to find something on his trencher very interesting. “And the Lord of Aglarond is to go with you of course.”

“And me,” said Bandobras, regaining his seat; he had gone down to the lower tables to speak to his assistant. “Fainilyas says to stay as long as I like; he’s got the groves well in hand. Good fellow, that. Tamin’s coming too, isn’t he, my lord? I know he wants to show off his little white horse to Fastred.”

“Hush! Yes, Tamin is coming, but do not speak of it to him quite yet,” said Legolas, glancing down the table to his esquire, who was taking a platter of stewed marrows from Tuilíndo. Their pungent herby scent wafted down the table to them, and he smiled as those closest to him reached eagerly for the serving spoon ere the boy could put the platter down. “He will get over-excited, and forget to remember something, and Laivánwa will scold him, and he will be grieved and weep, and Tuilíndo will scold his father … nay; it is easier to wait ‘til his duties are done, and then he can forget to remember all he likes.”

“You had best bring your armor too, Legolas,” said Gimli as though on an after-thought. “I can send it back to Aglarond then with Nórin to get that bevor repaired.”

Galás raised his head and scowled suspiciously at Gimli, but Bandobras just said in surprise: “O is your bevor damaged, then? I hadn’t noticed!”

“And bring yours too, Bandy,” said Gimli casually. “Théodred has not yet seen it, and he will be cross with me if you do not show it off to him.”

“A serviceable enough reason,” said Galás with an exasperated smile. “Perhaps I had best come with you, my lord, and bring mine own armor!”

“That will not be necessary,” said Legolas coolly. “Besides which, you must stay here in mine absence.”

“Of course,” said Galás; his dark eyes flashed. “By the Heavens, the Lord of Dol Galenehtar goes to Osgiliath simply to visit with a friend, yet brings his esquire, two stout warriors known for their ability to be influenced by their friend’s decisions, and all the armor needed for a tournament! What is a good seneschal to think of all this duplicity?”

“Should I have the opportunity to meet with a good seneschal I shall ascertain,” said Legolas; his voice brooked no further argument, and he fixed Galás with a severe eye. “We leave at dawn.”

“What; no breakfast?” asked Bandobras plaintively. “Not even an egg and a rasher and a pot of tea?”

Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but catching Gimli’s cautioning glance, said with an air of pleasant reasonableness: “Why certainly, my Bandobras; it is discourteous of me to expect a Hobbit to sally forth without proper fortification! We shall break fast together, the five of us then, ere taking the road to Osgiliath.”

“O Master! Are we going to Osgiliath?” asked Tamin then, coming up and looking very excited. “When are we going? Are we leaving tonight? What shall I pack? O I cannot wait to show Fastred my little white horse, and O I wish so badly to go riding with him, for we have not ridden together in O so long, and O Master how long are we staying, and ought I to bring my formal doublet? I do not like it much for it is very scratchy, but if the Lord and Lady of Ithilien have a dinner, then I must wear it as I serve you, Master, for it would be unseemly to be seen in my plain tunic in such circumstances – “

“O dear,” sighed Bandobras, and Galás gave a sharp bark of laughter.

“I am pleased you can count at any rate, my lord,” he said, rising and picking up his goblet. “I shall inform Kaimelas you leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, Galás,” said Legolas wryly, and turning round he said, “Yes, Little One; we will leave on the morrow – do not jump like that, you may spill the – Ah! There, see?”

“Drat!” said Gimli as Tamin anxiously and apologetically mopped him off. He glared at Bandobras who was laughing heartily. “Well,” he grumbled, “I needed to wash this doublet anyway!”

“O Lord Gimli, I am so sorry – “ stammered Tamin, but Gimli grunted good-naturedly and patted the boy on the hand. “At least it was not hot gravy,” he said. “Let us count our blessings at that!”

“Let us indeed,” laughed Legolas. “I have got Galás angry enough to not tease me, and we are going to Osgiliath, and there are cherry subtleties in the buttery – I know; I saw them! Drink up, friends; there is nothing so bad that wine cannot mend!”

(A/N: Fifty points to the house of your choice, if you can locate the mangled celebrity quote hidden in this chapter! And many, many, many thanks and house points to my beta, Nieriel Raina, who not only betaed this chapter for me twice, she did so while her little Elfling was down with pneumonia. Send her prayers and virtual chocolates, everyone.

-- Le Rouret)

7. The Sons of Denethor

Bandobras did not think much of the breakfast – “I was joking, my lord, when I said an egg and a rasher and a pot of tea,” he said discontentedly as they rode into the forest. “That’s hardly filled up my chinks and hollows nohow. And we won’t get to Lord Faramir’s ‘til after luncheon!” But Kaimelas had brought a packet of pastries with him, secreted in the waggon by his lady wife; and Bandobras and Kaimelas made short work of them, though they very generously left a few for those who did not at that time indulge, in particularly the gooseberry pastries, which they did not care for. Tamin was far too excited to eat; he had not touched his breakfast, but continually fretted over whether he had packed enough, or too much, or if he had packed the right quantity had remembered everything he needed, or perhaps he had forgotten to remember something which he would remember he had forgotten later when it was too late to remember forgotten things; and he kept dashing back and forth from hearth to dressing-room to make sure Kaimelas had packed his Master’s white robe, or to refill Bandobras’ tea-cup, or to check his own bag to ensure he had packed extra hose, or to inquire whether his Master had finished eating yet, or to chivvy the scully to take the dishes away to wash up. He was in a fever of anxiety to leave – “For the sooner we leave, Master, the sooner we will be there, and the longer I shall have to spend with Fastred!” – and communicated his eagerness to his little Isilmë who pranced about and tossed his head, much to Hammer’s disgust; Hammer was a great big black brute of a destrier and took his job quite seriously, looking askance at the small white stallion who gamboled beside him in so frivolous and undignified a manner. Legolas watched his esquire with amusement; it was immeasurably refreshing to see such innocent zeal, and Tamin’s clear voice was very beautiful as he sang to the birds in the branches above them.

Legolas had tried to sleep the night before, but rest eluded him. He had lain in his big canopied bed, sleek golden head pillowed in down, his softest night clothes and coverlets to caress his skin and a sachet of orris root to soothe him; but whenever he closed his eyes, he seemed to hear that low hissing voice – Crawl, harlot; crawl – and heart racing he would lie still, staring at the luffing bed curtains, ears straining to hear the words but descrying naught but nightly noises. He had surrendered before daybreak, and Kaimelas had found him sitting in his night-shirt upon the balcony balustrade, staring north with fixed and vacant eyes. Kaimelas had said nothing; Legolas knew he and Galás conspired together, and that Kaimelas was watching him closely; ordinarily this would have irritated Legolas but now he found it oddly comforting.

They traversed the smooth paved roads out of Dol Galenehtar, and thence the rough track down to the River. When they descended from the high steppes and quit the forest they saw Osgiliath, shining white in the noonday sun, silver-girt, spire-crowned, spanning the Anduin with springing arched bridges, green and white and gleaming in the fresh clear air. The wind tore at their hair and their traveling cloaks, and pushed and bent the pine-tops, roaring and soughing. They heard the far-off noise of the tailrace and the light jingle-jangle of the noon bells, and Bandobras sighed in relief.

“We might make it for luncheon after all,” he said to Kaimelas, who drove the waggon. “Look! There’s a party of falconers below us; I can’t make them out though – who is that, Kaimelas?”

There was a bright green oval of a clearing below them, ringed round with trees; one of the minor tracks from Osgiliath split it, going from the river up into the woods. On the track a half-dozen horses stood round, and on their backs sat young people in gay clothing, holding falcons. Kaimelas shaded his hands with his long brown hand to determine their identities, but Tamin upon looking spoke first, very excitedly: “O it is Fastred! It is Fastred and Léodwyn, and many others; they are brightly dressed and young – I suppose they are of the court too, and friends of Fastred’s. Look at their beautiful birds! And Fastred has the white goshawk Andunië gave to him for his sixteenth birthday! And he is on Karakse! See, Isilmë? That is Karakse; he is the steed of my good friend and he shall be your friend too. And O look, Master, Fastred and Léodwyn are riding together; is that not a good sign, Master? Perhaps they have made up after all! O may I go to them, Master? Only to greet them I promise; I will go and greet Fastred and come back as quick as I can, I promise, Master! May I go? May I?”

“Let him go, Legolas, ere he flies apart,” said Gimli, and laughing Legolas said: “Yes, Little One, you may go; indeed I do say to you that if it be your good pleasure you might join with them in their hunt, for I perceive they go out and not in.”

“Are you sure, Master?” asked Tamin eagerly, torn. “For it would be unseemly for you to enter Osgiliath without your esquire, and I would not want anyone to speak of you or your retainers in a disparaging manner, for as you know, Master, it is the esquire’s duty to maintain his Master’s reputation in the deportment and behavior of his retainers, in particular his esquire, and if you are unattended – “

“My Tamin,” said Legolas with a smile, “I have here with me the Lord of Aglarond, the Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar, and Kaimelas my valet. Do you truly think I enter the city unattended? They possess sufficient importance I deem to accompany me with full gravity. Go you therefore to Fastred and foregather with him; it is long since you and he were given the opportunity to spend such time together.”

“O thank you, Master!” exclaimed Tamin delightedly, and speaking to Isilmë they dashed down the road and across the clearing to where the little hunting party was clustered.

Fastred sat upon his great piebald Karakse, and Léodwyn upon her grey mare Éofil, and round about them were sundry other young folk from Lord Faramir’s court, though Tamin saw to his relief Halgond was not numbered among them. They all looked up as he cantered up to them; Léodwyn seemed to look with veiled approval upon him, though the rest of Fastred’s little court appeared ill at ease; some strange expression passed across Fastred’s face, which Tamin could not read, but it was quickly gone and covered with a pleasant smile.

“Tamin!” he exclaimed as Tamin brought Isilmë in with a grin. “What a surprise! What are you and Lord Legolas doing here so soon, when we but foregathered a fortnight ago?”

“O something about a leech,” said Tamin dismissively. He stared at Fastred’s chin in amazement; it had sprouted many black hairs, which seemed to creep up the sides of his cheeks and over his upper lip. He had not realized Fastred was old enough to grow hair on his face, and he blurted in surprise: “You are growing a beard!”

“Yes,” said Fastred, fingering the protruding hairs with satisfaction. “I am pleased with it so far; I think it makes me look older, do you not?”

Léodwyn gave a contemptuous sniff, which Fastred ignored. Tamin privately thought the half-grown beard looked sparse and ridiculous, but he did not wish to hurt Fastred’s feelings by saying so; all he said was: “Well it does make you look older, that is quite true, Fastred.” He slid from Isilmë’s back, expecting Fastred to do the same so they might embrace; however it appeared no one wished to take his goshawk from him for Fastred remained seated. Karakse did his master one better, thrusting a curious nose at Isilmë, who answered the gesture with a whicker and a huff; the two horses prodded each other with interest. “You are going hunting, Fastred?” asked Tamin, hoping to fill the awkward silence. Seeing Léodwyn looked peevish he said, “Hello, Léodwyn! It is good to see you; I did not have much chance to speak to you before when you were at court.” He added as an afterthought, remembering something his father would oftimes do to his mother to get her in good temper: “I like your riding-skirt; it is very pretty.”

“Hello, Tamin,” said Léodwyn politely, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Fastred. “Thank you; it is new. Your little white horse has a lovely canter.”

“Has he not?” asked Tamin proudly, stroking Isilmë’s velvety nose. “I am so fond of him for he has the sweetest disposition! I have named him Isilmë – or rather, my Master said I must name him Isilmë; I was going to name him Araval, but Bandobras said I should not, and so his name is Isilmë.” He turned again to Fastred, who was watching him with an odd expression on his face. Tamin did not know what to make of it and he felt uncomfortable. “Are … are you hunting grouse, Fastred?”

“Well we are quite obviously not hunting rabbit,” said one boy next to Fastred, rather scornfully. Tamin blinked in surprise, and Fastred’s cheeks went pink; but he only said with careful politesse: “Yes, O Tamin; we are hunting grouse.”

“Do ask him to join us!” urged a pretty pink-clad girl on Fastred’s other side. She simpered at Tamin and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You may hold my falcon for me if you like, Tamin.”

“’You may hold my falcon for me, Tamin,’” said another boy in a high derisive voice, and several of the other boys sniggered. The girl in pink tossed her head and said, her eye on Léodwyn:

“O do not mind their bad manners, pretty Tamin; they are but jealous of your good looks.”

“I – “ said Tamin in confusion, but one of the other boys replied with rancor: “I am surprised at you, Iordreth; for do you not disparage those with prettier faces than you? If Tamin here were to join us, he would be the prettiest face among us, yours notwithstanding.”

Tamin blushed scarlet and looked plaintively at Fastred; Fastred seemed very uncomfortable and darted an angry look at the boy. “That is quite enough, Filgond,” he muttered.

“But it is true!” laughed another boy. “Do you not look so angry, you maids! Yes, Iordreth, he is prettier than you and you are a girl. Do you bring your little friend along with you, Lord Fastred; I want to see that funny-looking little horse of his keep up with us!”

Isilmë snorted; Tamin agreed with his estimation of their manners, but said nothing, expecting Fastred to reprimand his friends; however Fastred merely looked awkwardly away. But Léodwyn said imperiously: “Quiet, the both of you! How you chatter! Let Tamin alone; it is not his fault he is pretty.”

“O and who are you now, Léodwyn, to order us about so?” demanded Filgond. “Being lady’s-maid to Lady Éowyn has gone to your head, has it not?”

Iordreth appeared to find this amusing, for she gave a mellifluous laugh, and leaning over to Fastred she laid one hand on his sleeve. “Come, Lord Fastred,” she said, giving Léodwyn a saucy look. “Tell your little friend to join us; he is so distractingly pretty, and of course, you well know I have a weakness for pretty boys, do I not, Lord Fastred?”

The other boys laughed, and Fastred blushed; he seemed unable to meet Tamin’s eye though, and said gruffly: “Well, do you want to hunt with us or not?”

Tamin’s heart sank to his shoes, and he swallowed, feeling next to tears. He did not want to hunt with this assembly; they made him very uneasy, and he did not understand why Fastred did not make them stop. “I had best not,” he said a little stiffly, hoping his chagrin did not show overmuch; he did not want to display his vexation before Fastred’s friends. “I have only come to bid good-day; I must go with my Master now.”

“Ah yes, the Lord Legolas!” exclaimed another girl in a blue riding frock. “Now he has a pretty face, has he not, girls? I declare I should run after him too, little Tamin!” All the girls giggled, except Léodwyn, who sat stiff and uncomfortable upon her Éofil, and one of the boys said sardonically:

“Well get you hence, pretty boy, and go wait upon your pretty master. We have no falcons for you to borrow anyway.”

“He may borrow mine,” said the girl in blue, winking at Tamin.

“No, thank you,” said Tamin in a small voice. He scrambled up Isilmë’s back and looked at Fastred. Fastred was biting his lip and looking everywhere else but at Tamin. Tamin felt then that perhaps his visit to Osgiliath might not be so fun as he had anticipated, if Fastred’s friends were so oddly inclined. “I will see you at dinner, then, Lord Fastred,” he said, a little formally, and turning Isilmë cantered away, hearing the voices and laughter of the young courtiers behind him. But then overall he heard the thudding of great heavy hooves, and he turned and paused; Fastred was coming up to him alone upon Karakse, and his grey eyes were grieved.

“Tamin,” he panted, reining Karakse in. “It is just – it is not that – “ he stammered a little, then ran his gauntleted hand through his hair. “I would like to hunt with you,” he said, and Tamin’s heart lightened. “But not with them. They do not – they are not – well, they do not understand,” he said apologetically. “The girls – they – and well, the boys – “ He let his voice run out, and sighed, looking at Tamin with eyes both affectionate and frustrated. “It is hard to explain,” he said.

“It must be,” said Tamin with a smile, feeling better. “You seem to be having a hard job of it. Do you not think of it; we will hunt some other time, you and I.” They sat and smiled at each other, while Isilmë and Karakse resumed poking each other with their noses; at last Tamin said reluctantly: “Well go with your friends, Fastred; your goshawk is waiting, and you know what Andunië would say if she knew you let someone else hold him!”

“So I do!” laughed Fastred. “She would have my head, would she not, Tamin? Well then, I will see you at dinner, Tamin my friend; but you shall be serving Lassah and we will not be able to speak freely. Come to my rooms when dinner is wound up, and we shall be wonderfully alone; I promise we shall have a jolly time then!”

“Your rooms?” asked Tamin in surprise. “You do not share the nursery with Théodred and Hísimë any longer?”

“Of course not,” said Fastred, his eyes flickering with annoyance. “I am not a child anymore.” He glanced over his shoulder to where his friends sat and waited upon him. “Well,” he said uncomfortably. “I will be off then.”

“Very well,” said Tamin, bewildered and a little unhappy. He and Isilmë stood and watched Fastred canter away; he saw Fastred take his goshawk from the boy beside him, and the young people all rode off into the woods. Only Iordreth looked back and waved, but Tamin did not return her gesture; she had made him feel very peculiar. Instead he with heavy heart went back up the hill to the road. His Master and the rest of his party had gone on, expecting him to go hunt with his friend; so alone Tamin entered Osgiliath, unmarked even by the guards at the gate. Feeling very young and insignificant indeed, Tamin went unaccompanied into the citadel.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

“Now then, Legolas,” said Faramir, pushing his chair away from his desk and casting a much-used and smudged piece of blotting paper into the corner of his office. He stretched out his legs and leant back, putting his hands behind his head and regarding the Elf lord with wry amusement. “What has got you on pins-and-needles? You have chased off my guests, my wife, my children, my various courtiers and guards; you have sent Kaimelas and Gimli and Bandobras away, and you have teased and goaded even Hísimë’s poor pet cat ‘til it fled from you out the window to escape your harassment. And here you sit, restless and unable to even enjoy your wine – such doings are portents of calamities of great magnitude! Did I know you less well, I should think you were in love.”

“Then I am thankful you know me well enough to recognize that I have not the lover’s disposition,” said Legolas wryly. He unfolded his long limbs from the comfortable chair in which he sat and stalked restively about Faramir’s office. They had all changed and lunched, and Legolas had held court at Éowyn’s right hand with bright banter and good humor, charming a visiting foreign dignitary and his wife, getting their two young daughters to flutter their eye-lashes at him, and further convincing Turgon of Minas Tirith, Elessar’s seneschal who was calling on a minor affair of state, that the Lord of Dol Galenehtar was quite possibly the drollest and most aggravating of his Majesty’s vassals. After the formalities of the meal and subsequent entertainments had wound up, Legolas had claimed urgency and hauled Lord Faramir away, locking the office door behind them, and pulling the key out of the lock; he had then, to Faramir’s astonishment, taken out a large linen handkerchief, and stuffed it unceremoniously in the key hole; but having taken these precautions Legolas seemed unable to disclose his mind, and simply sat and poked Hísimë’s cat until it in disgust jumped up on the window-sill and thence to the gardens below.

Faramir sat and waited; he was full from luncheon, and the room was warm, though a breeze stirred through the windows and brought thereupon the scents of rose-bushes and herb-gardens, and the faintest far-away scent of the River. The bells in the campaniles rang the fifth hour, and somewhere far below them a flock of grebes set up a jarring chorus. Faramir watched his friend stalk round the room; Legolas seemed uneasy, and puzzled and unhappy; this was so contrary to what Faramir knew of his friend’s nature that he could not help but feel apprehensive. At last Legolas paused and turned, and fixing Faramir with an intense look in his bright gray eyes said: “When you dream, do you always dream true?”

Faramir was surprised; he did not of habit discuss his tendency to dream and have visions, not even with Legolas who had never seemed to find it odd enough to comment upon before. It was unusual for any Man to dream thus, and he had been taken to task for it by his family; therefore he did not speak of his dreams at all, not fearing censure or disapproval, but lack of understanding; Elessar had been the only Man in Faramir’s acquaintance who did not think Faramir’s visions peculiar, and they did not discuss them. Indeed the only way Legolas knew of Faramir’s dreams was something Frodo the Halfling had said once, that Faramir son of Denethor had dreamt not only of the Ring and Imladris, but of his brother Boromir’s death. Legolas, unlike Faramir’s other friends and acquaintances, did not appear to find this unusual at all, and simply had mentioned it once or twice before without displaying much interest at all in the phenomenon. Faramir for himself found this refreshing; he was glad to know that Legolas knew of his especial defect, yet did not comment on it, nor seem to find it odd or off-putting; in many ways Legolas was a comfort to Faramir, despite his strangeness and rather erratic nature, and betimes Faramir found himself wondering what proud Boromir had thought of this impetuous and oftimes maddening Elf. “No,” Faramir said thoughtfully, looking out the window at the cloud-streaked blue sky, the black forms of rooks wheeling about in it. “Most of the time my dreams are only dreams; they are but the meandering inner fancies of my mind as I sleep. Bereft of my control my mind wanders down odd paths during slumber, and the visions visited me have neither form nor sense. Such as these do not come true, nor speak truly to me. Indeed it would be awkward to have all my dreams come true – we should be inundated with talking shears, or floating cities, or those long dead.”

“Talking shears!” exclaimed Legolas looking startled, and laughed. “Yes; that would be awkward – and think how the sheep would feel! But tell me, when you dream, Faramir, or have visions that tell you of the future, how do you know they are true visions, and not your inner eye entertaining itself with your imagination? I mean, what tells you that your dream says thus-and-so shall happen, or is of import, and is worthy of your attention; or that your mind simply wanders at will, divulging nothing of interest or consequence? How do you tell dreams of talking shears from dreams of evil portent?”

“Well, silly things are rarely worth worrying over,” said Faramir with a smile. “The talking shears, for example; it would be madness to suppose there was any weight in that beyond determining I should not ingest smoked fish before retiring. Most of those pictures of dream-land are like that, silly and insignificant. But other dreams and visions I have had, which have turned out to be visions of some import; these weigh upon me more heavily than those simple night-time views of garden-variety doings and mine own fears. I can tell the difference, even as I am within the vision, between some common dream, and something of grave consequence.”

“Oh,” said Legolas, and sat back down; he did not look as though Faramir’s answer had comforted him. He too turned his eyes out doors, but did not seem to be admiring the view much; he appeared troubled and uneasy. “Your visions then are quite different from your usual dreams, and thus it is simple for you to tell what you should pay attention to, and what you should dismiss as smoked fish.”

“Yes,” said Faramir. Legolas was silent, his silvery eyes abstracted; he seemed to Faramir to be elsewhere, seeing evil things. At that moment a frisson of unease went through the Lord of Emyn Arnen, and the sensation of being dragged backwards, through the balmy spring air, past the cold white walls of his city, into some terrible and dark place. He turned in confusion to his friend, and saw stamped upon Legolas’ fair face a look of dread and grief; his eyes were blinded by tears and soot and blood, and he lifted his face and his bloodied hands to the dark sky and cried aloud his despair. And even as Faramir shook the vision from before his eyes he heard muttering, as though an evil voice spoke to his friend: “Crawl, harlot; crawl … “

He passed his hands before his eyes, deeply shaken; the room returned round him, holding him in with its quiet safety, and Faramir took a deep shaky breath. He turned to his friend; Legolas had pulled his limbs back round himself, and sat staring with wide eyes at him, his chin upon his knees, his long arms wrapped round his legs. He looked young then, younger than even Tamin, as though all the centuries had fallen away from him and he was helpless, hopeless, and without strength. “You heard it too, did you not, my friend?” Legolas asked in a low voice; he clutched at his knees, and his knuckles were white.

“I did!” said Faramir much disturbed. He looked round the room; the sun shone brightly through the windows, and the breeze was fresh; but Faramir could have sworn he smelled smoke and decay. “This is no mere dream, Legolas,” he said. “Something is warning you; something is trying to tell you that there are dangers ahead of you. Heed these voices, as they touch me as well! And tell me, O my friend, what is this vision of yours, that visits itself upon me too? When you dream, what do you see, Legolas?”

Legolas shook his head, looking very distraught. “I was ready to dismiss it,” he whispered, his eyes downcast; “but two nights running has it disturbed my rest, and I knew I must needs confer with you on it, or go mad with it.” And slowly he related to Faramir the visions he had, of the serpent and the voice and the smell of rotting flesh and fire; and ever Faramir’s face grew graver, and Legolas, as he remembered the dream, grew paler. “And last night,” said Legolas, winding up his tale, “I dreamt again of my Lord Father’s ring, a pale white gem set in mithril, and the hand that bore it twisted and torn in agony. But whose hand is it, mine or his? O that it were mine, and I could spare him this grief! Tell me, Faramir, what I should do; I have never suffered dreams like this, and am reluctant to dismiss them; for what if I dream true, as do you and your son; what if there is some calamity of which I am warned in this fashion, and I must attend to it, or risk the fall of Eryn Lasgalen? What would you do, O Faramir? Advise me please; I can speak to no one of this save Gimli, who accords it full gravity; I know of no one, Elf or Man or Dwarf, who dreams such save you and Fastred. What would you do? Would you go to Eryn Lasgalen? For I tell you truly, that is my impulse; gladly would I cast aside all dignity and trappings and flee north to my Lord Father, even if it meant he but stared at me in amazement and told me nothing was wrong!”

“Legolas,” said Faramir unhappily; “well do I know the vilification accorded one in the unveiling of such visions, and blame you not for your reticence. Also do I commend you greatly in coming to me with this, for I have been in this position before, and more than any of your advisors, wise and ancient and highly esteemed though they might be, I feel I am better able to counsel you in this matter. But do not I beg of you force my opinion of me too soon! Let me sleep on this rather, and ruminate on it full willing; perhaps in the darkness of mine own dreams shall elucidation come, and I be better able to inform you.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair, shaking his head. “Like Gimli, I do not dismiss this as fearful shadows, for what have you ever feared that brought you so low as this?” he asked. “Not winged shadow nor death impending nor wounds agonizing have been for you unbearable; even in your darkest hours have I observed you placid and vigilant. Nay; I do perceive this as a grave and critical matter, full deserving careful counsel. Tarry with me betimes, and enjoy the hospitality of my house; cover your disquiet with food and song, and allow me time to deeply consider what I might tell you.”

“My dear Faramir!” exclaimed Legolas, and springing up, he went to embrace his friend. “That you have listened and accorded me full gravity gives to me the ability to sing and eat with lightness and joy, and I will no longer be constrained to pretend jollity as I did at your table during luncheon – how suspiciously Kaimelas did regard me, to be certain! – so, as the stew well-prepared is brought to toothsome maturity by slow careful simmering, put this conundrum of mine upon the back of your mind and tomorrow you may better tell me your opinion of this matter. I trust you, Faramir,” he said with a grateful smile. “I know you will speak truthfully to me, and that I might depend on your guidance; for well you know that if left to myself I will simply run off, trusting to luck and the sharp edge of my sword to see me through.”

“So you would!” smiled Faramir. “But perchance I plan overmuch and wait too long; a little impetuousness might do me good at times.”

“Balance then,” said Legolas with a laugh. He looked very relieved, and said: “How glad I am I divulged my thoughts to you – how light my heart is, now that the burden is shared with you. And how fortunate I am, O Faramir, that I have one such as you, a brother to whom I might whisper my heart’s groanings, and who accords to me full consideration. None have I in Middle Earth save you and Gimli, and perchance your Lady Wife Éowyn, who to me a sister is. So shall I be the impetuous one, Faramir, and you the prudent, so betwixt us two symmetry be achieved.” He clambered then upon the window sill, folding his long limbs beneath him; the sun struck the back of his head and illuminated his pale hair like a cloud in bright fulgence, and the breeze stirred the silken threads so they waved round his head bright and golden. The light glimmered upon the beaded epaulettes and breastpiece of his white doublet, and when he raised his arms to take the top of the window bars in his hands his cuffs sparkled with gems. Like the sun star-speckled did he seem to the son of Denethor then, and his eyes like silver mirrors glittered full of good humor and fierce faith. “And now, O Faramir son of Denethor, Lord of Osgiliath,” laughed Legolas, “shall you balance me yet again? Look! The sun westers, and the water is dimpled with bugs and broken by the trout’s mouth – “

Faramir’s eyes creased as he smiled; it was so easy for Legolas to lead him astray, despite Faramir’s strong sense of duty. “And Éowyn did purchase for me a new fishing-rod,” he said innocently; “and Théodred, that little scoundrel, was caught secreting a great quantity of beetles in the bread-dough last night … “

“Beetles, is it?” said Legolas, his eyes wide and ingenuous. “Ah! With wiggling legs and squirming bodies; how the trout snap and lunge at them! Good fat trout, bright and speckled and sweet! Did you perchance relieve Théodred of these beetles, Faramir?”

“I did,” said Faramir solemnly. “A big bell-jar full of them, wriggling and writhing, begging to be baited.”

“Hm!” said Legolas thoughtfully. “Well, we did tell your courtiers that you would be in conference some time; I am certain no one will come seeking us … yet.”

“And you will further throw off Kaimelas’ wonderings, if he thinks you conferred in secrecy with me for the sole purpose of going fishing,” Faramir added. Legolas grinned and rubbed his hands together.

“We had better change though,” he said, going to fetch his handkerchief from the door; “for if we soil our good clothes, neither your wife nor my valet shall be overly pleased with us!”

“True,” said Faramir, looking down at his own fine black doublet. “Oiled hose and leather tunics will, I think, be more appropriate than such dainty attire. After all we would not want to cause our retainers any distress.”

“We are very considerate, are we not?” asked Legolas, his eyes sparkling as bright as his epaulettes. “Where is your coracle, Faramir?”

“Tied up beneath the northern wall,” said Faramir. “To my knowledge Fastred has not descried my hiding-hole … I shall be there as soon as I have changed; mind you do not get caught!”

“Trust me for that, my friend!” laughed Legolas, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and slipped silently out

8. One Too Quick, the Other Too Slow

Much to Legolas’ and Faramir’s delight, the trout were indeed ravenous for dough-clad beetles; and when Kaimelas and Argond, Faramir’s valet, discovered their truant lords together, mud-girt and grinning, and presenting two strings of good fat trout to the kitchens, they but exchanged tolerant glances, and haled each of their respective charges to the baths. Kaimelas was, so Faramir had suggested, at ease in his mind concerning his lord’s visit to Osgiliath then, and appeared to relent his scrutiny, remarking only to the Green Knight that if his lord had wanted river-trout he had but to say he wanted river-trout; there was no need to creep in such secrecy for the sake of a mouthful of fish. Legolas meekly conceded, relieved; he loved Kaimelas well, and had been uneasy deceiving him; though to deceive Galás, he concluded smugly to himself, was a far more enjoyable prospect indeed. He splashed agreeably in the copper tub, scrubbing the detritus of mud from beneath his fingernails, and singing comfortably a particularly rude little ode he had overheard from some rough neighboring fishermen that afternoon; when Kaimelas turned from his lord’s trunk to protest Legolas but smiled and sang the refrain again, grinning when Kaimelas clucked his tongue in disgust.

“You ought to be ashamed, my lord, to sing such vile tripe,” he chided Legolas, shaking out the fine blue doublet he had chosen.

“I think it is catchy,” said Legolas.

When the smith rose to go, quoth the dame full of sorrow:
"Oh, what would I give could my husband do so.
Good lad with your hammer come hither tomorrow,
But pray could you use it once more ere you go!"

Rum, rum, rum, in and out, in and out, ho ho!

“Your Lady Mother would wash your mouth with lye and pig fat,” said Kaimelas. “Do not, I pray you, sing it again; you will get it lodged in my head, and I will be humming it for the rest of the evening.”

“There is naught to be found offensive in the tune,” said Legolas, picking up the soap.

“No; but what if Lady Éowyn has heard it before? She will know what I am humming as I serve the soup, and be offended.”

Legolas paused, thinking. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose it is an offense either way; whether we assume Lady Éowyn has heard it and will recognize it for what it is, or that she is so mealy that she has no familiarity with ribald ballads.”

“Since she cannot help but be offended, moreover we are in disgrace,” said Kaimelas. “Is it my lord’s good pleasure to be done with his bath? Or has he yet more bawdy songs with which to corrupt his valet’s innocent mind?”

Legolas laughed. “I pity your wife then,” he said, rising and taking the towel from Kaimelas. “Innocent mind indeed! Do you forget, good Kaimelas, that ‘twas from you and Galás I learned my first bad word?”

“Was it truly, my lord?” asked Kaimelas with a smile. “And here all this time I bethought ‘twas from your Lord Father.”

“Speaking of washing one’s mouth with lye and pig fat,” grinned Legolas; “can you imagine my Lady Mother’s response to such a happenstance?” He ruffled his flossy hair with the towel, then espied the blue doublet laid out for him on the end of the bed. He froze, a look of horror on his face. “O Kaimelas!” he said in dismay; “you are not going to make me wear that!”

“And speaking also of your Lady Mother,” said Kaimelas firmly, “you know she did send this to you in full confidence your valet would prise you into it at the first opportunity. Yes, my lord; I am going to make you wear this. And you will wear it with the silk undershirt, and the jeweled belt, and the tucked collar.”

Legolas wrapped the towel round his waist and looked down upon the shimmery blue doublet with a sad sigh. “How I wish I had a sister, upon which my Lady Mother might foist her offerings,” he said glumly, fingering the bias sleeves. “Or barring a sacrificial sister, at least a valet with lower standards.” He picked up one of the sleeves gingerly in his forefinger and thumb, holding it up to the light and scrutinizing it carefully. “Are those bees embroidered in the slashing?”

“Sit down,” said Kaimelas. “I need to brush your hair.”

“Of course,” said Legolas, casting the offending sleeve aside and sitting in a comfortable chair. “It would never do for me to brush mine own hair after all.”

“You never get out all the tangles.”

“It hurts to tug on it.”

“Sit you still, my lord, or it will hurt the worse.”

“Tyrant!” But Legolas sat submissively enough, thankful Kaimelas was in a good and unsuspicious humor. He felt better, having relieved his mind to Faramir, and had confidence in the Lord of Emyn Arnen that he would provide for Legolas a solution both efficacious and gratifying. “But I think I shall go to Eryn Lasgalen in any case,” he thought, while Kaimelas struggled to pull the brush through his stubborn snarls. “I can say simply that I wish to visit my Lord Father, and to have a little joust at Dale … O how I wish I knew whether to bring any more knights! And I truly do not want to fuss Galás; he is so unsympathetic, and will insist I wait. And I do not want to wait – I want to go now, and find out what the trouble might be.”

There was a knock at the door then, and Kaimelas went to see to it; Legolas picked up the brush absently, and began to brush his hair, wincing when he hit a knot, and giving it up as a bad job. But then he heard Tamin’s voice, though subdued and quiet; turning to look, he saw his little esquire, fulgent face dimmed, hanging his golden head and looking quite unhappy. “My dear Little One!” he exclaimed, throwing the brush on the bed and holding out his arms. “Whatever has befallen you? Did you not enjoy the hunt with Fastred today?”

“I – I did not go, Master,” said Tamin miserably. “His friends did not seem to want me, and so I stayed behind.”

“I see,” said Legolas. He put his arm round Tamin’s shoulder, and kissed the crown of the boy’s head; he exchanged glances with Kaimelas and said, “Well, I am glad you are here, my Tamin; brush my hair for me, will you please? I have a great knot, and you do not tug as hard as Kaimelas does.”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, still sounding quite disconsolate; but he brushed Legolas’ hair very carefully, until it lay smooth and golden across his Master’s shoulders. “So what have you done with yourself today, then, Little One?” asked Legolas carefully. “I went fishing with Lord Faramir, and did not see you on the north banks.”

“I was at the stables for a while, Master,” said Tamin. He fetched a sigh. “Halgond was there. He – he made fun of my little white horse, Master; he and his friends said Isilmë was short and ugly and had a funny walk.”

“Well he is one to talk,” said Kaimelas indignantly. “Have you seen his steed? Cow-hocked and ewe-necked, and a sway back in the bargain! Likely it is he was jealous, little Tamin; I would not take his opinion very seriously.”

“Léodwyn did say, ere she left to the hunt, that Isilmë had a pretty canter,” Tamin conceded, looking a little less sad.

“And she would know, would she not, Little One?” said Legolas comfortably, embracing him. “Isilmë has got a pretty canter; it is the prettiest canter I have seen, and even Tyarmayél approves of his canter. Do you not let Halgond’s poor graces cause you suffering, my Tamin; he is not worth the tears, and has no practical knowledge of horses; the last I saw of his steed’s canter it was quite ugly, and had no cadence whatsoever. And you will see Fastred tonight anyway at dinner, and I am certain he will tell you about the hunt then; he will not disparage your little white horse.”

“Fastred said, Master, that he wanted me to hunt with him,” said Tamin sorrowfully, sitting upon the doublet until Kaimelas shooed him off. “But he said he would rather hunt with me alone, and not with his friends, because they did not understand. What did he mean, Master? I admit I did not wish to hunt with his friends, not after they said such things to me; but why would Fastred choose to hunt with them, and not with me? And why did he let them say such things?”

Legolas saw that Kaimelas, though making to fuss with the doublet, was attending very closely, and his eyes were dark and angry; Legolas said carefully: “What did they say to you, Little One?”

“O, strange things, Master,” said Tamin with a sigh. “The girls said I was pretty, and the boys would make fun of them, and – O it is hard to explain, Master; but they made me feel so strange and uneasy, and Fastred – he looked near angry, Master, but if he were angry with them, he said nothing of it; rather I felt he was angry with me. And he is growing a beard,” Tamin added, a little huffily; “it is so shoddy-looking, Master, and makes him look so peculiar and different! And did you know, he is not in the nursery with Théodred and Hísimë anymore? He even took offense at me for that, Master, though I do not know why! O it was so puzzling and embarrassing, Master; and then I went to the Citadel, and you were already at luncheon; so I went to the stables, and Halgond was there; and I looked for you later, but you were gone; and I looked for you, Kaimelas, but you were gone too, and I could not find Lord Gimli or Bandobras and – “ Tamin swallowed, his big gray eyes glazed with tears. “I am sorry, Master,” he gulped, his lip trembling. “I so looked forward to seeing Fastred – but – “

“My dear Little One,” said Legolas gently, drawing Tamin into his arms and holding him tight. “It is easy to be disappointed, when one sets one’s sights so high. And you have eaten naught since dinner last night; you had nothing for breakfast, and have just admitted to me you skipped luncheon – why did you not inquire at the butteries, my Tamin? The cooks would have taken care of you – you are hungered, poor thing, and when one is hungered the world is a bleak and unfriendly place, especially when one is a strapping boy used to eating whenever his heart desires. Why, without Kaimelas and Bandobras fussing me to eat, I would sulk round all the time, declaiming the dimness of the sun and my dearth of friends! Go see Bandobras, my Tamin; he and Gimli are in his chambers, and they have between them a platter of cheeses and dried meats, and a quantity of fruit – ale too, but I do not recommend that to you in your state! Eat a bite, and sit with them ‘til I come to fetch you; I would bring you myself, but it is not seemly for an Elf lord to wander round his friend’s halls in naught but a towel. Do you understand, Little One?”

“I do, Master,” sniffed Tamin, and throwing his arms round his lord’s neck he kissed and embraced him and said: “How comfortable you make me feel! You are so wise, Master; you explain everything to me so well, and I cannot be sad when you are near me! Thank you, Master, and I will be sure to eat, so that I will no longer be hungered; for I perceive that in neglecting this I have made myself unusable to you, which is unacceptable, Master, and I apologize, and I promise, Master, I will not let myself get into this state again, so that I will be strong and ready to serve you, Master!”

“Dear Tamin,” said Legolas, kissing him. “You quite turn my head with your accolades! Get you to Bandobras’ rooms then, and be you sure, my Tamin, to remind those two not to drink too much ere supper is laid.”

“I will, Master!” said Tamin, looking slightly less unhappy; he quit his Master then, and Legolas and Kaimelas heard his feet patter down the stone hall away from them. Kaimelas pursed his lips and shook his head, and Legolas sighed.

“I feared this would happen,” he said, rising and shedding his towel. “Men’s lives are so fleeting, so swift to change and pass; Tamin does not know this, for he has yet to see how speedily a babe ages and dies. I had hoped Tamin would age the swifter, or Fastred perhaps the slower; it grieves me to think Tamin’s first mortal friend will be impatient with the leisureliness of his maturing.”

“I know Fastred is a favorite of yours,” said Kaimelas helping his lord dress. “But you will forgive me saying, my lord, that for the past six months he has acted a complete wart.”

“Not a complete wart,” said Legolas indignantly. “He is changing; his body is changing, and his duties, and his friends; it is understandable he is confused right now.”

“An incomplete wart then,” said Kaimelas. “I have always envied the patience you bring to bear upon your mortal friends, my lord; it has seemed to me over the years you understand them, and their place in the annals of Elvish history, better than they do themselves.”

“I would not say that,” smiled Legolas. “A little tolerance travels far, is all. But I do not like this talk of Fastred’s friends making fun of my Tamin,” he said, his eyes hardening. “And unlike Tamin, I do not fear losing Fastred’s friendship; I will take little Lord Fastred to task if I feel it necessary.”

“Will you let me whip him this time?” asked Kaimelas hopefully, holding open the silk shirt.

“Do not tempt me!” said Legolas, but his smile was grim, and Kaimelas did not envy the eldest son of Faramir.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Legolas watched Fastred and Tamin closely during dinner, but to his relief he did not see displayed upon Fastred’s countenance any of the disdain or awkwardness he had feared; Tamin also appeared to be more relaxed, and chatted quite cheerfully with his friend as he bustled about with Kaimelas and the butler, Bregar, laughing at the stories Fastred related concerning the hunt, and how ridiculous the girls in pink and blue had made themselves; and commiserating with Fastred over the smallness of the quail and grouse brought in. Tamin even contrived to get Fastred and Léodwyn speaking civilly to each other; some mishap had occurred during the hunt, the mention of which drove them both into stony silence; but Tamin’s bright and winsome face, and artless banter, chipped away at the barriers erected, and conversation grew easier; Lady Éowyn regarded Tamin with clement approval, and Hísimë beamed. Gimli and Faramir comfortably discussed the allure walls, and Legolas, relieved in his mind, let it wander, enjoying only the company of his friends; Bandobras, however, watched Tamin and Fastred thoughtfully, as though he mistrusted the tenuous détente.

When dinner wound up, Fastred invited Tamin to his rooms, and Tamin in a flurry of delight complied; the two went off together, Fastred tall and dark and dignified, Tamin skipping and laughing in his wake. Léodwyn and Hísimë excused themselves, and Théodred sulkily allowed the nurse to lead him away; this left the grown-ups to themselves, sitting round the family table talking and drinking, while Kaimelas, Bregar, and the scully cleared. After some moments of inconsequential talk, during which Legolas did not involve himself but sat instead humming into his goblet, Éowyn turned to him, and said archly:

“So, Lord Legolas! You have accomplished your aim then here in Osgiliath, to draw my lord husband away from his duties, and track mud over our rooms? I hope you are pleased; he will have several hours’ work ahead of him tomorrow, to make up for the indolence you have persuaded upon him. What a detrimental influence you are to be sure!”

Legolas looked up at her, eyes sparkling. “Thank you!” he said. “Praise from Éomund’s daughter is high praise indeed. And how fortunate Faramir is to have you, O Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, to take up this slack; for do you not hold court when he is truant? Indeed I am certain your adamance and beauty do elevate the climate of the Hall when you take your seat there, especially in that yellow gown; it is very striking.”

Faramir laughed, and Éowyn could not help but smile. “And I thank you in turn,” she said dryly. “And say unto you what I am certain you know full well: that your doublet is very pretty, especially the sleeves, and you must overwhelm any courtier, man or woman, who comes before you when you are wearing it.”

“My thanks again to you,” said Legolas with a wry smile. “Would you like to borrow it? There is no need to give it back straight way.”

“Now, that’d be a fair treat, to see the lady in a doublet,” chuckled Bandobras, swinging his legs off the end of the heavily cushioned chair. “Not but that she’s dressed herself in men’s clothes before, and I’m sure you were a rare sight, my lady, and the prettiest boy in Théoden’s army!”

“Of that I have no doubt,” said Faramir, saluting his wife with his wine goblet. “What a pity we did not see it!”

“A pity indeed,” said Legolas a little absently, humming again and taking another sip of wine. He choked a little when Kaimelas kicked the leg of his chair, and looked up at his valet in surprise; Kaimelas’ eyes were warning and he hissed: “Shhh!” “What?” mouthed Legolas, and was puzzled when his valet merely glared and moved on.

“So about this here leech,” said Bandobras to Faramir. “Can’t have a man like that a-thieving from your poor folk, now, can you, my lord? And it must be mighty important, you know, to have Lord Legolas here drag me and Gimli all the way to Osgiliath for the seeing of it.”

Gimli and Legolas exchanged looks, and Éowyn raised her eyebrow at her husband. “A mere ruse to disguise my true intentions,” said Legolas carefully, avoiding Kaimelas’ eye. “The trout was very good.”

“It was,” agreed Faramir politely. “I shall send my commendations to the buttery.”

“Have your secrets then,” said Éowyn, rising and shaking out her yellow skirts; the men rose with her, and Kaimelas helped her untangle her train from the chair. “I am slightly fatigued, my lords all; I shall take me to my chambers ‘til sleep o’er takes me. Do you not, O Green Knight my champion, keep my poor husband up too late in his cups; the last time he sat round drinking with you he suffered ‘til dinner time the next day.”

“My humblest apologies, O Lady of Emyn Arnen!” said Legolas with a deep bow. “I do swear before you now, and before these lords about me, that he shall only drink so much that he shall be constrained to lay abed ‘til noon.”

“A reasonable compromise,” smiled Éowyn. “I bid you good night then.”

She swept from the room, and Kaimelas followed, casting a suspicious glance at his lord as he went; when the door shut behind them Faramir said to Legolas: “I ought not to drink overmuch tonight anyway, Legolas, if I am to give you good counsel in the morning.”

“My thoughts as well,” said Legolas. He sat heavily down again and picked up his goblet. “I am very tired,” he said to the goblet, turning it round in his hands. “I hope your beds confer rest upon me tonight.”

“You do look a tad off and that’s the truth,” said Bandobras seriously. “Now, tell me, my lord, what ails you? You’ve looked strange for days now. Well, stranger than usual; I love you, you know, but I’m an honest enough Hobbit to admit you’re mighty strange at times.”

“It is nothing I hope,” said Legolas, watching Faramir refill his goblet. “I have disclosed my mind to Lord Faramir, and he has promised advice when the sun rises. I have attempted to keep Kaimelas in the dark, though I do fear me he confers his suspicions with Lady Éowyn – “

“Or perhaps is apologizing for his lord’s appalling choice of tunes to hum during dinner,” interrupted Faramir, eyes twinkling.

“O, was that it?” said Legolas. “I wondered why he kicked me … Hm, the tune is more captivating than I thought. Rum rum rum, in and out, ho ho … my dear Bandobras, do you not look at me like that; you are a Hobbit full-grown and ought not be offended if I hum a ribald tune.”

“Not before me, but Tamin, I’m thinking, my lord,” grinned Bandobras. “Better sing something else to drive it out of your head, or you’ll have us humming it too. So I take it we’re not stopping off in Osgiliath or going on to Rohan, but heading someplace else?”

“No use hiding it from him, Legolas,” said Gimli. “You raised him far too well; he is intelligent enough to ascertain your motives.”

“Well, you were so cagy suggesting we bring our armor,” said Bandobras, refilling his ale cup. “There are no tourneys in Minas Tirith or Lossarnach or Amon Din, and Théodred’s already seen my stuff. Are we off to Rohan, or perhaps Langstrand to see Cirien? He was looking mighty ill when he left, and I’m thinking he won’t make it back for the winter.”

Bregar entered again with the scully to take up the rest of the platters, and they all fell silent; Gimli said with forced interest: “So Lord Faramir, I hear the trade agreements with Errakh-Hem went well.”

Faramir shot him an amused look. “They did,” he said. “Were you thinking of striking a bargain with the Dunlendings yourself?”

“Well,” said Gimli; Bregar left the room, and he shook his head. “All this sneaking round is too confusing,” he said gruffly, rising and draining his cup. “I am for bed, Legolas, and if you are crept over by night-time shades and specters, do you go to Faramir and not me; you have woken me once already, and I have a feeling I will need all the rest I can get ere we depart Osgiliath.”

“Good heavens!” said Bandobras in surprise. “Well, I’m off with you then, Gimli, and you had best tell me all about it as we go. Besides which I’ve got a little tin of biscuits in my room with sugar on them, which are good for aiding the digestion, you know, Gimli.”

Gimli glanced at Legolas, who smiled; he said: “Very well Bandy, come with me then, and we shall digest together.” Dwarf and Hobbit went out, leaving Faramir and Legolas alone in the dining room. They were silent a moment, ruminating upon their own thoughts; Faramir watched Legolas carefully. The Elf seemed pensive, his gleaming eyes downcast, yet to his friend’s amusement Faramir could faintly descry Legolas humming:

Rum rum rum, in and out, in and out, ho ho!

“Bandobras is right, my friend,” said Faramir. “If you do not replace that ode with another of more gravity and propriety, Tamin will start asking questions about the smith and his hammer.”

“O dear,” sighed Legolas. “That is his father’s job, not mine!”

“Not anymore,” chuckled Faramir, rising. “You have signed on for a good bit more with Tamin than you did with Bandobras, O Green Knight. He is so innocent! Your perian at least was worldly enough when he came to you; Tamin is an empty book.”

“How did you explain these things to Fastred?” asked Legolas, getting to his feet and stretching. “It has been so long, I can scarce remember what my father said to me … perhaps he used the bee analogy … speaking of bees and women, would you like this doublet? I think it would look well on you. The sleeves are quite fine, you know.”

“No, thank you!” said Faramir, eyeing the blue concoction with a grimace. “Your Lady Mother, I deem?”

“Indeed,” sighed Legolas. He emptied his goblet and set it on the table. “May I bring Éowyn with me to Eryn Lasgalen, Faramir? My Lady Mother has need of a more suitable object. I will bring her back before spring, and take good care of her, though I am surprised at you, Faramir; I had thought you both agreed to stop at three.”

Faramir stared at Legolas in amazement. “How did you know?” he demanded with a laugh. “We have not even told the children yet!”

Legolas shrugged. “Something in the face, the eyes,” he said dismissively. “Or perhaps it is the scent; her scent is different. May I presume you wish me to attend her at her time once more?”

“If my lord can spare a few moments, yes, please,” said Faramir. “I am hoping for a sister for Hísimë. She was so disappointed that she could not dress Théodred as she wanted.”

“Hm!” said Legolas. “Perhaps I shall bring Hísimë up to my Lady Mother instead!”

“What a thought!” said Faramir. “They will sit in the tucking-mill and dress each other like dolls!”

“’Twill serve the both of them then!” laughed Legolas, and taking his leave of Faramir he wandered down the darkened halls to his rooms. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. He was very weary, and longed for his bed; yet he dreaded it too. He had hoped leaving Dol Galenehtar would mean he had left the visions behind; but hearing that ghostly serpentine voice in Faramir’s offices had shaken him. “When will it end?” he thought. “When the plot is wound up, or when it is too late for me to make any difference at all? Either prospect daunts me; O that my mind would give unto me more than hints and provocations! What useless things visions are anyway, serving to frighten and not instruct. No wonder Faramir does not like to discuss them.”

He entered his rooms, noting that Kaimelas had already turned down his bed sheets and lit the candles, and he sighed and smiled when he saw the full decanter and goblet by the fire, which merrily crackled and snapped in the hearth; also thereon was a copper kettle steaming, and a basin with fragrant soap. “Dear Kaimelas!” he thought. “And how shall I convince him to return to Dol Galenehtar without me when I leave? I dare not trick him, nor wish to be harsh with him; yet to take him on this journey before me, into dangers unknown, may be too much for him. That damned arrow!” he thought darkly; “and that damned Man who shot him! O that I had taken the arrow in his stead, and left him hale and strong and spoiling for war! But then,” he mused thoughtfully, “if he had been confined to the gate house, he and Seimiel would not have met in my offices so often, and perchance not fell in love … Well, that has made my mind up for me; I will not take him from his wife into such peril; the risk is too great. How fortunate for me I have no lady to leave behind!” He pondered whether he should rather undress first, or enjoy a glass of wine before the fire; he wanted desperately to shed the blue doublet, but the fire was perfect and his feet were cold. He was wavering between the two comforts, bemused and incurious, when there was the flurry of feet on the pavers outside his rooms, and anxious voices; then he heard a spate of quick knocks on his door.

“Now what?” he thought wearily, and dropping into the hearth chair, he picked up the goblet and decanter. “Enter!” he said.

The door opened, revealing Faramir’s valet, Argond; he stepped quickly into the room and shut the door behind him. “My Lord Legolas,” said Argond, “my apologies for disturbing you – your valet sent me hence, seeing his assistance was required elsewhere. I do beg your pardon, my lord, but there has been an Incident.”

Legolas noted the valet, of habit so imperturbable, looked distinctly and definitely perturbed, and a trifle mussed about the head; also there was a goodly spattering of blood across his brown tunic. Recognizing the man’s rather strained demeanor, and the subtle capitalization of the word “Incident” in his tone, Legolas set the decanter upon the table, regretfully determining he would not be relaxing before the fire after all. “Is it absolutely necessary I see to it myself, Argond?” he asked, a little plaintively. “Kaimelas is so efficient; it would seem unproductive to go when he is there already.”

“It is – ahem! – your esquire, my lord,” said Argond; his mouth twitched, and Legolas raised his eyebrows at him. “He has, erm, not comported himself in a manner expected of an esquire of the Green Knight.”

“Has he not!” exclaimed Legolas astonished, feeling within himself the first stirrings of misgiving. “I find that hard to believe, Argond.”

“Believe it, my lord,” said Argond, running his fingers through his disarranged hair. “Though he has come out the victor in the fray, there is a little blood – “

“Good heavens; what has he done?” said Legolas in surprise. “Did he try to ride that big stallion that the Lady Éowyn is working to train up? She told him not to mount him but – “

“It is not a horse, O Green Knight of Dol Galenehtar,” said Argond looking amused. “At least, not the entire horse … the back end, I would guess. My lord, Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn and sundry others are awaiting your judgment in the western solar.”

“Oh, dear,” muttered Legolas under his breath, his misgiving blossoming. “Well, I am coming then, Argond; just let me – “ he struggled with the points on his shoulders and grumbled a little under his breath. “Damn these sleeves,” he muttered. “Help me out of them, will you, Argond?”

Argond hesitated and looked down at his hands. “I, er, am rather bloody, my lord – “

“Is it your blood?”

“No, my lord, but – “

“Well, untie this, will you? And take that button off there – Ah! That is better; I aver the least comfortable part of this doublet is the sleeve. And the other one – Yes! Thank you, Argond; I think I can manage anything now. The western solar, you said? I know well where that is; it is by the Lord and Lady’s private apartments, and the family sitting area. Go change your tunic, Argond; I can find my way.”

“As my lord wishes,” said Argond, openly smiling now; he gave to Legolas a brief bow and disappeared through the doorway and down the corridor. Sparing a moment to collect his thoughts, and tamp down the tempting desire to lock his chamber door and reacquaint himself with the decanter, Legolas straightened the doublet, and on afterthought unbuttoned the top two collar buttons; then he took a deep breath, and went to find Tamin.

Faramir answered his knock with sober face and clenched jaw, which Legolas found inauspicious, and Legolas entered the comfortable rooms where he had spent so many happy hours, dandling the children upon his knee, and watching Éowyn nurse her infants. It was very quiet now; no one spoke, but all looked up when Legolas entered the room. Éowyn was there, calmly embroidering, and Fastred and Léodwyn also; Fastred looked angry and bewildered, and Léodwyn frightened. Legolas could not read Éowyn’s face; she held it a cool indifferent mask, which, Legolas knew, could mean she was either angry enough to kill someone, or about to laugh. Hísimë and Théodred were there too; Théodred seemed very interested in the goings-on, and watched everyone with brisk notice; Hísimë stood aloof from her friend Léodwyn and cast admiring looks at Tamin.

Tamin, Legolas thought, did certainly not resemble at all his well-dressed and well-behaved esquire. His hair was pulled out of its restricting plait, and a quantity of blood had spilt from his nose and dried all over his face and neck; his tunic was torn at the throat and twisted round his torso, and he had a large rip in the knee of his hose. More alarming to the Green Knight however was the split and swollen lip, and brilliant redness about one temple, presaging what was promising to be a very impressive black eye. But what moved Legolas the most was the expression of grief and dismay and shame on his little esquire’s face, and how, when the boy saw that his Master had come into the room, his grey eyes filled with tears, and he hung his head in abject humility. Legolas wished to fall upon his knees then, and draw the boy to him to comfort him; however he did not yet know how Tamin had come to be in this disgraceful state, and knew he must needs withhold judgment ere he had heard the tale. He turned to Faramir, who was standing with arms crossed, his pale eyes questioning.

“Well, my friend,” he said, “this seems a sorry state of affairs! How has got mine esquire into this state? And where is Kaimelas?”

“He is in the apothecary,” said Faramir, and noting the look of alarm on Legolas’ face he added, “Not on his own account but another’s. I was called here too, O Legolas, only moments ago, and do not know for myself the whole tale, hearing only that some altercation occurred outside the family rooms.” He glanced at Tamin, his lips twitching. “Though now that I see the state of your esquire I do think me I shall release this privilege to you, for I do not see a mark upon my son.”

“M-my lord, I would n-not hurt Fastred,” stammered Tamin, his lower lip, grossly swollen, trembling and smeared with blood. Fastred glanced at Tamin; his eyes snapped with anger, but he said:

“It is true, O my father; Tamin did not fight me.”

“Ah, then.” Faramir’s eyes softened and he said: “Well, O esquire of the Green Knight, I shall let your Master deal with you as he wills, subject to the laws of my demesne.” He glanced at his wife, who regarded him through hooded eyes. “If my Lady Wife does not object?”

“Begin your enquiry, O Green Knight,” said Éowyn; her voice was low and expressionless, and Tamin went very pale. Fighting back the urge to take Tamin to the apothecary to be tended, or perhaps shake him in frustration, or both, Legolas turned instead to his charge, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Well, Tamin,” he said. “What have you done? Has someone in the household molested you in some way?”

Tamin gulped and he began to tremble. “N-n-no, Master,” he whispered; his voice was hoarse and low, and he could not raise his eyes.

“Tamin said a bad word, Lassah,” said Théodred cheerfully from where he stood by his brother and sister. “He called Halgond a – “

“Théodred!” said Faramir, and the boy fell silent; though Legolas was amused to note Théodred’s eyes sparkled with mirth; he appeared to be the only person in the room thoroughly enjoying himself.

Legolas glanced back at Tamin, who had started to cry, great fat teardrops rolling down his bruised cheeks, falling upon the floor with little splashes. “I am ignorant, O Tamin, esquire of Dol Galenehtar; please, do tell me what it is that you are supposed to have done, for I have heard nothing save some minor skirmish occurred.”

“He has without provocation or proper warning assaulted a guest in my house,” said Fastred angrily. “A friend too, and under my care, who had thought himself safe and among allies.”

Legolas looked at Fastred, surprised at the boy’s wrath. “Halgond?” he asked.

“Yes, Lassah,” said Fastred stiffly.

“Hm!” said Legolas. “Did anyone see the incident?”

“Argond did,” said Théodred eagerly. “He did relate it me when we came upon the fray in the hall. He says he saw Halgond walk Léodwyn back to her chambers, going round the corner from his sight, and after a moment Halgond returned down the hall whistling, and looking quite happy; and seeing Tamin walking toward him he said, ‘What ho, Tamin?’ And then, Argond said, Tamin up and hit Halgond in the face with his fist.”

Legolas gave a snort of laughter, then clapped his hand over his mouth and stared, wide-eyed, at Faramir, who bit his lip and clenched his jaw the firmer. Éowyn cleared her throat and gazed with unwonted interest at her embroidery hoop. Fastred stared at the Elf lord in consternation, and poor Tamin kept his gaze upon the bit of carpet between his feet upon which his teardrops fell. Legolas composed his features, wiped his mouth carefully with his hand to make sure he did not smile, and struggling to keep his voice calm he said:

“And then?”

“And then Tamin thrashed him,” supplied Théodred eagerly. “He pounded Halgond’s head into the – “

“Théodred!”

“Well, he did,” muttered Théodred retiring, though Legolas noted he gave to Tamin an approving look. Fastred glared at Théodred, then turned to Legolas and said:

“When my Lady Mother and I arrived, your esquire had struck Halgond several times in the face, and they were throwing punches at each other, though Halgond got the worst of it, and then Tamin threw him to the floor, and taking his hair in his fist began to drum Halgond’s forehead into the pavers, cursing at him.”

“I bet his nose is broken,” said Théodred cheerfully. “There was an awful lot of blood. Wasn’t there, Hísimë?”

“Mostly Halgond’s, I noticed,” said Hísimë coolly, smoothing her skirt and throwing Léodwyn a sharp look.

“Halgond is my friend,” said Fastred angrily. “He did not – “

“I am your friend too!” cried Tamin suddenly, turning his aggrieved eyes to Fastred. “I sought only to – “

“I did not ask for your help!” said Fastred leaping to his feet, very red. “If you think I care in the slightest – “

“He kissed her!” protested Tamin, his eyes full of tears. “They betrayed you! I thought – “

“Léodwyn!” exclaimed Fastred, turning with horror upon the girl. “You could not – “

“Oh – “ Léodwyn shrank back, looking very frightened; then seeing the cold wrath in her lady’s face, and the amazement and indignation upon Hísimë’s, bolted from the room, her blue skirts swirling. Fastred stood rooted to the spot, his face pale as death, and stared after her.

“Are you not going to follow her?” asked Éowyn, returning to her embroidery. Fastred swung around, his hands fisted by his side.

“Why should I?” he cried. “If she is going to act in this fashion – “

“Go after her, Fastred!” said Tamin desperately. “Go after her, and quickly! Otherwise she will return to Halgond, and you shall lose her forever!”

“I will not go after her!” shouted Fastred, his face mottled in fury. “What do you think you are doing, telling me how to conduct mine own affairs? What do you know about it anyway? How dare you! And how dare you take others’ sides over mine! If you had any sense about you, you would know I was right and she is wrong!”

“But – but why are you so angry with me, Fastred?” asked Tamin, his eyes bewildered. “For months and months you and Léodwyn have been at odds, and you have done nothing – “

“What would you have me do?” demanded Fastred angrily. “I had naught for which to apologize; ‘twas her offense not mine! She ought to have come to me!”

“But you were so cold!” protested Tamin. “Did you not see how your indifference hurt her?”

“Whose side are you on?” cried Fastred. “I thought you were my friend! Apparently I was wrong.”

Tamin’s face fell, and his mouth worked silently a moment, then he said hoarsely: “Well you thought Halgond was your friend too, did you not? I suppose you were wrong on both counts, though he sought to harm you, and I to help.” And turning his face from Fastred, he stared resolutely at the far wall, trembling from head to foot. Fastred gazed at him in a sort of horror, then said, his voice unsteady:

“Why must you always poke your nose into things you cannot understand? Do you not see how foolish you have made me look?”

“You make yourself look foolish, with no help from me!” cried Tamin, glaring at him and stamping his foot. “Your fine clothes and your silly friends and your ridiculous beard – “

“Enough!” cried Fastred angrily. “Do you not speak of my friends in that fashion; you do not understand – “

“I understand they are silly and vain and so are you,” said Tamin, stammering and breathless in his anger. “Strutting round like a peacock and treating your friends like children! O I should have hit you instead, you – you – “

“Careful, Tamin,” said Faramir mildly. “No more bad language; there are ladies present.”

“Lord Father,” said Fastred, looking very flushed and disagreeable, “surely there is little more to be said on this issue.” He drew himself up to his full height and leveled an imperious finger at Tamin. “This esquire has without provocation attacked a member of this household – “

“’This esquire,’ Fastred?” interrupted Legolas; his voice was very cold, and Fastred seeing the cold light of anger in those grey eyes went silent and pale. “’This esquire’? When did you reduce your dearest friend to such derisory state?”

“Lassah,” said Fastred, his anger fading, though he yet looked very distraught. “I do not – I cannot – “

“I think you ought to let Tamin fight him, Lassah,” said Théodred. “Fastred’s not hurt yet but Tamin is awfully fast.”

“Théodred,” chided Faramir.

“On the contrary,” said Legolas, going to his esquire and laying a long white hand on the boy’s shoulder. “There has been enough fighting for one evening. I will not expose my charge to such violent language, when it seems apparent to me he did naught for which he deserves disapprobation. Your Lord Father may disagree, O Fastred, but in mine eyes, Tamin acted foolishly but with your best interests at heart. The same could not be said of you, save the ‘foolish’ aspect. If you have any more to say to Tamin Rúmilion, you will direct such information to me or to my valet Kaimelas. Though I caution you, O Fastred, Kaimelas has yet a switch chosen for you that he has not had opportunity to use; I would avoid turning my back to him, were I you.”

“I, I – “ stammered Fastred, turning from Legolas to his father desperately. “I, I do not know what to do.”

“Go see Léodwyn, Fastred,” said his mother calmly from where she sat. “Go apologize to her.”

“For what, Lady Mother?” asked Fastred a little sulkily. “What did I for which I must apologize?”

“I am sure if you think hard enough you will come up with something,” said Éowyn dryly. “And when you are done there, if you think hard again, you will realize there is someone else who deserves an act of contrition.”

Fastred looked at Tamin then, at the bloodied face turned from him, obdurate and resolute, and the head held high; he bit his lip, and glancing guiltily at Legolas, he quit the room. When the door had closed, Legolas knelt by his esquire, and taking him by the shoulder, turned him to face him; Tamin’s eyes overflowed with tears, and Legolas’ heart turned over.

“My dear Little One,” he said gently.

“O Master,” sobbed Tamin, throwing himself upon his Master’s breast. “Please forgive me. You must be so angry with me.”

“I like how he begs your forgiveness first,” said Éowyn to her embroidery hoop. “Does Elvish convention require he eventually apologize to Halgond?”

“Under these circumstances, no,” smiled Legolas. “But we are in Osgiliath and shall bow to your customs.”

Tamin twisted in Legolas’ arms, and breaking away he knelt at Éowyn’s feet, his little face full of grief. “O Lady Éowyn – and Lord Faramir – O I am so sorry! I, I do not know what came over me – when he came round the corner from Léodwyn’s door – he had kissed her – and he looked so – “ Tamin’s face changed, went dark and angry, and his battered hands went into fists. “So smug – so smug and self-satisfied! O I wanted nothing more than to – to hold him by his ankles out the window and drop him into the river! I know it was wrong to strike him – I knew it was wrong when I did it – but O, Master – “ he looked up at Legolas, his eyes bright. “It felt so good when I hit him.” Faramir made a little noise then, in truth a snort of laughter swiftly suppressed; but Tamin, mistaking it for disapproval, said in dismay: “I am so sorry, Lord Faramir! To have done such a thing and in your house – “

“Do you not apologize to me, Tamin Rúmilion,” said Faramir with a small smile. “I have wanted to box the brat’s ears for weeks, but principle forbad me.”

Tamin stared at him in amazement. “Did you really?” he said wonderingly. “You were angry with him too? You saw what he was doing? I do not understand at all what has been occurring – Fastred and Léodwyn fought – and Halgond, he – O I am so confused! And O, I am so angry with Léodwyn and Fastred!”

Hísimë stepped forward then, and laid her small hand upon his shoulder; she smiled down at him, her eyes tender.

“So are we all, dear Tamin!” she said. “Do you not worry so about Fastred – he is being stupid, and does not deserve so fine and courageous a friend as you. And Léodwyn, well – I will not speak of her for it would be unladylike, and enough propriety has been broken on my elder brother’s account; it is very upsetting, is it not, dear Tamin? Lord Legolas,” she said, turning to the Elf Lord with her little chin held high. “May I beg the privilege of tending to Tamin Rúmilion’s wounds? They were justly got, and it is the duty of every high-born lady to see to the well-being of warriors on honorable undertaking so injured.”

“So it is,” said Legolas, his lips twitching; he exchanged a glance with Éowyn, who seemed to have something wrong with her tongue; she was biting it so. “By your Lady Mother’s leave, O Lady Hísimë, I grant unto you permission to succor mine esquire in his time of need, and soothe not only the injured brow but wounded heart.”

Tamin looked up at Hísimë in amazement. “Will you do that then for me, Hísimë?” he asked a little wistfully. “I had thought – since Fastred is your brother and Halgond your friend too – that you would be angry with me as is Fastred – “ His bright eyes filled with tears again, and he looked very mournful. Hísimë gave an incoherent little cry of sympathy, and bending down she kissed his forehead and stroked his golden hair.

“Dear Tamin!” she said warmly. “It is my privilege to comfort you; do you come now to the nursery, and I shall wash your wounds, and apply those unguents fashioned to soothe your aches; and I shall have Argond to bring unto us sweetmeats and hot mead.” She took his battered and bloodied hands in her own and drew him to his feet; he looked gratefully down upon her, and she smiled up at him, her grey eyes tender. “And I shall play for you upon the harp if you like, O dear Tamin, and you may lay upon the couch and cushion your aching head, and let all indignity and mortification which embroils in your breast fall away, and all shall be well – I promise you, dear Tamin.” Tamin stared at her in gratified amazement, and she smiled sweetly upon him. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it with a snap. But he need not have bothered; at that moment Théodred piped up:

“Sweetmeats! O good! I am still hungry from dinner. Come then, Tamin; we shall let Hísimë wrap you up well, and eat all we like, and while she’s playing her harp I will show you my new toy trebuchet. It is a great big one, and I wager I could knock Halgond down from one hundred feet away.”

Hísimë looked displeased, and flushed a little; but Legolas said: “My Tamin, go then with the children of the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen and seek your peace there. Come to me ere you seek your couch and speak to me though; we have much to discuss.”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, and turned a thankful smile upon his lord; then he let Hísimë lead him out by the hand, with Théodred clattering along behind them. The door closed, but he could yet hear Hísimë’s dulcet tones, and Théodred’s happy chatter; and over all the subdued chiming voice of his little esquire, polite, friendly, and still, to Legolas’ relief, oblivious. He took a deep breath and turned to apologize to his friends, but to his surprise, Éowyn was doubled over in mirth.

“Oh, oh, oh!” she laughed, setting her hoop aside and clutching at her stomach as though it pained her. “How I wish I had seen it! Pounded Halgond’s face into the pavers – Oh!”

“Laugh if you will,” said Faramir, shaking his head; “but Hallas will have aught to say of this, my friend.”

“Let him talk!” said Legolas tiredly. “He remembers well how it felt to have his lady taken from him. I do not blame my Tamin in the slightest – though I think I shall have to instruct him further on the proper etiquette when issuing a challenge to a friend’s rival. And what shall we do with Fastred?”

Faramir sighed. “He grows more like my brother every day,” he said discontentedly. “Whence got he such hubris? I will speak to him, Legolas, on little Tamin’s behalf; but I do not promise I shall make much headway; he is very stubborn, and these new fine friends of his give him such insufferable advice.”

“Let Kaimelas do it,” said Éowyn, still laughing. “A switch! Only he must needs take it to Léodwyn too.”

“I will tell him that when I find him,” said Legolas, and bowing to them both, bid them good-night; then quitting the chamber, he went back down the corridor, wanting more than ever to locate the decanter by his fire side. “But first I need to speak with Gimli and Bandobras,” he thought; “my thoughts are in such disarray! O this – this is why I shall never let myself fall in love!” And walking along he caught himself humming, Rum rum rum, in and out, in and out, ho ho!

(A/N: “The Lusty Young Smith” is a 17th century English song first appearing in Thomas D'Urfey's 'Wit and Mirth: Pills to Purge Melancholy' in 1698. No, I did not write it. I cannot write poetry. Those of you who have read my Green Knight series may have wondered why I don’t have the characters spontaneously burst into song or verse. The results would be too horrible to contemplate. Let’s leave verse-making to Tolkien and other such masters.

No one guessed the celebrity quote in Chapter 7! Here’s the original and the originator:

“Yes, I'm a lot prettier than you and you're a girl. I noticed. Pfft, do you believe this? This girl is mad at me ‘cause I'm prettier than her and she's a girl. Don't worry, honey, nobody noticed.” – Davey Havok

Many thanks again to my marvelous beta, Nieriel Raina! I’d hire her full-time if I got paid for this.

(A/N: Many thanks and kudos to my beta, Nieriel Raina, who managed to pick through this detestable chapter while suffering the pangs of moving-boxes and car trouble. Honestly, I don’t know why she puts up with me, but thank Elbereth she does! -- Le Rouret)

Legolas lay in bed for hours in the dark. He told himself over and over that he was not afraid to sleep, and yet he could not bring himself to surrender to his weariness. Ever in the corner of his mind he heard the sinister voice whispering, and smelt the burning decay; ever in his heart he felt the shiver of dread. He lay and stared out his window at the wheeling stars above; but they brought him no wisdom, and his limbs ached for rest.

“I might go for a week at a time without slumber,” he thought; “yet I am three nights down and so weary I could sleep for ten days!” He rolled over and pulled the coverlet round his shoulders. His eyelids drooped and he began to feel the familiar pull of lassitude; yet then a heron squawked outside his chamber window and he jerked awake, heart hammering. He stared up at the shadowy ceiling, flickering with silvery ghost-lights from the moon shimmering on the river, and willed his heart to slow. “This will never do,” he chided himself. “Why should I fear these visions? Like wights they cannot hurt me; and besides, they might bring me more speerings from this dream-world. Though I do fear me they shall not pop up in my sleep with a laugh and a cry of, ‘Only fooling!’”

He smiled a little at this thought, and with a sigh closed his eyes. He counted his heartbeats, pleased to feel them slow within his chest; he smelt the river, the faint scent of pine, cold dead smoke, the fresh herby smell of the clean bedclothes. This time when sleep’s soft blanket slid over him, he succumbed, his mind quietly seeking, keen to the serpent’s voice.

He cast to and fro, straining to hear or to see; all round him was thick fog, sluggishly swirling round his legs and clinging wetly to his skin and hair. He was grasping something tightly in his fist that slipped in the moisture; he looked down at it; it was a pair of shears. “These are Men’s shears,” he thought, and cast them down into a little mound of dark brown wool. He closed his hand again, and the ring cut into his palm. The mist glowed, as though lit by a great white lantern, and he smelled pipe smoke. “Mithrandir!” he thought, but when he turned, there was naught before him save a large nightingale, regarding him with a severe eye. “Will you get out of my way!” said the bird peevishly, and took flight past him; the stiff remiges brushed his face and stung. When he touched his cheek and drew his hand away, he saw he was bleeding, but his blood was black.

“I should not be here,” he thought. “I ought to be looking for her.” And he set off through the misty wood, peering round the dark wet boles of trees, casting about the air, smelling moist loam and cold wood smoke. He could feel it before him, threatening, dreadful; his skin went cold and he began to shake. It loomed in front of him, huge, dark, brooding; its walls wept mold and slime, and its broken allures were slick with blood that would never dry. He trembled before it, its evil seeping up through the very soles of his shoes; and before him upon a cruel-looking pike was thrust the rotten head of an Orc.

“Ushtâk!” he said in surprise. “O, but I remember you, my friend.”

The Orc captain’s head stirred; the globule eyes blinked and the mouth twisted horribly into a grin; the lips were so decayed they split open and the teeth dropped out, one by one. “Little yellow hornet!” he grated, and laughed awfully. “No one to help you now!”

“I slew you myself,” said Legolas disbelievingly. “’Twas my hands thrust your head upon that pike. How can you imperil me thus?”

“I do not need arms or legs,” grinned Ushtâk. “Look where you are standing, hornet!”

Legolas looked down. The pavers beneath his feet were slick with blood and the rotting remains of bodies, Orcs and Elves alike. He recognized these stones. “Dol Guldur!” he said with fear, and then everything went dark, and all he could hear was Ushtâk’s voice, laughing and hissing at him.

“Crawl, hornet, crawl!” cried Ushtâk in the darkness, and impelled by some horrible cold weight, Legolas fell to his hands and knees. He felt someone’s face beneath his fingers, cold and infirm, and drew back, appalled. All round him were the crackling, snapping footsteps of the spiders, huge black spiders surrounding him, their mandibles clacking, their legs creaking and rustling. “Legolas!” called his father; his voice sounded very far away. “Legolas, Legolas! My son! Where are you?”

Legolas could not speak; if he did the spiders would find him. He felt something brush his leg, and the scent of poison was thick around him. “Legolas! Legolas!” called his father; then he gave a terrible cry. The spiders had got him. “Father, father!” cried Legolas; he tried to rise but something held him down, stinking and hot, crushing him to the ground. “Baranil! Galás! Anyone!” He struggled, feeling the strong sticky cords around his limbs. “Meivel! Gimli!” No – who had been nearest him; who had fought at his side moments ago? The name, he needed the name; if he called the scout’s name, he would come, and Legolas could send him to help his father. Sleek dark hair, dark eyes, strong arms and hitched breath, an arrow stuck from his chest, soaked in blood. “Kaimelas!” he shouted, and with a wrench shot up out of bed.

The room spun round him; he was very cold, and could not catch his breath. The bed sheets had wound round his arms and legs and he thrashed, desperately trying to free himself. There was a thump at his chamber door, and then it opened with a crash; Kaimelas stood there, tousle-haired, bleary-eyed, his night shirt askew; he staggered into the room and to his lord’s bedside. “My lord!” he said thickly, reaching down to help Legolas untangle himself. “Why did you call me? What is it?”

“The dreams again,” said Legolas a little wildly; he wrenched his limbs from the sheets and staggered out of bed, holding on to the post; his legs felt like aspic. “The spiders this time, and the Orc captain, Ushtâk – “

“Ushtâk?” said Kaimelas, blinking and rubbing his eyes. “That was – O my lord, that was centuries ago, down at Rhosgobel – “

“I saw it,” panted Legolas; he lowered himself back on the bed, shivering. “Dol Guldur – I saw the walls, and the pavers slick with blood – “

“It was a dream,” said Kaimelas, gentle and a little indistinct in his haze of sleep; Legolas was reminded of a father soothing a small child from his nightmares and was unaccountably irritated. He watched Kaimelas turn up the lamp and smooth the coverlet. “It was only a dream,” Kaimelas repeated, placating. “You are not at Dol Guldur; you are in Osgiliath and are safe – “

“My Lord Father is not safe,” said Legolas. He took Kaimelas by the arm, reassured by the hard muscle beneath the linen. Kaimelas had been one of Thranduil’s scouts for centuries ere Legolas himself had even been thought of; he was a king’s man, and fiercely loyal. “He is in danger. Something is gone wrong in Eryn Lasgalen.”

Kaimelas gave him a strange look. “The last reports spoke of naught of interest save the new Master of Esgaroth,” he said. He took his lord’s hand from round his arm and held it tight. “It was a dream,” he repeated, his voice mollifying. “Naught but a dream. In the confusion of your slumber you have accorded it overmuch significance – “

“It was not just a dream,” insisted Legolas, pulling his hand from Kaimelas’, and wishing his valet possessed not the ability to make him feel a youngling again. “I have dreamt thus three nights, and the terror of them disturbs my slumber. Voices call to me; first snakes, now spiders, and I see my Lord Father’s ring – “

Kaimelas shook his head. “The Lord of Osgiliath may dream true, but you have never done so to my knowledge,” he said practically, straightening his lord’s night shirt. “Something preys upon your mind – “ His mouth quirked. “Distress over the Queen’s gifts of doublets and robes, perchance – “

“No,” said Legolas stubbornly; it was impossible to argue with Kaimelas, and he was frustrated and angry. “These are no mere dreams. Something is amiss, and I am going to Eryn Lasgalen to see what it is.”

Kaimelas went very still then, and his dark eyes were calculating as he studied his lord. “So that is why you came to Osgiliath,” he said slowly. “To confer with Lord Faramir about dreams and visions. Lady Éowyn and I did wonder betwixt us two your motives, my lord, to drag the armor and all these supplies – “

Legolas got up and pulled off his night shirt, casting it to the floor and kicking it. He knew he was acting like a spoiled child, but Kaimelas had always been able to bring out the worst in him as well as the best, and the horrible scent of poison lingered in his nostrils, imparting upon him a sense of urgency. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to take to horse and proceed with all haste to his Lord Father’s side, come what may; he recognized this impulse as irrational but was not in a mood to argue with himself as well as with Kaimelas. “I will have to wake the cooks,” he said. “I need waybread, dried fruit and meat, beans – “

“If there were trouble in Eryn Lasgalen surely we would have heard,” persisted Kaimelas, picking up the discarded night shirt; he was very puzzled. “Baranil would have written to Meivel at any rate – “

“Why should Baranil have told Meivel? You know they do not get on.” Legolas pulled his old leather breeches on and laced them up. “I have had letters from my Lord Father, and Gimli from his, speaking of trouble in Esgaroth – “

“And that is why you dream,” said Kaimelas, his face clearing. “It preys on your mind, and in the darkness of the night your fears surface – “

“Kaimelas,” said Legolas angrily, turning to his valet, his grey eyes flashing. “These are no mere dreams. I am going to Eryn Lasgalen, in spite of your arguments; my mind is made up. I know Galás set you to spy on me, and I blame him not for I have been distracted of late; well I know too that Galás, as you, will not believe me, and will moreover seek to restrain me. But I shall not be restrained, Kaimelas; I am going, and Gimli and Bandobras shall come with me.” He pulled on a rough wool shirt and began to button it. “I am not certain what to do with Tamin – perhaps I will instruct him to delay you here – “

“My lord,” said Kaimelas growing angry. “I have spied on you for Galás it is true; this madness of yours convinces me he is right in this, and you require force, not reason – “

There was a subdued tap on the door, and both Elves turned in surprise; then the latch turned and the door creaked open. Faramir stood there, as tousle-haired and bleary-eyed as had been Kaimelas, but his face was not bemused or sleepy, but very dark and grim. “Legolas,” he said without preamble. “Who was Ushtâk? And why did he call you a hornet?”

Kaimelas was so astonished that he stood with his mouth open, staring at the Prince of Emyn Arnen; there grew then upon his face an expression of apprehension and fear. Legolas threw him an angry look and went to Faramir, drawing him within, and shutting and latching the door.

“Ushtâk was an Orc captain, leading an army of one thousand upon my Lord Father’s flanks near Dol Guldur, many centuries ago,” said Legolas, leading Faramir to the chair by the side of the bed and sitting him upon it. “Mine archers devastated his soldiers, and I would stand upon the high rocks at Rhosgobel and fire volley after volley into them. Kaimelas was with me then, as were Meivel and Galás – Himbaláth was too young then, was he not, Kaimelas? A mere child still, toddling at his mother’s feet.” He leant up against the bed post, his arms folded across his chest, and fixed Kaimelas with an adamant glare; Kaimelas looked staggered and unable to speak. Faramir watched them silently, recognizing the presence of an argument in progress, and that he had tipped the scales in Legolas’ favor. After a moment Kaimelas dropped his gaze to the floor, and Legolas switched his hair over his shoulder and continued: “Ushtâk called me the Little Yellow Hornet, for we stung them without rest, and slew hundreds of Orcs with our arrows. At last we came the two of us, Ushtâk and I, to a dark, damp dingle and fought each other for hours. He was a big, hump-backed, barrel-chested goblin with long powerful arms, and a snout like a pig, and great fangs; his sword was as high as I was, and made of terrible red steel. But many of my men had fallen, and I was filled with great fury, and pressed him so hard the sword fell from his claws. But Ushtâk had a net, and slung it round my legs, casting me to the ground, and my sword flew from my hands. He laughed then, and dragged me close to his vile feet, and told me to crawl to him, and lick his boots. But I saw he had secreted within one of his boots a stiletto; I took it, and hamstrung him; and when he howled in pain, I retrieved my sword. I slew him and thrust his head upon a pike, and his minions scattered, to be picked off one by one by the spiders thereabouts.”

The three were silent a moment; Faramir pondered Legolas’ words, and Kaimelas and Legolas saw yet the blood and carnage, the wheel of the crows, and their eyes were dimmed. At last Faramir stirred, and looked up at his friend; his eyes were haunted.

“Crawl, hornet, crawl,” said Faramir, and Legolas shuddered.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly. He paused, then added, his voice stronger: “And as an aside, my friend, I too dreamt of shears.”

Faramir gave a half-hearted smile. “Not very propitious,” he said.

“No,” agreed Legolas. He turned to Kaimelas, who was wide-eyed, holding his lord’s night shirt, and looking from Man to Elf in dawning comprehension, though his realization was cold comfort. “See, Kaimelas?” Legolas said tiredly. “As my Bandobras would say, there is a first time for everything; and apparently my visions are veritable – how I wish it were otherwise!” he added with a sigh, and rubbed his eyes; they were burning. “So you see, I must go to Eryn Lasgalen, and see what it is that calls to me, telling me my Lord Father is threatened.”

“I see that now, my lord,” said Kaimelas slowly. He looked down at the night shirt as though seeing it for the first time; he cast it into the open trunk carelessly. “You ought to have told me – you ought to have informed me of these visions; you would have caught me less off guard tonight.” He looked at his lord and said angrily, “And you are going to leave me behind, are you not? You have planned it, have you not, my lord? You will trick me somehow, and leave me to languish here, to return to Galás in disgrace to say I have let you slip through my fingers!”

“Kaimelas – “ began Legolas, but his valet waved him aside.

“Was that not your plan from the beginning?” he demanded. “You would slip out in the night, or concoct another fishing trip – “ he shot Faramir an evil look; the Prince of Emyn Arnen managed to look guilty “ – you would leave me behind, saddled with Tamin and his hundreds of questions; you would constrain me to return to Dol Galenehtar and admit my ignominy before Galás and Meivel and Himbaláth – “

“How could I bring you, Kaimelas?” pled Legolas; it was his turn to placate. “You did not believe me – I knew you would not believe me! Nor would Galás; how could I explain this to him? But I must go – you see now, that I must go? And I cannot bring you – “

“I am a mere valet now, but I do not think I have forgotten all my training, my lord,” said Kaimelas hotly. “Why I tutored you myself, when you were but an Elfling, in the art of war and combat! Was it not I who taught you to fight with the blade, so that you could take vile Ushtâk down?”

“I know, Kaimelas,” said Legolas gently. “You did; you taught me well, and I am grateful for it. But look!” He went to his valet then, and untying the collar of Kaimelas’ night shirt drew it aside. There upon the Elf’s chest the scar lay, twisted and shining and red, a great ugly knot lying inches from where his heart beat. Kaimelas tried to cover it, but Legolas moved his hand aside and held it tightly in his own. “Look at it, Kaimelas,” said Legolas. “We know it is there; you cannot hide it from me. Did I not pluck the arrow from your breast with mine own hands? Did I not weep to leave you, thinking my friend would be dead ere I returned to you? Did I not sit with you in the apothecary, holding you when you coughed up blood? Have I not spent many days listening to you breathe beside me, in agony of wonder you yet draw in breath? And do I not hear you breathe now, how the air snags in your chest? You are angry now, and panting hard – I can hear you, dragging in air, your lung clicking, straining.”

“It – it does not bother me much, my lord,” said Kaimelas, subdued; he drew away from Legolas and turned to close his night shirt, as though ashamed of the wound. “I am hale and strong yet. I can go with you.”

“Were this journey a mere pleasantry I should not be so troubled,” said Legolas. “O do not be vexed with me, dear Kaimelas! It is rare we are at odds, and this hurts me. You know now that I go into danger; think instead upon your poor wife, who will be left behind, knowing your health and strength are compromised!”

“Seimiel would want me to go,” said Kaimelas, closing his eyes in shame.

“Kassah,” said Legolas, laying his hand on Kaimelas’ sleek dark head; the Elf looked up at his lord in surprise, for it had been long since he had heard Legolas call him thus, the childish lisping from his sovereign’s offspring. Legolas’ eyes were tender and compassionate, and in the dim chamber his skin like the pale moonlight glowed; his hair was silver not gold, and Kaimelas could only think how much Legolas looked like his mother. “I belittle not your bravery or skill; ‘twas that damned arrow brought you low. Seimiel knows this; she knows you are valiant and quick and clever; why would she have married you otherwise? She is dear to me, as are you; if aught happened to you, she would be overcome, and how could I live thus? It was hard enough when I saw you lying in the waggon, pale and deathly; how can you risk such grief to the woman you love?”

“You play my heart against me,” said Kaimelas in a choked voice. “Still do I see you as that little boy, running at my heels with a two-foot bow, begging to go with Belias and me to the hunt! That my little prince is a man grown is still strange to me and I yet feel my king’s command to succor and protect you. Do you not think I should grieve as well, were you to go unto the north, and return not from dangers unknown? And upon my head also would be the guilt of knowing I might have helped you, but was forbidden to go.”

“There, Legolas,” said Faramir with a smile. “Your words have betrayed you; you cannot leave him now! Besides which, he will tell Galás, and your seneschal will send Meivel to fetch you back; that would be disastrous.”

“Bring me with you, my lord, and I will be silent to Galás,” said Kaimelas. Shaking Legolas’ hand from his hair, he dropped to his knees and pled, “I beseech you, little Lassah, leave me not behind! We will leave together tomorrow – we might slip past Meivel’s patrols – how can you think I should face either your father the king, or my lady wife, were I to skulk in your dressing-room? I swear to you, O Prince, that I will betray you not to your seneschal; I will bear his wrath to be with you, and my wife’s also.”

“Seimiel would frighten me more than Galás,” said Legolas with a sad smile. “How persuasive you are! Nay, you are right; I can no more let you languish here than stay myself. Rise, then, Kaimelas!” He drew Kaimelas to his feet. “But I tell you this; if at any time we face some danger that threatens us, and your breath stutters and stalls, I command you to withdraw; I will not return to your wife to tell her you fell in a battle you could not join.”

“That is just,” agreed Kaimelas, looking relieved. “But let me go with you, and I swear I shall take as good care as do you of me.”

“Very well,” said Legolas with a sigh. “Go then! Wake Tamin, and pack our things. I will fetch Gimli and Bandobras, and at first light we shall go, to see what is sending me these visions of snakes and spiders.” Kaimelas taking Legolas’ hand in his own kissed it; then saluting Faramir, he hurried from the room.

Faramir watched him go, troubled; he had seen the vision through Legolas’ eyes of the valet, gasping, the arrow trembling with each labored breath in the bloodied chest; he too had seen dark-haired Kaimelas struggling and pale at Amon Din. He stood in silence watching Legolas dress, and as the dawn paled the sky, the eerie glow that ever fascinated him faded from his friend’s skin. Legolas turned to Faramir with a grim smile, and buckled his belt, and said: “Do not look so low, my friend; Ushtâk is centuries slain, and Dol Guldur but a memory now. Greenwood the Great may well be threatened, but it is free of Morgoth’s evil at least.”

“Arrows kill from men as well as orcs,” said Faramir. “I dreamt not only of Ushtâk, Legolas.”

“Oh?” Legolas began throwing his clothes into the trunk. “I ought to fold these I suppose but that is so tedious … what did you dream, Faramir?”

“I saw the snake surround you,” said Faramir slowly. He sounded reluctant to speak. “It wound its coils round your body, and like the black snake slays the viper it squeezed you tight; then the snake burst, and its black blood covered you. You convulsed upon the dirt, with foam and froth coming from your mouth, and you … you died.”

Legolas stood very still, holding one of his shirts; he looked out the window, at the greenish sky streaked with rosy clouds, the trees black against the shimmering dome. One lone star twinkled at him, and somewhere outside the window a nightingale warbled. He drew the sleeve of the shirt through his hands absently, letting the fine linen fall against his palm; when he found the little brass buttons at the cuff he rolled them about in his fingers. He could hear Faramir breathing, harsher and faster than usual, but somehow he felt very calm. He turned to Faramir with a smile.

“My friend,” he said, holding out his hand. “Like a brother you have been to me, dear and wise and full of fun. And Éowyn your wife as a sister has been, and your children near mine own. When I have stumbled, you have helped me up; when I am hungered, you feed me good food, and when I am thirsty give me fine wine. When I weep, you comfort me, and when I triumph, you rejoice with me. In you are no envy or deceit or evil; you are a child of Númenor, and this humble Sindar prince is grateful for the fortuity of our congress. I tell you this: I will go, and see to this snake; and if you dream true, O Faramir my dear friend, and I return not, know that I love you, and esteem your amity above all Men I have known, for centuries past.” Faramir’s eyes filled with tears, and Legolas embraced him and said: “Do not weep yet! I breathe still, and mine arm is strong. Save your weeping for a later time. But I beg you, O Faramir, do not relay this dream to anyone else, for they would seek to restrain me. That you allow me to go, even to mine own death, comforts me; indeed I believe that is why I love you, and why all should love you; you seek the utmost of everyone, irrespective of your feelings for them. I am a better Elf for having known you.”

“You tell me to weep not, yet bid me good-bye as though we shall not see each other again!” said Faramir with a shaking laugh, kissing Legolas’ forehead. “How aggravating you are! Well, if you come across the opportunity to die, I beg of you to pass it up; for if you return not from the North and Éowyn finds out I let you go, she will never forgive me. And anyway, who shall see her in her time of need? I could call for Liquíseleé I suppose, but I would much rather have you here. See to the snake by all means, but return to us, O Legolas my friend; else I shall at the end of my days pursue you to Mandos, and with Námo's permission give you such a dressing-down your ghostly ears shall sting for centuries!”

“Save your dressing-down for Fastred,” laughed Legolas, giving Faramir one last quick embrace, and wiping his friend’s tears away with his thumb ere returning to his packing. “He needs it more than I, I deem. And speaking of our young charges, I will take Tamin with me; ‘twould be awkward for you to leave him here, and I can at least give him unto his uncle Orophin should things go amiss.”

“Tamin will be glad to hear it,” smiled Faramir. “I know he is ever curious, and the journey will be interesting for him. I am sure he will be in paroxysms of delight when he finds out.”

“He knows already; he is listening at the door,” said Legolas, and Faramir turning in surprise saw Tamin sheepishly creep round the lintel, his cheeks scarlet and his swollen and blackened eyes streaming. “Tamin! What have I told you about listening at oaks?”

“I sought your well-being, Master,” said Tamin meekly, giving an aggrieved snuffle.

“Hm!” said Legolas; his mouth was grim, but Faramir saw his eyes were twinkling. “Well, get you to the butteries and see to the supplies. Pick up Bandobras on your way; he is good at this sort of thing and will instruct you well. And mind you do not forget to remember the salt!”

“Yes, Master!” said Tamin to his feet, and looking very low, he crept out. Legolas turned to Faramir with a jolly laugh.

“What servants I have!” he exclaimed. “They spy and sneak and connive! Thank the heavens for friends like you and Gimli, else I should be constrained to do naught but sit in my room and learn to embroider.”

“Never! You would rather climb out the window,” said Faramir. “Well let me dress at least, and give you a proper farewell in our chambers; my womenfolk will find that gratifying, and perchance I might persuade my eldest son to give unto your esquire a suitable apology ere you go.”

“I wish you all the luck of it,” said Legolas, “but I do fear me your pleas shall fall on deaf ears. Fastred sulked all evening in his rooms, and would not even speak to Théodred; he has offered neither apology nor explanation to anyone. Where did he get these fine new friends of his, Faramir?”

“Distant relatives of my Lord Father’s,” said Faramir with a grimace, turning to go. “I think me it is time to clean house; do you agree?”

“It is your house to clean,” smiled Legolas. Faramir hesitated in the doorway, his hand on the lintel; he looked very troubled. He raised his grey eyes to Legolas’ face, and Legolas shook his head and sighed.

“Let us be of good cheer, son of Denethor,” he said comfortingly.

“Be you rather of good health, son of Thranduil,” said Faramir, and walked away.

(A/N: In order to finish editing this chapter, I had to go upstairs with my laptop and lock the door of my room. I'm sure all you mothers out there can appreciate that!

Speaking of appreciation, I want all of you to give a standing ovation to my beta, Nieriel Raina! Considering everything going on, she still managed to do a bang-up job making this chapter acceptable. Please disregard any errors - they're my fault, not hers. -- Le Rouret)

The Green Knight’s departure from Osgiliath was presaged by so little ceremony that many did not realize it had occurred at all. Indeed the Lady Éowyn scarcely noted his passing, closeted with her lady’s maid and a pail and groaning of the many ills and inconveniences of childbearing; Legolas politely sent his farewells by proxy, mindful of her delicate condition. What Kaimelas had done to throw Galás off their scent, Legolas neither knew nor cared, provided that his seneschal remained ignorant long enough for them to gain the Emyn Muil.

When Faramir was told that they planned to go up the eastern route he was greatly troubled. “Through swamp and blasted land, Legolas?” he asked, dismayed. “There is hardly food to be had, and the way is treacherous; why I own it shall take you twice as long to reach your Lord Father by that route!”

“But the patrols run from the Pelennor to Cair Andros,” said Legolas. “I shall take me through the Nindalf and thus up through Sarn Gebir, avoiding detection. Twice as long it may take indeed; but I shall be delayed thrice as long if Galás finds me!”

Faramir shook his head; he did not care for the plan. “The Brown Lands are very inhospitable,” he argued, “and you shall be constrained to pass the East Bight ere you reach the Celduin.”

“I know the East Bight of old,” laughed Legolas. “Perhaps I shall find the remains of Ushtâk’s head there! Do not fear for me, friend,” he added gently, seeing Faramir was truly disturbed. “I know the way well; it is sparsely populated and seldom traveled; indeed there are few roads thereabouts. My aim is Eryn Lasgalen and Esgaroth, and to trail round following the Anduin past Carrock will be leagues out of my way, and put me at risk of recognition beside. Also do I seek to scout the land south of Esgaroth where the mountains meet the Celduin; I have hopes the few folk who eke out their living there might be willing to subject themselves to the protection of a powerful lord, Elf though he might be.”

Despite his misgiving Faramir smiled. “Ever on the look-out for your family’s realm, are you not, my friend?” he asked, amused. “Well go in peace then, and I hope for your sake you go in comfort as well.”

“It would be more cogent to advise me to return in comfort,” laughed Legolas, and kissing Faramir he took his leave.

Gimli met Legolas in his rooms. Bandobras was ordering Tamin and Kaimelas about as the last of their things were packed; the Hobbit yet thought himself the most qualified in the ordering of the Green Knight’s supplies, and he may well have been correct. The Dwarf entered the rooms, smiling at the disarray and at Bandobras holding court; he saw his friend sitting at the window and watching as Bandobras imperiously instructed Tamin on the proper folding and packaging of a linen under-shirt. On the Green Knight’s fair face was a look of bemused delight; Gimli was certain Legolas would not have given a brass piece for that linen shirt; yet he allowed his little Bandobras to accord it all the importance of a gold circlet, and Tamin complied with solemn gravity. Exchanging a surreptitious wink with Kaimelas Gimli crossed the fray, and holding up a letter to Legolas said: “The last post out of Rhovanion, Legolas; this one is for you. Argond filched it from the bag ere it could be rerouted to Dol Galenehtar.”

“Argond is a gem,” said Legolas, smiling. “Thank you, Gimli.” He broke the seal; it was the circle of leaves around the moon, set in green wax: the sigil of his father’s house. But within, the missive was penned by a feminine hand, though the writing was pretty and deceptively hard to read:

Dúrfinwen Daughter of No-One, Lone Laiquenda, Mercer of Dol Galenehtar,

To Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Green Knight of Gondor, Meddler in Other Peoples’ Love Affairs,

Greetings.

This will be brief, my lord, for I am pressed for time. The situation here is becoming intolerable and my lady is in great distress. Please do you and Lord Gimli come to Eryn Lasgalen ere something disastrous occurs! Your Lord Father is not himself, and strange events are afoot. I mistrust these Men of Esgaroth and even those of Dale; I sense treachery, and feel Thorin is wary of us. Glóin I cannot get alone, and I have not seen Frera in weeks. Belegtilion, Belias, Melima and I are in accord; we will attempt to unravel this ourselves, but hold small hope of it. Come quickly! Eryn Lasgalen has need of its prince, and Erebor of a wise counselor!

Your servant,

Dúrfinwen

Legolas read this and without comment handed it to Gimli. Bandobras and Kaimelas read it over his shoulder, the Hobbit clambering upon a chair to do so, and Tamin looked on a little plaintively, wishing his lowly status were mere lowly stature, for he was very excluded from the grown-ups’ doings. “Well, my lord,” said Kaimelas with a sigh, “if I had any thought that we went to Eryn Lasgalen precipitately, I do so no longer. From any other maid of your court, I should have dismissed this as worry-mongering, but Dúrfinwen is so rarely discommoded that I shall accord her missive full weight.”

“May I tell her you said so?” asked Bandobras with a grin. “She won’t find that mighty flattering, I must say.”

“Think you not?” smiled Kaimelas. “Well, perhaps I do not know her as well as I ought. Think you this letter sufficient to excuse your elopement to Galás, my lord? It might sway him enough to let you pass unmolested, or even to bring a score of knights alongside us.”

“It is tempting,” admitted Legolas. “But remember, Kaimelas, to my seneschal, Dúrfinwen is naught but the Little Laiquenda, the mercer of his young cousin’s demesne. Could I be assured he would realize it as weighty as you I should attempt it; but I do not wish to wait much longer to begin or it will be rising autumn by the time we reach Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Then we shall hold this letter to ourselves,” said Kaimelas, “and hope Galás forgives us eventually.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Gimli then. “It gets better my friends. Listen!”

The Elves and Bandobras attended; Gimli had a letter himself, and having broken the seal was reading it with great interest.

Gimli son of Glóin, Renowned in the Ring War, and Elf-Friend (though I am loath to admit it),

From Glóin son of Gróin his Father, Counselor to King Thorin Stonehelm of Erebor,

Greetings.

Gimli my boy, get yourself and that silly Elf-prince friend of yours up here immediately! Thranduil’s gone soft in the head, his queen has turned into a living ice sculpture, Stonehelm’s a stiff-necked idiot and if I hear Malbeach’s name ONE MORE TIME, I shall slay him and his disgusting little trollop myself. We are being ROBBED. Even Nori is disturbed, and he and Dori speak over their cups of sealing the gates. I have not been this uneasy since I courted your mother! I cannot tell you the details, for I know not whether this letter shall be apprehended; but I tell you this much: The Arkenstone is MISSING.

Come quickly! We need arbiters, and you and Legolas are the likeliest pair!

Your Father,

Glóin

There was silence as they allowed the words to sink in; then Bandobras said unsteadily, “Damn.”

“Bandobras,” chided Legolas.

“Sorry!” said Bandobras, glancing at Tamin, who looked owlishly at them all. “I mean, how very provoking! Why, if your dad’s got the wind up, Gimli, and Dúrfinwen too, seems to me we’d best hoof it double-time.” He looked over their trunks. “Think we need the armor after all, fellows?”

“Lord Faramir has given to us three heavy drafts,” said Legolas, “so we can carry as much as we like – well, barring your oven; I fear me we shall not be able to provide you with a full kitchen this time, my Bandobras! We must tighten our girths and live frugally for a time, ere this mystery is unwound.” He shook his head. “This Master of Esgaroth! I have seen some unsavory fellows claiming the title in my time, but never one who stirred up so much trouble.”

“Ought Galás to be told?” asked Kaimelas uneasily. “He is your seneschal after all, my lord, and a cousin to your father the king.”

“And what shall I tell him?” asked Legolas. “That my friend Gimli’s father thinks Thranduil Oropherion has gone mad? That his little Lord Legolas has developed a disturbing penchant for nasty terrible nightmares? Nay; let us manage this ourselves; it is arbiters that Glóin called for, not an army.”

Kaimelas grinned. “He will be furious to have missed the fun,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling.

“So he will!” said Legolas, looking very satisfied. “It always makes me to feel warm and contented when I manage to irritate him. It evens the disparity somewhat, though I own I have two hundred years’ worth of exasperation for which to pay him back; our accounts are quite disproportionate.”

“Poor Galás!” exclaimed Bandobras. “You are awful hard on him, my lord, and that’s the truth!”

“It is borne of many years of conflict,” said Legolas. “Do you not feel too sorry for him, my Bandobras!”

“And anyway, I shall instruct Nórin to soothe his breast,” said Gimli, smiling and going to a small writing desk. “He dislikes Nórin – that will be amusing, as well; I must ask Himbaláth to relate to me later how it went. I will give this letter to Argond to put in tomorrow’s post, so that it will be two weeks ere it even reaches my seneschal, and another two weeks for our seneschals to confer together concerning their missing lords. What nonsense this all is,” he added, a little irritably. “Do you remember, Legolas, how easy it was to pack a satchel and leave, ere we were saddled with our demesnes? Gold and thrones and crowns and titles are all very well but they are too heavy for me betimes.”

“For me too, Gimli,” said Legolas, folding Dúrfinwen’s letter and tucking it into his tunic. “I only hope Belegtilion keeps Dúrfinwen out of trouble. She is so impetuous, and I would not put it past her to start throwing her footwear round Esgaroth if she does not get the answers she desires!”

“If that be the case then the Master of Esgaroth need watch his head,” laughed Gimli, taking up his quill and dipping it into the well. “I do not see Dúrfinwen putting up with any of his nonsense!”

“Why do you think I want her back in my tucking-mill?” asked Legolas. “My Lady Mother may strive to keep her, but she will return to Dol Galenehtar with me, if I have to make off in the middle of the night with her!”

“And he claims he loves her not,” said Kaimelas dryly to Gimli, who snorted in laughter; Legolas merely shot his valet a dirty look, and busied himself with the trunks; though Bandobras noted to his amusement that the Lord of Dol Galenehtar looked a tad flustered, and his cheeks were very pink

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Tamin said farewell to the children of the Lord and Lady of Osgiliath in the nursery. Fastred was not present, and this cut Tamin deeply; he had hoped against reason that Fastred would relent and deign to bid him farewell; however Théodred reported with a scornful snort that his “idiot brother” was sulking in the armory and could not be bothered to show his “unshorn silly face.” Léodwyn, occupied in attending to their Lady Mother’s ailment, did not send so much as a parting missive; but Tamin did not miss that so much as Fastred’s friendship.

The nursery was a charming place, and Tamin had spent many happy hours there ere coming from Lothlórien to Ithilien. It was bright and airy, with tall narrow windows and high arched ceilings, and the stone walls had been overlaid with colored tiles and mosaics. Thick wool rugs warmed the old stone floors, and the two big fireplaces had flames crackling merrily in their grates. All round the corners was the detritus of childhood: Doll houses and rocking-horses and little carousels, wooden balls and mallets, blocks and cradles and spools on strings, cloth animals stuffed with wadding and a quantity of dented pots and pans. Now the tables and desks held more grown-up things: little mock trebuchets and big embroidery hoops, slates and chalk and charts, books and quills and parchment, recorders and pipes and music stands, and maps rolled up and set in stacks beside paints and brushes and canvases. Hísimë received him warmly, clad in a lovely dress of filmy blue; she had spent an inordinate amount of time doing up her hair in the most elaborate coils and braids, and was very proud of it; but all Tamin could think was that it was a pity it did not hang down in its soft pale ringlets round her shoulders as usual, for it was so pretty that way. He did not say this of course, for he had no wish to offend; Hísimë had been a great comfort to him the night before, tending to his wounds, and speaking kindly to him. Théodred greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, suffering Tamin’s embrace and reminding him that Tamin had to promise to bring him any interesting teeth he might find in his journeys, so that Théodred could add them to his collection. Tamin acquiesced, and sat talking with them for a time; but at last he said he had to go, and stood reluctantly, looking round the room and wondering when he would see it again. While he had been sitting and talking he had fretting at him the feeling that something was absent from the room; at first could not think what it was; at last he realized what it was he missed: Fastred’s lute, which had hung for many years on a hook in the eastern corner. There was Hísimë’s viol hanging proud and gleaming, its lion’s head neck staring balefully down at him, but the hook beside it was sadly empty. This was a reminder to Tamin how Fastred had so terribly changed, and he gave a disconsolate sigh. Seeing this, Hísimë took him by the hand and smiled sadly up at him.

“Dear Tamin!” she said gently, touching his cheek with her fingers. “I know that you are sad for my brother’s sake, and this but reveals to me further how kind and temperate is your spirit, for he has treated you shamefully. O! How many are the trials visited upon us by friends, for how inconstant are their hearts!” She sighed then, and looked very low, and Tamin forgetting his own misery grasped her slim little hands in his own and kissed them.

“Hísimë,” he said earnestly, “you must always, always believe that I shall never, ever treat you as they have so carelessly done! O but I should be a terrible person indeed who would dare disparage your dear heart, for how gentle and tender you are! How Halgond and Léodwyn and Fastred could act in this fashion! And how disappointed and wounded you are by their callous injuries! Let the offense rather sit upon my heart, O Hísimë, so that I might in some small way relieve you of this pain, for I should rather hurt myself than to have you hurt!”

Hísimë blushed then, very prettily Tamin thought, and casting her eyes down bit one rosy lip. “Tamin,” she stammered, her cheeks scarlet; then dislodging her hands from his, she fumbled with the clasp of the silver chain round her neck. Removing it she pressed it into his palm, gazing up into his eyes earnestly.

“Take this with you,” she said breathlessly, closing his fingers upon it. “It is the moonstone amulet Queen Undómiel gave to me when I was first presented at the court in Minas Tirith. Moonstones are a boon to travelers you know, O Tamin; perchance this might aid you as you traverse the many leagues so terribly far from our homes in Ithilien.”

“Rather will the remembrance of your sweet constancy aid me,” said Tamin with a smile, holding the moonstone to his breast. “Thank you, O Hísimë; this is a lovely and costly gift! I swear that I shall return it to you as soon as I can!”

“While we are on the subject of gift-giving,” said Théodred a little loudly, feeling as though the two ignored him. “I have a good pocket-knife here for you, Tamin, that I got from the Dwarves in Aglarond. See how cunning it is? There is a spring, or a hinge or something, and you fold the blade into the handle so you might put it in your pocket and not cut through your clothes, or your hands either. Is it not ingenious? I was going to give it you for your birthday; but I thought you might be gone still, and anyway I cannot remember when your birthday is. So here is your birthday present, Tamin; I hope you kill something with it!”

“How clever it is!” exclaimed Tamin, delighted. “Thank you, Théodred! With gifts such as these shall my journey be lightened indeed! For the one strengthens my hand, and the other my soul, and though I have naught to give to you in return, O children of Lord Faramir, I shall give instead this promise, that as soon as I am able I shall return to you with gifts aplenty – if my Master allows me, that is. O how fortunate am I to have friends like you, Théodred, Hísimë; my heart is heavy because I am leaving you, but I feel better knowing I am placed so prominently in your thoughts.”

Théodred stood with his hands in his pockets as Hísimë gave to Tamin a genteel kiss and then dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and then he allowed Tamin to embrace him. But as Tamin turned to go, Hísimë gathered up her courage and grasped the Elf by the hand, and when he looked back inquiringly at her, she kissed his cheek, her face scarlet, and stammered: “Return safely, Tamin!” Then overcome, she fled from them to her dressing room, shutting the heavy pearwood door with a loud and very unladylike bang. Tamin stared after her a moment, bewildered; Théodred snorted and said to Tamin:

“Come back quickly to be my sibling in place, will you, Tamin? It seems both Fastred and Hísimë have gone silly, and I think you and I are the only young folk in Osgiliath who are not become completely potty.”

“I will be back, Théodred,” promised Tamin, and pocketing his gifts, he hurried away.

He exited the west wing and trotted across one of the many little courtyards that honeycombed the citadel of Osgiliath, startling roosting doves and ducking through the low lintel into the darkness of the neighboring hall. When he reached the sunny brightness of a window seat he paused, and dug round in his tunic pocket until he found his gifts. He opened and shut the knife, admiring its Dwarven runes and smiling at its cunning; then returning it to his pocket, he took the chain of the amulet and clasped it about his neck. It hung pendulous and weighty, gleaming in the sunshine, its twisting metal throwing back the light and the smooth stones their color. The moonstone was girded in heavy silver, and topped with an onyx; on either side were citrines, and at its bottom teardrop glimmered green a tiny peridot. “Moonstones for travelers,” thought Tamin, running his thumb over the smooth cabochon surface. “I do not know the significance of the other stones save citrine, which dispels bad dreams. O how I wish my Master could wear this! But Hísimë gave it to me; I will wear it, and think of her.” He sighed, his heart heavy; he knew Halgond had been very dear to the daughter of Éowyn, and no one seemed to mark how this betrayal affected her as well. “They are all in a dither over Fastred,” he thought, his heart growing cold with anger. “Hísimë is so quiet; no one ever thinks of her, the poor dear thing.”

He glanced out the window; spring was in full blow, and the sun gleamed on the shivering river; reflected in its dark depths were the willows, pink and white and flowing, and low bushes filled with fragrant yellow flowers. He loved Ithilien; he had never been as far north as the Hall of the Elvenking and wondered what it would be like, so far from home. “Well, I survived the trek from Lothlórien,” he thought, “and found I liked Dol Galenehtar quite a lot better than Caras Galadhon; perhaps I shall like Eryn Lasgalen too … only not so well as Dol Galenehtar of course, for my Master lives there no longer, and it is but his Lord Father and not my Master who rules there.”

With a sigh he turned from the window; then paused; he saw down the dim hallway a figure walking toward him, tall and dark. His sharp eyes descried the visage in the gloom, and he was filled anew with anger: Fastred son of Faramir approached, yet ignorant to his erstwhile friend’s presence, for his eyes were not so good as Tamin’s, and he could not see him in the gloomy allure walk.

Tamin could have presented a blandly polite countenance to Fastred, or even fixed him with eyes brimming with sorrow; these might have made Fastred to relent, for he was sore in heart and greatly troubled on Tamin’s account. However the fire woken in Tamin’s young breast flared hotter, and Tamin thought angrily to himself: “Fastred shall see that I do not care; I will show him I am not to be treated thus!” And he proceeded down the hall, golden head held proudly.

Fastred started when he saw Tamin approach; his eyes flickered and his cheeks flushed red. “Tamin,” he began, then stammered to a halt, undone. He had never before seen such cold hatred in those beloved grey eyes, and the bruises on Tamin’s dear fair face rebuked him. Overwhelmed with guilt and embarrassment Fastred’s anger blazed anew, and he said sullenly: “I – I was looking for you.”

Tamin did not pause, but walked by Fastred, chin high. “I cannot imagine why,” he said frostily.

“I wanted to speak with you,” said Fastred angrily. “Do not walk away from me! I have something to say to you!”

Tamin stopped, but did not turn; Fastred could only see his profile faintly, glowing in the darkness of the inner hall. “I have been in the same room all night, and in my Master’s chambers all morning,” he said, his voice very aloof. “You ought to have come to me and spoken then. It is too late now; we are leaving anon.”

Even then, had Fastred pled with him, Tamin would have turned, for he was soft in heart; but Fastred was stung and indignant and said nothing. So Tamin went on his way, leaving Fastred alone and seething in the darkness.

(A/N: Many thanks to those of you who have expressed sympathy during our time of bereavement. And many apologies to those of you who had no idea why I took such a long hiatus! Things have settled down, and my muse, no stranger to grief, is back. As usual, I owe all the readability of this chapter to my fantastic beta, Nieriel Raina. – Le Rouret)

Chapter 12 Esgaroth

The verdant fields of wheat and barley were no more. As the Green Knight and his party passed through the southern fiefdoms of Esgaroth, they saw naught but charred earth, and the ruins of farmsteads and small villages. Betimes they came across crows picking at some long-rotted carcass – a cow, or a horse; the occasional sheep – but other than those black carrion birds, they saw no signs of life.

They crossed the Celduin, the rich dark border of Eryn Lasgalen rising upon the hills to their left, and when the sun set, its coral rays ignited the canopy of leaves and set it shimmering. To Legolas it seemed that the trees of his home were afire; perhaps this stimulated his inner mind, for the next few nights he dreamt of Eryn Lasgalen aflame, his father’s people trapped in their cavernous home, smoke-filled, fire-girt, and ever whispering in the dark corners and dim reaches of the cold dark stone … Crawl, harlot … crawl …

Legolas did not sleep at all for three days, and the rest he had achieved in the soft grass by the pond lost its efficacy. He became again bone-weary, sandy-eyed, distracted and unheeding of his friends. Mindful of his short temper he held his tongue, not wishing the ones he loved to be the victims of his own poor spirits, and Gimli and Kaimelas humored him, not pestering him for any decision-making or conversation, but letting him simply follow along with them, slumped on Hammer’s broad back, drooping, his eyes vacant. Tamin and Bandobras watched him worriedly, but borrowing from Gimli and Kaimelas’ wisdom likewise let him be.

They crossed over a small stream, which in times past had been deep and bounded with trees; now however the trees were torn and broken down, and though the stream still flowed the banks were rutted and muddy. Legolas roused himself and studied it, his lips pursed; then he looked thoughtfully up past the bank at the palisades of the village beyond, peeping through the thick pine boughs. Wordlessly the little troupe rose up out of the low ruined stream, and approached the village, dismounting at the guard box. The big log gate was torn from its hinges, and within they could see the streets and houses. No smoke from woodfires; no chatter of matrons nor laughter of children; no lowing of cattle or bleating of sheep: All was very quiet, and the fields around the palisade were empty. Legolas said slowly: “’Twere worrisome enough to see the poor farmers to the south gone, but this village was rich and prosperous. What has occurred to drive out the people so?”

“Well, whatever it is we’re a-riding right into it,” said Bandobras grimly, loosening his sword-belt. “Think we should poke round a bit, see what’s doing?”

They all fell silent, listening; the Elves turned their heads to and fro, frowning; at last Kaimelas said: “I hear nothing, and smell nothing save the faintest scent of decay.”

“A dead body?” asked Gimli, turning to him.

“Vegetable matter,” said Legolas, giving a definitive sniff. “And sour milk.”

Tamin wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful, Master.”

“Most likely their storerooms then,” said Bandobras. “A crime, to let good food go to waste like that.”

“Should we go inside, Master?” asked Tamin, gesturing toward the village. “Perhaps there is someone here who needs our aid.”

“If they’re putting up with the smell of sour milk they’ll need more help than we can give ‘em,” said Bandobras. “But I think it’s worth a look-see, gents.”

They dismounted, and led their horses within the palisade. “Stay here, my children,” said Legolas to the beasts; they huddled together, nervous, watching him with whitened eyes. “I know,” he added, patting Hammer’s big whiskery nose. “It troubles me as well, my friend.” Hammer whickered, and lipped at his master’s hands; Legolas absently scratched his ears, and said: “Watch out for them, my Hammer; bellow if aught occurs.” Hammer flicked his big ears forward, then raised his large head, alert. Satisfied, Legolas turned to his friends. “Well, shall we split up, or keep together?” he asked with a grim smile. “Either prospect is daunting; for if we separate and something occurs, we might not get to the others in time; however if we are all together and are set upon, how do we know if one might escape?”

“I think the horses have it right – don’t you, Isilmë?” said Tamin, throwing his arms round his little stallion’s neck; Isilmë blew into his hair and grunted. “We ought rather to stay together; there is more strength in numbers.”

“Wisdom from the young!” said Bandobras. “And me being yet younger I must say, gentlemen, I’m all for it. Don’t let’s split up; this place has a nasty feel to it.”

“It does,” agreed Legolas, shuddering. “All round us the sun shines, the breezes blow, the houses stand and the palisade surrounds us – and yet – it is disquieting.”

They were all silent a moment, standing and shifting uncomfortably on their feet, much like the horses were; then Gimli clapped his hands together briskly and said: “Well! No more of this chary hesitation; let us get on with it! I vote we find the biggest house in the village, for that will be the elder’s; I warrant we shall discover more answers there than in one of these little outer hovels.”

“Perhaps,” said Legolas. He looked round and said: “Kaimelas, this village has changed much since last I was here; do you remember where the elder’s house might be?”

“It is usually near the central square,” said Kaimelas. “The streets are dirt, but I do not think me they have changed their design – Down this alleyway, and on the second left. There is a fountain there where the ladies gossip.”

“Let us go there then,” said Legolas. Taking his bow and one arrow from his quiver, he held them loosely in his hands, and said with a wry smile: “Just in case!” Kaimelas and Tamin followed suit, and Bandobras and Gimli kept their hands on their hilts.

The alley was dark and dank, and smelt of mold. Great slimy puddles accrued in the darker corners and the footing was slippery. The closer they got to the middle of the village, the wetter the ground became; and when they gained the second left turning Kaimelas had spoken of, a small rivulet of muddy, oily water was cutting a trench down the middle of the alley. “Oi! Watch your steps,” said Bandobras, grimacing. “What nasty stuff! Wish I had myself some boots.”

“They do not help much,” said Kaimelas, making a face and lifting one foot; his low soft boots were covered to the ankles in the green-gray slime. “What is this stuff? It is like some horrible jelly!”

They slogged round the corner into the center courtyard. It had in times past been a pleasant place, cobbled and surrounded by large houses with big gardens, and merchants’ windows and carts. In the middle of it had at one time stood a big urn-shaped fountain, round which the matrons of the village would go to draw water and tell tales on their neighbors. But the urn had been broken down, and the walls of the fountain smashed; it was thence the gray oily water discharged, bubbling greasily up from the churned, rock-strewn earth. There were deep marks in the cobblestones, as though someone had taken a huge barrel and dragged it all round the square, pulling up the pavers and knocking over trees and the low garden walls. All the houses stood, but the doors were open and the windows dark; there was no sound save the plopping, gurgling liquid in the middle of the square.

“What in heaven’s name happened here?” exclaimed Bandobras. “What a mess!”

“O Master,” said Tamin suddenly, grasping Legolas’ sleeve. “I am afraid!”

“My Tamin,” said Legolas, taking his white-faced esquire in his arms. “There is nothing here. Listen! There is no life; there is nothing here to hurt you.”

“All the same I am afraid, Master,” said Tamin, burying his face in his Master’s breast. He was trembling and very cold. “This is an evil place – I feel it in my very bones! O do not let us go on – let us get out – out!”

“We are here; we might as well find out what has happened,” said Kaimelas comfortingly. “Come, little Tamin! We are all here with you; you are not alone, and we will not let anything hurt you. Just you stay with us and you will be well.”

Legolas turned to him, his eyes twinkling despite his concern. “I do seem to recall you gave that self-same speech to a certain young Elf on his first night mission against Ungoliant’s issue,” he said, stroking Tamin’s head. “And from what I might remember, you were correct – we routed the filthy beasts, and came home victorious, with nary a mark on us.”

“There, Tamin; you see?” said Bandobras, patting Tamin’s back. “It’s all right to be scared, boy; but don’t let it stop you doing what needs to be done. This here village was full o’ folk once, and kids and mothers and maidens and farmers and such. Something’s gone and done ‘em in somehow, and it’s up to the likes of us, Tamin, to find out who done it, and whack ‘em but good.”

“You are right, of course, Bandy,” said Tamin, pulling out of Legolas’ embrace and straightening his tunic. “I am so sorry, Master, for delaying us! For now I see it is by succumbing to my fear, and not the fear itself, which causes distress. I am better now, Master; and I shall follow you wherever you go.”

“Very well then, my Little One,” smiled Legolas, kissing the crown of Tamin’s golden head. “Then follow me into that big mansion there, across the courtyard – I can see something strange on the outer wall.”

They crossed the cracked and ruined cobblestones and stepped cautiously over the ruins of the fountain. The water bubbled out sluggishly, thick and greasy, and the footing was treacherous. In one deep curved trench the water was especially viscous, and there was something floating in it; Kaimelas took a stick, and fished it out: it was the sleeve of a woman’s dress, embroidered and very fine, though the points had been ripped out of the eyes. It dripped disconsolately down, coated in the greenish slime, mocking the shape of the arm it once graced.

“I do not like the looks of this,” said Gimli into the silence.

“I haven’t liked the looks of anything since we left that little pond in the dingle,” said Bandobras. “I’m thinking we otter of stayed there.”

“O Bandy, we ought not to have done that,” said Tamin, shocked. “Why, then we would not know anything that was happening here, and so would not be able to help anyone, or to fix anything! We should just have sat there and eaten ducks and fish and gotten fat!”

“There’s worse things nor that,” said Bandobras airily, giving Kaimelas a sly wink. “Ignorant people can be right content, you know.”

“But how could one be content?” cried Tamin. “We should never have discovered anything about anything!”

“That’s ignorance for you!” said Bandobras with grim cheer. “Does nothing, thinks nothing, goes nowhere. And I’m a-thinking we might be up for a spell o’ that when we’re done with this here mess.”

“Now is not the time for it however,” said Legolas severely. “Hush! See, someone has written words upon that wall!”

They crept carefully up to the house. It was a large mansion, brick-fronted, with a high front step and the remains of a pretty flower-garden in front. It had at one time pots and urns of roses and other plants surrounding its plinth, but whatever had torn up the courtyard cobblestones had done its work here too; now the clay pots and stone terraces were broken down, and covered in the same gray muck. The door had been torn from its hinges, and lay on the ground; it had been a pretty oak door once, carven with ivy and bellflowers; but it had been dented and much scored, as though scraped with many axes and hammers. Over the lintel someone had etched rough words:

WARE LEST THE MASTER GET YOU

They all read this, then turned round about, looking to make sure no one else was in the square; it was however as quiet and empty as before.

“Did I say before I did not like the looks of this?” asked Gimli, taking out his small axe. “I change my opinion; I like this even less; in fact my liking for this is less now to such an extent that my previous dislike but a minor twinge by comparison.”

There was a steely hiss; Legolas had drawn his sword, and put his foot on the stoop. He turned back to them; his bright eyes were shadow-rimmed, and his face pale, but he was tall and resolute, and shone against the darkness of the interior. “Let us go in,” he said. “Perhaps we might find who this master is, that we ought fear so assiduously.” Turning he went inside, his pale head a beacon in the dark doorway; then the gloom surrounded him and grew the darker, the further he penetrated the shadows, until he disappeared.

“Wait!” cried Gimli, and leapt in behind him, fearing some treachery. But when his eyes had adjusted to the shadowy room he saw Legolas standing within, looking round, his sword long and bright, his face attentive. “Gimli,” he said, turning. “Look.”

Gimli looked round the room while the others filed cautiously in. The furniture was all in place, though it was very dirty, and there appeared to be a lot of wine spilt upon the floor; it had soaked into the hall carpet, a dark, blood-red stain. The hearth was cold and dark, but among the grey embers were the shattered and half-melted remains of green glass.

Kaimelas knelt at the hearth, and poked the old clinkers with his finger. “It looks as though they had some sort of celebration,” he said. He worried a slagged bottle from the mess and held it up, suspended upon his forefinger by the neck. “Dorwinion!” he said. “They have good taste.”

“Now you sound like Galion,” said Legolas with a grin. Kaimelas gave him an arch look.

“Do you attempt to insult me?” he asked, putting the bottle back.

“Is that not likewise an insult to poor Galion? And he unable to defend himself.” Legolas walked through to the back of the room, kicking aside a small bundle. He paused, looked down at it, then nudged it with the tip of his sword. “Ai,” he breathed, and kneeling held it up. It was the match of the sleeve Kaimelas had fished out of the muck in the courtyard, likewise torn at the shoulder. “This bodes ill,” he said; he sounded angry. Gimli stumped over and took the sleeve from him, frowning.

“Why?” asked Tamin. “It is only a lady’s sleeve.”

Bandobras shot Tamin a careful look. “Well, a pretty bauble like that; no lady would leave it behind a-purpose,” he said, exchanging wary glances with Kaimelas. “I think Gimli’s right, gents; let’s see what’s left in this house, and hoof it right quick. I don’t like it here.”

“Nor do I,” said Kaimelas. He turned round about cautiously, his black eyes flashing. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” asked Gimli.

“What is it?” asked Tamin, sniffing. “I have smelt it ere entering this house. I do not think I have smelt it before. It is sour – “

A strange look crossed Kaimelas’ face, and glancing at Tamin said to Bandobras: “Wait you here with Tamin, will you not, good Hobbit? We three shall head down this hall here to see what we may see.”

Bandobras’ raised eyebrows were eloquent, but he nodded, seeing Kaimelas’ cautious glance at the little Elfling; and he and Tamin stood together in the dark room and watched Legolas, Gimli, and Kaimelas creep warily down the dark hallway. There were a few bumps from Gimli, and a low cautionary whisper from Legolas; then a shuffling noise, and soft speech. Legolas gave an exclamation of dismay, then Gimli cried: “Look at all the stains! What did they do; take every maid in the village?” Kaimelas hushed them both, and they returned, looking very strange. Gimli and Legolas were white with anger, and Kaimelas flush with it; and clutched tightly in Legolas’ fist was a shackle, rusty and bent. Tamin had rarely seen his Master so furious, and was afraid; Bandobras, more used to the Green Knight’s moods, simply put two and two together, and came up with prudence.

“I take it there’s naught living to rescue,” he said, his heart in his toes.

“And naught of virtue either,” said Legolas; his voice trembled with wrath. He cast the shackle with sudden violence into the mirror over the mantle; the glass shattered into a million shards, making a terrible noise. “Men!” he spat, his mouth working furiously; then without another word he strode out of the house.

They scampered after him, and found him standing in the muck in the center of the square, eyes guarded, chin raised. A sluggish breeze stirred the long pale tendrils of his hair, like golden snakes writhing round his face; he raised one hand to them for silence. But then the air was rent by a great bellow, and the answering whinny of a strange horse; and even Gimli then could hear Men’s voices without, calling and shouting.

“Damn and blast!” muttered Bandobras, drawing his sword. “And here we’re stuck in this rabbit’s warren of a village!”

“They may not be the perpetrators of these vile acts, but passers-by only,” said Kaimelas, though he fitted an arrow to his string.

“That is optimism for you!” said Gimli, hefting his axe. “So what do you say, good Kaimelas? Shall we question them before or after we attack them?”

“Hold!” snapped Legolas. “Go back into the house. Kaimelas, stand by the back door. Gimli and Bandobras, stand behind me. Tamin, remain behind Gimli and Bandobras. If these Men are our friends then we might exit without fear; however if it is a fight they want, we shall at least have a place to which they may lay siege.”

“Or set fire to,” muttered Bandobras under his breath, but only Tamin heard him.

“I will bolt the shutters as I go,” said Kaimelas, and dashed back into the mansion. They heard him slamming shutters and throwing bolts, and giving the occasional curse; then he called out, and they followed him in.

Tamin was very excited; he found he was not frightened at all, only terribly curious, and eager for blood. “I suppose it is because I have fought Men before,” he thought; “this is not some unknown menace upon us!” He heard Isilmë then, and spared an anguished thought for his little white horse; but Isilmë did not sound as though he were afraid or in pain, only irritated. “That is likely a good sign,” Tamin thought; then peering over Bandobras’ curly head and round his Master’s elbow, he saw a large group of armed Men enter the courtyard.

They were led by a tall, broad-shouldered Man in a scarlet doublet, much embroidered and embellished with gold and gems. He wore on his dark head a low cap studded with precious stones, and held in his hand a long spear adorned with a fluttering red pennant. His hair was long and luxuriant, and dark as night; though some stars sparkled in the curls, and his eyes and mouth were lined with the care of years. He would have been handsome, Tamin thought, near as handsome as Mardil of Ethring, had his eyes not been so dead; they were black, like Kaimelas’ eyes, but instead of the lively sparkle therein, it was more as though one looked into a dark well, bottomless and cold. Tamin shivered, and hoped the Man were foe not friend; he did not think he would want a friend with eyes like that.

The Man and his soldiers, twenty in all, approached the house, looking round and seeming very at ease; then the Man in red started, for he had seen Legolas standing tall and menacing in the doorway. His Men cried in alarm, but the Man in red simply paused for a moment, those dead eyes calculating; then he put a small stiff smile on his lips, and holding up one hand in parley said:

“Thus is my good fortune made complete today; for I came to this village seeking to put down a vile rebellion; but lo! See what I behold! It is the Prince of Mirkwood!”

Legolas spoke not, but stood still and silent beneath the lintel; the soldiers exclaimed at this, but at a gesture from the Man in red they put their weapons away and stood attentively by. The Man approached, still with hand upheld; he walked warily, though he did not seem afraid but merely watchful. When he had reached the border of the ruined garden, Legolas stirred.

“You appear to have the advantage, O Man,” he said; his voice was cool. “Who are you, who address the only son of the Elvenking with such familiarity?”

The Man hesitated, and a dark flicker passed across his face; then the unctuous smile returned, and flinging out one leg he gave to the Green Knight an elaborate bow, his hand upon his breast. “Forgive me, O your highness!” he said smoothly. “In my delight to encounter an Elf of such standing and importance so unexpectedly, no doubt my manners have gone wool-gathering with my wits. And you have no need, O Prince above princes, to confirm to me what mine eyes have told me already; for who else would you be, but the beloved child of Thranduil Oropherion and the remarkable Edlothiel of Mirkwood? Indeed I aver no Elf in Middle-earth could hold a candle to the likes of you, who shine in beauty and power and dignity, eclipsing the sun in heaven and the stars likewise with your radiance and might!”

“Very prettily said,” said Gimli dryly. “But the radiant prince awaits yet your name, O Man.”

“And I shall give it him, O Gimli Lord of Aglarond,” said the Man with a broad smile, bowing to Gimli too, though not as deeply. “And to Bandobras the Halfling of the Shire who dwells also in Dol Galenehtar. May I not win favor with so prestigious a trio, by proving your valor precedes you, and I am not ignorant of your grace and deeds? Though I do not know the truly – “ he paused, and flicked his tongue out to touch his lips. “ – delightful Elven child behind you.” He regarded Tamin thoughtfully with those dead dark eyes; Tamin shivered beneath his regard. “As pretty as maids, are the little boys of the Firstborn!”

“You have no need to give to me your name,” said Legolas, a little sharply. “You are Malbeach, the Master of Esgaroth.”

Malbeach smiled up at him, his eyes hooded. “I surely would have remembered had we met before, your highness,” he said silkily.

“As with mine own, your reputation precedes you,” said Legolas; Malbeach’s eyes flickered, but the smile remained fixed upon his lips.

“Indeed? Then we are most fortunate, O Legolas of Dol Galenehtar; for we are so well-acquainted though we have never laid eyes upon each other’s faces before! Be friends with me then, and come back to Esgaroth with us! Long has it been ere the resplendent Prince of Mirkwood beheld the Long Lake; I am sure he will find the city much changed and improved, and its denizens eager to welcome him, and to satisfy his every whim and appetite.”

“That is a generous invitation,” said Legolas. “But were you not engaged in subduing an uprising? Though it seems strange to me you should come out yourself, O Master of Esgaroth, on such a paltry mission, when a troop of men could accomplish the destruction of this village without resorting to the risk of losing their elected Master.”

“Well, O Legolas, Prince of princes,” smiled Malbeach; “you ought to know yourself, as a leader of many, that sometimes it is easier to do a thing yourself than to simply send out many men to do it for you.”

“That is so,” Legolas conceded with a small smile. “And have you succeeded in suppressing this insurrection?”

Malbeach looked round the village square, at the destruction of the fountain and the mud-pit in the center of the cobblestones. “I do fear me I have not,” he said, affecting a look of pity, though he rubbed his hands together as though he were pleased. “Such brigands, such violence! A great shame it is, that folk think they can flout the law so, and visit destruction upon their fellow Men.”

“A shame indeed,” said Legolas.

“But the trail is cold,” said Malbeach, and came forward to the stoop, looking up at the Green Knight with a wide smile. His dark eyes gazed steadily up into Legolas’, and the Elf went very still; all was quiet. “Come back with us,” Malbeach said; his voice was low and smooth, warm and soft as satin. “We are having a tournament tonight – just a little joust – your prowess at the tilt is legendary, O Legolas the Magnificent. The prize – a favor from my lady’s hand.”

There was the slightest sound from the group of Men behind him, like someone stifling a laugh; Legolas stirred restlessly, and said, his voice thick as treacle:

“It would be – impolite – for me to refuse.” He glanced down at Gimli, his eyes drooping a little as though he were weary; but when he exchanged glances with the Dwarf he straightened his shoulders and turned round to Malbeach again, and spoke with decision.

“Let us collect our things and the rest of our party,” he said. “We will come with you to Esgaroth, and I shall set the lists to please your lady.”

“Excellent!” Malbeach gave a wide smile, showing all his teeth. “I will tell my men to clear the way for you then.” And he turned back to his men, speaking under his breath to them; they all attended carefully to him, though a few were giving Legolas and his party dark looks, as though they begrudged them the time. “Legolas!” Gimli hissed under his breath; “what are you thinking? Esgaroth from all we have heard is the center of the trouble hereabouts, and from what we have seen, there is more trouble than the five of us can readily manage! Do you propose we ride straight to the lion’s mouth?”

“What would you have me do, my friend?” Legolas replied, rubbing his eyes; his shoulders drooped and he looked strained. “They outnumber us ten to one, and have our horses; besides this house though fronted with brick is made of wood and they could burn us to ashes if they wished. We will go with them, but cautiously; remember however that the closer we draw to Esgaroth, the closer we are to my father and yours.”

“Kaimelas ain’t going to like this one little bit,” said Bandobras. He gestured with his chin to Tamin. “Come on, boy; let’s let him know what’s what. And you watch yourself with that there Malbeach,” he added under his breath as they went down the back hall. “I don’t trust him one bit, that I don’t! He’s got ‘liar’ writ all over his silly face.”

“Really?” said Tamin in a low voice. He glanced back to the open doorway; his Master and Gimli were dark against the bright sunlight, and Legolas was bent over, speaking earnestly to the Dwarf in a whisper. “What does my Master do to liars, Bandobras?”

“Cuts off their heads, he does,” grinned Bandobras with a wink, and together they went to collect Kaimelas.

A/N: I know, I know ... "Finally!" you all say. I apologize; the combination of working and having my child out for the summer break is really wreaking havoc on my writing time! Here it is, though; I hope you enjoy it. And if you find anything wrong, just so you know, it is not my beta's fault. Nieriel Raina does a superlative job and ought to be canonized for her work. -- Le Rouret

Chapter 14. The Joust

In times past, when the Prince of Mirkwood had occasion to visit Lake Town, it was a jolly affair; he would come down with his watermen to collect the barrels, or betimes ride in after the hunt, and the merry folk of Esgaroth would greet him gladly, for he bore gifts of tales and laughter and song, and sometimes sweets for the children. And of course the son of the Elvenking was welcome anyway, for did he not succor the folk of the town when danger and famine threatened? Old graybeards and crones alike would wag their heads and chuckle over reminiscences of the coming of the Prince of Mirkwood, for then would the young Men seek his favor, and the maidens his ever-indifferent eye; and the Masters of Esgaroth were eager for his friendship, for it came easily to the Prince, far easier than to the Elvenking certainly; and all the Masters knew that to befriend Legolas son of Thranduil was to gain an ear to the throne of Mirkwood.

But it was not so when Legolas rode into Lake Town this time, Malbeach, clad in splendid scarlet, at his side. The guards at the palisade saluted them, but the few folk hanging round the gate drew back, eyes cautious, and he saw several women hurry into their houses, shutting and bolting their doors behind them. The streets were quiet, when ever before they had been full of bustling, busy people; there were no children out, and no old gaffers gossiping on the stoops; the inn was boarded up, and the merchants were not hawking. The lake was quiet enough, but there were no fishing boats out; only barges seen faintly in the distance, their black sails limp. There was no song nor speech nor sound of work, save from the smithy, which appeared to be very busy shoeing horses and repairing weaponry, which Legolas found ominous. When they arrived at Malbeach’s Hall, splendidly got up with gilt and paint on the columns and with a new stout door, a group of Men lounging on the steps scattered before the eyes of the Master, and his soldiers laughed contemptuously at their backs.

Malbeach offered rooms to the Green Knight and his retainers. “You will be comfortable here,” he said with a smile, his dark eyes glittering. “And your presence shall be an honor to my household.” Legolas looked on the verge of declining, for he did not wish to show favoritism during such strange times; but Malbeach insisted, looking deep into the Elf’s eyes, and Legolas reluctantly agreed.

Gimli and Kaimelas were very unhappy with the arrangement. The chambers given them were low-beamed and dingy, and the Hall was eerily quiet; there were not even any servants about to aid them in bringing their things in, and the stables were certainly not up to Tyarmayél’s exacting standards. “I do not like this place,” Kaimelas declared as he banged Legolas’ trunk open, and rummaged around angrily for his lord’s arming doublet. “And I do not like this fellow. I do not believe him when he says he knows not who drove the folk out of that village. I am sure he and his Men did it themselves.”

“There is no proof of that save our own suspicions,” said Gimli practically, buffing Legolas’ splendid green cuirass with a bit of lambskin. “Simply because a Man is unctuous and flattering does not mean he is a murderer and a – well, a murderer,” he finished a little weakly, glancing at Tamin, who was eagerly helping Kaimelas unpack. Tamin had not seen the Green Knight joust in several years and was very excited by the prospect, regardless of the circumstances; he scarcely attended his elders’ conversation, intent on laying out his Master’s clothes. “He may indeed be a murderer,” said Gimli, “and he strikes me as a liar too. What I dislike about him is his face.”

“Well he can hardly help how he looks, can he?” asked Bandobras, leaning casually against the high-posted bed and watching Tamin’s work with a critical eye; he yet felt his esquirely duties and did not think Tamin took as much care with Legolas’ clothes as he ought. “I think his face is fine, except for his eyes. Awful creepy-crawly, I got when I looked at him. Like staring into the face of a dead man.”

“Why ever did you agree to stay here, anyway, Legolas?” asked Gimli, setting the cuirass on the bed and fetching out the pauldrons. “It is unlike you to let a mere Man persuade you to something repugnant.”

“O I do not know, Gimli!” said Legolas wearily. He lay on the low straw tick, his limbs cast carelessly out, one arm over his face; he was very pale, and had dark circles under his bright gray eyes. “It seemed easier to consent, and I am too tired to argue.”

“Are you too tired to joust too, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously, pattering over to Legolas’ side and putting a small hand on his Master’s shoulder. “If you are too tired to joust then you should not joust, for if you joust and are too tired then perhaps one of the other jousters will knock you off of Hammer’s back and you will fall and dent your armor, and Gimli will be angry at you! O do not let Gimli be angry at you, Master; if you are too tired to joust then you should not joust at all, and then only Malbeach will be angry at you and he does not matter a lick, not compared to Gimli anyway.”

Bandobras suffered then a coughing-fit, to which Kaimelas politely attended with a drink of water from his flask. Legolas raised his arm from his face, and smiled at Tamin, his grey eyes twinkling.

“I am never too tired to joust, my Tamin!” he assured his esquire, squeezing the boy’s hand. “Why just you put my armor on, and place the lance in my hand, and all weariness shall fall from me, like water from the back of a swan.”

“Truly, Master?” asked Tamin, brightening. “O but I would like that very much, Master, to see you at the lists in your splendid armor upon Hammer, charging down the tilt all rattly-bangy, and then you place your coronel right in the center of the other fellow’s breast plate and whang! Down he goes with a crash!” He laughed delightfully, clapping his hands together and jumping up and down in his excitement. “O will you do that, then, Master? Will you joust and knock the other Men down? O please do say that you shall; for I shall be ever so gratified if you do! It is an honor for me to be your esquire anyway, Master, but should you win the tourney shall my station be elevated fourscore!”

“I will do my best, Little One,” promised Legolas with a smile, sitting up slowly and stretching. “O but I am weary! I shall sleep well to-night I warrant, after a joust and a feast.” He bounced a little on his pallet and made a face. “What a shame it is straw,” he said a little disconsolately.

“You are spoilt, your highness,” said Kaimelas with disapproval. “Why, where is the Elf who would go for a fortnight without sleep, and then take only cat-naps on the hard cold earth?”

“A cogent question!” said Gimli sternly, putting his fists on his hips and frowning at his friend. “Forty days did we travel from Rivendell to Caradhras, and nary a wink of sleep did I see you catch! Why, Samwise asked me when we gained Hollin if Elves slept at all; for he had been watching you closely, to see if you rested, and complained he never saw you with your eyes shut.”

“And he asked you?” asked Legolas, his eyes twinkling. “You, to whom I would not even pass the time of day? Why ever would Samwise do such a silly thing? For naïve he most certainly was, but our Samwise Gamgee was never silly.”

“No more he is now,” said Bandobras stoutly, pulling on his pipe. “Mayor of Hobbiton, he is, you know, my lord, and though I aver there’s silly folk who attain to that position, the charge of silliness can’t never be set on the likes of Samwise Gamgee!”

“I do like how my lord throws us all off his scent, however,” said Kaimelas sternly, shaking his head at the Green Knight. He went to where his lord sat, and boldly reached down, tipping the younger Elf’s face up to his own, and studying it keenly. Legolas submitted to this effrontery with amused acquiescence, smiling up at his valet. “I have never seen you so weary,” declared Kaimelas, his dark eyes troubled. “Even in war and dearth and famine and panic are you ever the picture of health. These dreams which haunt you so are draining the very life-blood of you; it is no wonder you accede to this vile Malbeach, for you are in no condition to argue! Grant me this boon, O Legolas son of Thranduil; make no resolution, agree to no pronouncement lest Gimli, Bandobras, or I vet it first! I trust not your judgment now, for you are fatigued unto folly, as is evidenced by our current sleeping-arrangements.”

“Your boon is granted,” said Legolas tiredly, and smothered a yawn with his fist, flopping down on his back onto the musty tick and stretching like a cat interrupted in the midst of a pleasant sunshiny nap. “Ah, oh! Dress me and quickly, my friends; pack me into my armor ere I swoon, for at least then I might through its strength prop myself up, and sleep between jousts.”

“You will have your joke, won’t you, my lord?” asked Bandobras dryly. “Here, Tamin, hold hard! That’s no way to handle the pauldrons. Look, lad; I’ll show you how it’s supposed to be done!”

“Yes, Bandobras,” said Tamin meekly enough, but though he allowed Bandobras to dress his Master he did not look sanguine about it.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

The joust was to be held in a small field east of the city. To Tamin’s eyes it was a gimcrack affair, with short palisades and naught but a rickety stand for the important folk; there were no seats for the rest of the people in the town, which was just as well; few people turned out to watch, and those Men looked a close-mouthed, shifty-eyed lot anyway. There were a few pennants snapping from the flag poles in the stiff breeze, and crows were wheeling about the stand, and perching upon the canopy underneath which sat Malbeach and his Men. There were few ladies about, which Tamin thought inauspicious; for when did the ladies not love to watch the Men bash themselves up for the benefit of some feminine token? The tilt was nothing more than a long rope barrier in the middle of the list, which was alternately dusty and muddy, and much churned up by the hooves of horses. Tamin and Bandobras went back out the gate to where the Green Knight’s destrier awaited, feeling very flat. “They should of dragged that there arena,” muttered Bandobras discontentedly. “Amatoor, I call it.”

“It is not much like the fields and lists in Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, is it, Bandobras?” asked Tamin. “It is so small and rickety-looking! Why those stands look as though a stiff breeze might upset them. No wonder no one wants to come out to watch! I should be embarrassed if I were of Esgaroth. Is not Lord Faramir’s tourney ground splendid? I declare it is nicer than King Elessar’s though I suppose I ought not to say such a thing for it sounds rude and I must never be rude, especially to my Master’s friends. But I had expected better lists of these northern Men, I must say, Bandobras.”

“You ought to have seen the lists in Dale, when it was at its greatest, ere the dragon came,” said Kaimelas, working Hammer’s girth straps tight, much to the stallion’s irritation. “A great shingled stadium, with high stands for all, and a splendid royal box; the pennants bloomed like flowers from the flag-poles, and the knights were clad in marvelous kit, shining and brave.”

“Did you joust well at Dale, Kaimelas?” asked Tamin, holding Hammer’s head still. “Hush, Hammer!” he admonished the big black beast, stroking the velvety nose. “Be a good fellow, do; you must bear my Master to victory you know, and if you balk or let him be thrown there will be no carrots for you tonight!” Hammer snorted and blew, but Kaimelas tightened the cinch, and the destrier, resigned, dropped his head.

“I have never jousted,” laughed Kaimelas. “Bless me; your Master is the only Elf I have ever known to pick up the lance for fun and not war! A silly game we thought it, and beneath our dignity; though I do not deny it is rather exciting to watch, now that I have been forced into observation.”

“I do not think it beneath our dignity at all,” said Tamin, feeling offended; then espying a shining figure approach from the city he hopped excitedly on his toes and exclaimed: “Look, look! It is my Master! O does he not look splendid in his green armor? Now Kaimelas, you cannot say to me he does not look dignified like so!”

Kaimelas turned and watched his lord approach; to be sure the armor was impressive, with its dragon’s head-helm and high plume, and spreading wings on the reinforcing plates; the claws and spikes and cunningly designed scales gleamed and the red gems set as eyes in the frogsmouth glared, the teeth in the bevor snarled. Beside the Green Knight trotted Gimli Lord of Aglarond, a worried look on his face. “What is it, Lord Gimli?” asked Kaimelas; he could see his lord’s eyes, grey and weary, behind the pierced eyeslit, restlessly looking to and fro.

“There are but two other jousters,” said Gimli; he took a small piece of lambskin from his pocket and buffed a finger-mark off Legolas’ cuisse. “This will be a rout. Legolas will run straight over them.”

“How odd!” exclaimed Bandobras. “Why would Malbeach invite a knight like him to embarrass his own Men? That don’t make much sense at all.”

“It is gratifying to know you will win, Master,” said Tamin; “but it will be disappointing to not have much competition. That is not what I call a proper tilt at all.”

“Well, help me up anyway, my Tamin,” said Legolas; his voice sounded hollow and tinny in the frogsmouth. “I have conceded to this debacle; I might as well see it through!”

They helped him mount, and then heard the trumpets; Gimli said: “All right, then, Legolas! Be kind to your armor and your armorer; I do not have any of my smithy here!”

“I will do my best to prevent injury to the armor,” laughed Legolas, turning Hammer; the great black destrier snorted and pawed, eager to charge the tilt. “And if I break my collar-bone again I give you full permission to poke fun at me. Cheer me on, will you? I do fear me I shall not be very popular this eve, after I have trampled upon my rivals!”

They followed the Green Knight into the palisade. There were a few Men standing at the ropes, watching them suspiciously; they did not wave any pennants, nor seem to favor one knight over the other; it looked as though they did not even care about the outcome, and Legolas wondered why they were there at all. The two knights who were to face Legolas did look like poor competition indeed; one was upon a rail-thin nag, in spotty armor, though the man looked stout and hale enough, and lifted his chin proudly; the other man was completely obscured by his helm and armor, and his surcoat was faded and torn, though his lance looked new. His horse was of Dale, and equal to Hammer in height, though he was rather thin, and his hips jutted. The steed rolled his eyes nervously when the people started to cheer, shifting on his great dirty hooves, the feathering tangled and muddy.

Legolas joined the other knights, smiling and nodding; but the two Men only glared at him from the corners of their eyes, and turned away from his greeting. With an inward sigh Legolas rode along side the Men as they approached the box, wishing he had refused this spurious honor, and wondering what possible good he could do at the lists. “Perhaps I might gain the peoples’ confidence,” he thought; “perhaps then I might prod about, and find answers here ere I gain my Lord Father’s Hall!” They reined in before the stands and looked up at the box. Malbeach stood there among his soldiers and various courtiers, smiling his dead oily smile, his beautiful jeweled doublet flashing and sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. Legolas shivered. “He is like a jackal,” he thought; “an acceptable-looking beast with a loathsome character.” All the people in the stands began to chant: “Malbeach! Malbeach! Greatest Master of the Long Lake! Malbeach for Esgaroth!” He smiled and waved and let them cry out, then when the ruckus had died down he spread his arms and called:

“O knights, present your arms to my lady, the beautiful Renna of Dale!”

“Dale!” muttered Gimli in surprise to Kaimelas, Bandobras, and Tamin, where they stood by the edge of the palisade. “I didn’t know the Master’s lady was of Dale!”

A finely dressed woman stepped forward to Malbeach’s side. She was of medium height, her dark hair covered with an embroidered veil held in place by a thin gold circlet. Her gown was red as summer roses, and gorgeously bedizened with gem and thread and bead, and the swell of her bosom as it rose from the lace of her bodice was pale as cream. Round her small waist was a kirtle of green, upon which was fastened a bunch of white flowers, and a ring flashed on her pretty little hand. Her face was very beautiful, and her eyes dark like her husband’s; but vibrant and sparkling, as though she shared some secret jest. Her pink mouth dimpled into a smile as Malbeach brought her forward, and she beamed warmly down upon the people.

“Pretty, ain’t she?” said Bandobras thoughtfully. “Nicely turned out, too. I like to see fine clothes on a pretty woman.”

Tamin only sniffed, thinking that she was not a patch on either Andunië or Dúrfinwen, or of course his own lady mother. “Though I own she might be as pretty as Lady Éowyn,” he thought; “but of course she is younger. I wonder what Hísimë will look like when she is grown?”

The few women present courtesied to their lady, and the Men cheered; but it was a raucous cheer, and some threw out cat-calls; her cheeks pinked and she dropped her glorious eyes, her smile fading; Malbeach laughed. “Come forward to my lady, O knights!” he called, giving his wife a cruel look, and then the knights presented themselves to her, and she forced herself to smile graciously upon them.

“Doring of Esgaroth, O Blue Knight!” she called; her voice was low but clear and pure, like the chiming of bells, and the crowd stilled; the Men leant forward, eager to hear her voice. “Run straight and strong to the tilt, and show yourself brave!” The knight in the tattered blue surcoat inclined his head to her, his eyes flashing behind his eyeslits. Lady Renna turned to the second knight. “Berded of Dale, O Yellow Knight! Meet your opponents with gallantry and skill, and represent your lands well!” The Yellow Knight’s face was fervent and avid, and he stared upon the lady with glazed eyes. Both knights inclined their lances to her, but then she turned upon the Green Knight, and her face lit up; her sweet red mouth curved into a smile, and her eyes shone. “O Legolas Prince of Mirkwood!” she said, sounding breathless; the folk in the stands were very still, attending to her; Malbeach watched with an evil smirk on his face. Renna lay one white hand upon her bosom, which fluttered beneath her fingers, and her lips trembled. “How honored and humbled we are by your presence! O do incline your lance to me, O Green Knight of the far southern lands, that I might bestow upon you my favor!”

There was a low hiss in the stands then, and Doring of Esgaroth and Berded of Dale looked murderous; Legolas went very still, and the tip of his lance wavered a little.

“What is he doing?” hissed Kaimelas. “Has he been befuddled by this silly woman’s flattery?”

“I do not know,” muttered Gimli; “I do not like how he is sitting though.” For Legolas was stiff and bent upon Hammer’s back, like an old man with rheumatism; his destrier swung his great black head round, touching one of Legolas’ sabatons with his nose; still the Green Knight spoke not nor moved, but only sat with his helmed face turned up, his unseen eyes gazing upon the Lady of Esgaroth.

The crowd was deathly silent, and Malbeach and his lady looked hard at Legolas; Malbeach’s eyes were as ever dead and unfeeling, but Renna’s burned with an eager flame. She gestured to him, her lovely face pleading; and slowly, haltingly, Legolas urged Hammer forward. He tipped his lance; the dragon’s head coronel rested upon the rail by Renna’s hand, and with a smile she took her scarf, intending to tie it to the tip of the lance. But then she espied the grimacing face of the coronel, and started back, her face white; Malbeach too saw the dragon leering at him, and stifled an exclamation, his smile disappearing. He drew Renna back roughly and shoved her aside so that she fell into her seat, and after struggling a moment regained his unctuous smile.

“I do beg your royal pardon, O Prince Legolas of Mirkwood,” he said; his voice was as silky as ever. “We do not allow images of the dragon in our town, in deference to the memories of those who were by him slain. We will allow you to joust as the Green Knight, but I am desolated to inform you that I cannot permit you to be my lady’s champion this eve.”

There was a silence after this, and slowly Legolas straightened in his saddle; he lifted his lance so that the coronel smiled to the heavens. “I apologize then, O Malbeach Master of Esgaroth,” he said; his voice sounded strange, thick and gluey even in the tinny confines of his helm. “I would not dare put your lady in such a position. But I do tell you, O Lady Renna of Dale, that I shall joust for you and for your favor; for to win accolades from you shall be the pinnacle of my stay here in your city, and fortunate is the man whose hand is joined to yours!”

“Hmph,” said Bandobras. “I guess he can flatter as well as them!”

“Hush!” said Gimli; his eyes were worried. “Something is not right. I do not think Legolas should joust.”

“Well it is too late now,” said Kaimelas grimly, watching the knights separate and go to the ends of the list. “There is the herald; you had best take your place, Lord Gimli.”

“As you wish,” said Gimli, hefting the extra lances onto his shoulder. “But cease with the ‘lords’ already, will you, Kaimelas? I think we know each other well enough to dispense with my title.”

“As you wish it, then, Gloinion!” laughed Kaimelas, and Gimli shot him a wry look as stumped toward the tilt.

The herald with his flag walked out to the list, and called: “First to the tilt shall be Doring of Esgaroth and Legolas of Mirkwood!” There were a few scattered cheers, but for the most part the folk in the stands and at the ropes only stood and watched, their eyes hard. The two knights took their places, Legolas tall and straight upon his mighty Hammer, shining in the late afternoon sun; facing him was Doring in his shabby blue; his eyes were flashing angrily, and he gripped his lance with a white-knuckled hand. By Doring’s side was a thin, underfed-looking youth with lank hair, holding his lances; Gimli stood for Legolas and glared at the other fellow, silently rebuking him for his poor turn-out. Both knights nodded to the herald, who dropped his flag; then with a bellow Hammer charged.

Doring’s steed though Hammer’s equal in height was sadly outclassed by the other destrier’s aggression, and balked; Doring cursed loudly and dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks, drawing blood. The horse with a squeal lurched forward, but Hammer met him past the middle mark, and the Blue Knight scarcely had time to lower his lance ere Legolas’ coronel struck him in the escutcheon. With a cry he fell back upon the cruppers, his lance falling ineffectively in the dirt.

“One point,” said Kaimelas satisfied, but Tamin said indignantly: “O what a cruel thing to do to his poor horse! He ought not be allowed to use such sharp spurs!” For blood was flowing from the horse’s flanks, and he rolled his eyes, shifting nervously about while his master righted himself. At last the Blue Knight declared himself ready, and the herald dropped the flag.

Fearing the spurs, the Blue Knight’s horse fled down the tilt, giving Doring sufficient time to set his lance; however Legolas’ keen eyes and better balance were Doring’s undoing, and this time the dragons-head lance shattered square in the charnel, throwing the Man to the ground. His own lance met Legolas’ gardbrace, and snapped, and Legolas twisted hard to keep his seat. “Two points,” said Kaimelas.

“That must’ve hurt but good,” said Bandobras, pointing; the Green Knight was rotating his shoulder cautiously. “Hope he didn’t go of popping it out again. Mighty hard to lift a lance, you know, Tamin, when you’ve gone and popped your shoulder.”

“It is a good thing Gimli thought to bring so many lances,” said Kaimelas dryly. “One might almost have supposed he planned to have the Green Knight joust!”

“More likely it was a ruse,” said Bandobras, eyes twinkling. “Him and Legolas throwing us off the scent, like. Them two! Thick as thieves and just as sneaky!”

“Quite possibly,” agreed Kaimelas, and they attended again to the joust.

The Blue Knight was very angry, and shouting incoherently to his squire and horse; the two flinched back from him, their eyes afraid. At last he mounted and set his lance, and nodded to the herald, and when the flag dropped the two destriers surged forward.

Doring’s fall had bent his fauld, and he sat crooked upon his destrier’s back, so that the Green Knight’s coronel struck him in the polder-mitten, and with a twist and a scream he lost his seat, his arm broken; his destrier panicked, and though Doring’s sabaton was still in the stirrup he bolted toward the stands, dragging his master behind him. There was a shout and a rush, and many Men came forward to stop the horse; he trampled a few of them in his fear, and reared up, his great hooves flying; one struck a man in the head and he went down. Then to the distress of the Green Knight and his retainers, one of the guards came forward with a spear, and stabbed the destrier in the neck; it squealed and fell thrashing, taking several Men with him, and Doring was obscured by the beast’s twisting, struggling body. Some madness seemed to come over the Men then, and they all drew swords and knives and set about furiously stabbing and slashing at the poor beast, shouting and laughing, and all in the stands shouted and laughed too, as though it were some great sport. Legolas’ cry of dismay was drowned out in the fracas, and Kaimelas put his hands over Tamin’s horrified eyes.

“Stop, stop!” cried Legolas in alarm, and made to rush over to stop the madness; but Gimli took Hammer’s reins.

“No!” he said in a low voice; “this is not your place; you have no authority here. Keep quiet! Or they might set on you too. Look! Even that vile Malbeach approves!”

Sure enough the Master of Esgaroth was laughing and calling out encouragement to the Men, and the horse’s squeals of agony weakened and were overwhelmed by the cheers of the crowd. When one of the horse’s flailing hooves caught a man and downed him the crowd only cheered the louder. But Legolas said:

“Look! Lady Renna is not amenable; how horrible for her!”

Sure enough the Lady of Esgaroth sat back in her seat, her hands covering her face; at last Malbeach, seeing his lady missed the fun, dragged her forward and forced her hands away from her eyes, making her look. With tears rolling down her pale cheeks did the lady watch the horse in its death-throes, her brown eyes filled with horrified pity, and her ladies’ maids shrank back and turned away.

At last with an awful gurgle the horse died, and the Men who were yet standing dragged it off with a glad shout. Doring of Esgaroth’s foot was still affixed to the stirrup, and he had been crushed by his horse’s agony; they could hear him weakly calling for aid as he was dragged along, but the Men only laughed at him. Those felled by the destrier crawled away if they could; the others were hauled off by soldiers, kicked and spat upon. The great patch of blood on the churned earth was steaming and dark. Gimli grimaced and said:

“We are in over our heads, I fear, my friend.”

“May I make some jest about your height now, Gimli?” asked Legolas with forced lightness, but his voice trembled with anger. “I have never seen the Men of Esgaroth act so! How vile; how ghastly! A good thing it is there are few women to watch! O how I pity the poor Lady of Esgaroth, that her contemptible husband allows such a debacle!” Indeed Lady Renna sat huddled in her seat, her eyes frightened; every now and again Malbeach looked down at her, and gave her an evil smile, from which she cringed. Then he said something to her, his dead eyes glittering, and she swallowed heavily, and sat back up, smoothing her bodice with trembling hands.

Malbeach stood, and held out his hands to the crowd; all stilled. “Well,” he said, his voice jolly; “it appears as though Doring of Esgaroth has forfeited!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and someone began a chant which spread through the crowd: “Berded! Berded! The Yellow Knight for Esgaroth’s Lady!” The Yellow Knight approached the tilt, his eyes blazing with fury, and he looked upon Renna leering contemptuously, and she turned away, her face scarlet. Berded of Dale approached the tilt; the small esquire at his side trotting to keep up, dragging the lances behind him. He dropped one, and Berded turned to him, and gave him a knock about his head with his heavily gauntleted hands. The boy fell to the ground, and everyone laughed again; he got up, rubbing his head, and Legolas saw when he pulled his hand away that the boy was bleeding.

“I am determined to beat him too,” said Legolas, his voice furious. “That tyrant, striking a child so young! O Gimli, deal with me as severely as you like, if I do not make the Yellow Knight to bleed even more than his poor esquire!”

“If you do not hit him then I shall,” said Gimli. “And I will not use a lance with a coronel either; I shall take my axe to him!”

“And who charged me with caution a moment ago?” asked Legolas; Gimli could see him smiling grimly through the pierced bevor. “This list is full of base and violent Men, Gimli; let us make a pact, you and I: that when our business is concluded and the mystery wound up, we come back to it, we two, and burn it to the ground!”

“I’ll bring the tinder-box,” grinned Gimli, handing him a lance. “And you the extra pitch.”

“Done!” said Legolas, taking the lance and setting it, and nodding to the herald. The flag dropped, and crying to Hammer, the Green Knight flew down the tilt.

The Yellow Knight, though clad only in chain mail, was a far superior jouster to the Blue; his coronel struck Legolas’ helm, and Legolas’ lance splintered upon the escutcheon. “Blast!” muttered Gimli, but Legolas merely shook it off; though he turned to the Yellow Knight when the Man spoke to him. As he rode back to his side of the tilt Gimli asked: “What did Berded say to you, Legolas?”

“It was very strange,” said Legolas; he sounded bewildered. “He said: ‘Do you not think to supplant me; the whore’s favor is mine tonight!’ I do not dispute the presence of whores in Esgaroth, the poor things; but Gimli, I saw none by the tavern, which is where they are wont to hawk their spurious wares. You do not think he was speaking of the lady, do you? For if he is of Dale as is she I am certain he expected to champion her this eve.”

“I trust me he would not be so base,” said Gimli, looking up at the box; Renna sat forward, her lovely eyes fixed upon Legolas; she looked anxious and pleased. “But I had also not thought the Men of Esgaroth capable of such equine cruelty, so perhaps he is not a knight after all, but a mere rake with a lance.”

“Lady or harlot, one should not speak of women so,” said Legolas firmly. “For his esquire, and the honor of women with no honor of their own, I shall take him down, Gimli!”

“Good!” said Gimli. “You need two more points at least. Try to knock that sneer off his pocky face, please.”

“I shall do my best, my friend,” said Legolas politely, and setting his lance he nodded to the herald.

Hammer, though this was his second joust, was a stronger beast than the Yellow Knight’s poor rouncey, and his bellow as he charged the tilt made the smaller horse shy. Berded shouted and dug his spurs into his steed’s flanks, and they surged forward. Both lances splintered, Berded’s upon Legolas’ escutcheon; but Legolas’ coronel had come to rest in the center of Berded’s charnel, throwing him. He landed heavily with a rattle, and the poor nag bolted; some Men attempted to stop him, but having tasted freedom it outstripped them, and fled in a cloud of dust into the bare wilderness to the east. Legolas urged Hammer up to the Yellow Knight, who lay still upon his back in the dust; he raised his visor and looked down coolly at the Man, who panted, his eyes wild.

“Well, O Berded of Dale, Yellow Knight?” he said. “Will you rise to finish me? For we have in our possession several horses full willing to bear you, if you are bold enough to meet me again at the tilt. Or shall we finish our contest at the barriers, you and I? My sword is long and sharp, and I have a lady’s honor to defend.”

“Rot in Hell, puling aberration!” snarled Berded; his face was filled with fury but he did not move; even his fingers could not twitch, and he grimaced awfully. “It was mine – mine, I tell you!” His pale eyes rolled round till he could see Men running toward him, and he went terribly white. “Kill me!” he begged, looking with terror upon the Green Knight. “I beg of you, Prince of Elves, slay me and do so quickly!”

“Why must I slay you?” asked Legolas, startled. “This is but a tourney; we have not challenged each other to the death!”

“Slay me and quickly!” pleaded Berded. “Before they get here – slay me – I beg of you, please, Elf, slay me!”

“I cannot do such a thing,” said Legolas, sliding off Hammer’s back and kneeling by the Yellow Knight’s side. “Here,” he said kindly, laying his hand on Berded’s chest. “I fear you may have broken something – “

“My back, you damned fool!” cried Berded. “Slay me – “

The Men reached them, rushing round in the dust and calling out: “He’s down! Ha! Ha! Pick him up, men! Take him off!”

“No! No!” cried Berded desperately, but the Men roughly pulled him by his arms and carried him away, laughing and jeering; Legolas could hear the Yellow Knight’s desperate cries over the cheers of the crowd. Gimli trotted up beside him and said:

“Well, I suppose you have won, Legolas.”

“What a bitter victory!” said Legolas, dismayed. He turned to the stands, to the box where sat Malbeach and his lady; Malbeach was smiling, his dead black eyes glittering like onyx; beside him Renna and her ladies’ maids were laughing and clapping, and the lady’s eyes sparkled as she smiled upon the Green Knight, looking very happy. Legolas stared; he felt very weak, and his hands dropped to his sides. There was a rushing in his ears, as though he were about to swoon; he shook himself and said: “I am weary, Gimli – weary of this game. Get me out of this armor. I shall not joust again.”

Gimli made to protest, but espying the wretched look in Legolas’ eyes said nothing, and walked with his friend out of the lists.

(A/N: Again, thanks to my wonderful beta, Nieriel Raina, for her help in getting this chapter worthy to be posted! And many thanks to those readers who have left reviews; you're all so encouraging. And for those of you who wondered how Spike did trailering to another barn after 3 1/2 years at the same location, he's fine, and making friends with another quarterhorse, Jaxx. My daughter and I will be at Horse Boot Camp all week, and staying over at my parents' house, so writing time will be limited. But not to worry! Chapter 15 is forthcoming, I promise!

--Le Rouret)

The Great Hall in Lake Town was low-ceilinged and smoky. Tallow candles guttered and flickered in the lamps, and the torches spat and hissed in their sconces. The buttery hatch was blackened and greasy, and the floor strewn with musty, sticky rushes which looked as though they had not been swept out for a year. Legolas had been a guest in Lake Town on many occasions, and had feasted in the Hall; he had seen all its permutations: from an open field with one clay oven, seated upon the grass, when Esgaroth had been but a poor tiny village and the Elvenking and his son an enigma, through its first shaky wooden foundations, its stone walls erected after Smaug’s demise, and later improvements as the fortunes of Lake Town and Dale were built upon the wealth of the Elves of Mirkwood and the Dwarves of Erebor. The Master’s quarters had also improved; ever before the elected Master had lived in his own little hovel, but resultant wealth required palpable expression of importance, and now the Masters of Esgaroth had their own little palace, to which they might aspire as but wise men of the town. Each subsequent Master brought his own advances, so that as time wore on the Master’s quarters grew more and more grand; and it seemed to Legolas that Malbeach had been no exception. But though its steps were new and it had been expanded to include part of the Square, the quarters and the Hall had a neglected look; it was dirty, and unkempt; there were no maidservants about, and nothing had been cleaned in what appeared to be a very long time. Legolas trod on an old bone as he stepped beneath the lintel, and looked down; during the short walk from his chamber in the back of the Master’s quarters to the Hall the edges of his splendid white gown had turned grey. He grinned.

“Bandobras will be furious,” he said to Gimli, who was looking past the lintel suspiciously at the long low tables and shouting, laughing men.

“Bandy has other things to worry about,” said Gimli. “Quite frankly I am glad you listened to Kaimelas, and kept him and Tamin in our rooms. I hope Kaimelas has more luck than we, sneaking round the stables; I want to know what happened to those two knights you jousted today.” He peered round the Hall. “Look, Legolas! Malbeach is not here. And there are no Dwarves.”

“I am uncertain whether that is a good or a bad thing, Gimli,” said Legolas. “I would like to have some of your stout kinsmen here; but I would hesitate to think they approved of the new Master; however, I believe I might bear Malbeach’s absence with a certain phlegmatic pragmatism.”

“Hush!” Gimli looked behind them carefully and added in a low voice: “I do fear me we might trust no one in this place, Legolas!”

“You are so pessimistic!” exclaimed Legolas, shaking the dust out of his robe. “They cannot be all bad. Yes; Malbeach and his Men are undoubtedly violent and base; but look to the Lady!” He gestured with one glittering jeweled arm to the head of the High Table (“Naught but a gimcrack trestle,” muttered Gimli discontentedly, thinking of the magnificent Hall of the Green Knight he had designed himself). Renna of Dale sat there with her ladies’ maids, her diadem sparkling with gems and her face fair and pink and happy; her brown eyes were friendly and her mouth smiled. She felt their regard upon her and turned; when her eyes met Legolas’ she started, then lit up like a lantern, her cheeks mantling. Legolas bowed his head to her, and she blushed deeply and dropped her eyes, then looked shyly through her lashes at him. Gimli snorted.

“That’s an old trick,” he said as they passed through the blackened lintel.

“A charming one though,” protested Legolas. “Especially when the perpetrator is so fair!” Gimli did not deign to reply to this; he was suspicious of his friend’s good humor, for it seemed inauspicious for Legolas to be so bright when circumstances were so dark; this mood usually presaged either a surge of temper, or a maddeningly humorous twist, neither of which in Gimli’s opinion were very apposite to the current turmoil. “Elves!” he sighed to himself, and when the herald approached them, he said gruffly to the Man:

“Announce his royal highness, Legolas Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. And let us not have any of this ‘Mirkwood’ business, boy; that name is right out!”

“And who are you, Dwarf, to tell me my business?” demanded the herald rudely, sneering down at Gimli. “We do not let your kind in here.”

“This is Lord Gimli of Aglarond, the son of the inestimable Glóin of Erebor,” said Legolas, his expression stern; he glared down at the young man, who flinched back in surprise. “And I will thank you to keep your loutish judgments to yourself, or I shall surely shorten you to my friend’s height, and let him deal with you as he pleases!”

“Temper, then,” thought Gimli with satisfaction; “I do not think I could take too much of his tomfoolery tonight!”

“Beg pardon,” the herald muttered, giving Legolas a hang-dog look; and he turned and announced loudly to the Hall: “His royal highness, Prince Legolas of Mir- of Eryn Lasgalen!”

There was a great deal of raucous cheering then, but Legolas did not move; he turned back to the herald and said icily: “And?”

The herald resentfully added, “And Gimli Lord of Aglarond,” and without a backward glance stumped away. Gimli laughed, but Legolas looked affronted.

“The list of men to whom I must apply my whips is increasing,” he said as they stepped into the Hall. “Esgaroth’s courtesy has waned of late!”

“It matters not,” said Gimli as they made their way through the stinking rushes to the High Table. “One insignificant Man’s opinion of me does not change my letters patents in the slightest.”

“A Dwarf of your eminence ought rather to be treated with courtesy,” said Legolas under his breath. “And I do not like how he said ‘your kind.’ This bodes ill for Erebor, my friend.”

“No Elves either,” said Gimli, looking round. “We are the only ones of our ilk here, I fear.”

“That has happened many times before,” said Legolas. “In Osgiliath, and in Minas Tirith when the Queen is absent.”

“All the same I am discomfited,” said Gimli. “I do not trust these Men.”

“No more do I,” said Legolas with grim cheer. “Let us apply ourselves to the women then!”

“They are all fair enough,” owned Gimli, watching Renna and her maids; the ladies kept their eyes upon the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, contemplative and appreciative, murmuring and giggling to each other behind their hands. “A good thing it is that the opinions of the daughters of Men mean little to me; you are so handsome, Legolas, that I own they mark me not at all, when I stand beside you!”

“The daughters of Men are notoriously blind,” Legolas said softly, his grey eyes twinkling. “What proper and intelligent maid would not be delighted by someone as stout and brave and bearded as you?”

“And what proper and intelligent Dwarf would not be as delighted with a stout and brave and bearded maid?” grinned Gimli. “Nay,” he said critically, looking the women over; “they are too scrawny; mark those tiny waists, the thin little arms! And that one in blue I warrant has never done a day’s work in her life.”

“Well, they are decorative at least,” said Legolas with a shrug, “and perhaps they shall be fuddled enough with my good looks to let some secrets slip.”

“I wish you all the luck of that!” said Gimli. “After a time the tittering irritates me; that is why I drink when I am in court at Minas Tirith, for to be drunk and uncaring is preferable to listening to such aimless chatter.” He cast his gaze round the room again and said, “I am going to sit down at the end of the table, next to that man there; he looks drunk already and might be willing to talk. Enjoy your tittering companions, O Green Knight!”

“Shirker!” said Legolas lightly. Under his breath he added, “Remember, Gimli; we have naught but our suspicions; let us see what the opinions are hereabouts, and keep our own to ourselves. It is our fathers’ wellbeing we seek.” But Gimli saw that Legolas’ eyes were on Lady Renna, and Gimli wondered if he were thinking of Malbeach’s brutish ways, and the lady’s welfare.

“You remember it too!” muttered Gimli. “Do you not let the trollop’s fair face and pretty ways ensnare you, my friend!”

Legolas burst out laughing. “What a thought!” he whispered, his eyes shining. “Nay, Gimli; I shall play the foppish courtier, and flatter and cajole myself into her confidence; I shall not allow her feminine wiles to sway me!”

“See that you don’t!” warned Gimli, and the pair split; Gimli went to the drunkard at the end of the trestle, and Legolas presented himself before the ladies. Several of the younger ones were giggling, and watched him with rapt eyes; Renna straightened at his approach and touched her hair with trembling fingers. Her columbine lips parted in a smile and she said breathlessly: “Your highness!”

“My lady,” said Legolas with a warm smile, and bowed. She moved to rise but he arrested her saying, “Nay! There is no reason to courtesy, my lady; I am but a visiting knight from far away, and would not wish for you to disarrange yourself. You are a delightfully pretty picture where you are.” It was an innocent enough remark, but to Legolas’ discomfiture the ladies began to titter again, and to whisper behind their hands to each other, giving their lady arch looks; Renna blushed scarlet and looked at her plate, then raised her eyes to his. They were brown and shining like a deep dark river, glimmering with sunlight upon the waters; a wave of giddiness seemed to shimmer across the surface of Legolas’ consciousness and he blinked hard, seeking to clear his head. “I must be wearier than I imagined,” he thought, putting his fingertips on the table to reassure himself he still stood; the room appeared to be wobbly. “Or perchance I am so hungered I grow faint!” Then the wave of dizziness passed, and the lady came into focus again; she did not seem to have noticed his lapse for she was saying quite easily:

“Do you please, then; ‘twould be a great honor for me, your highness, though I am certain you will find our hospitality quite rough compared to what you are offered in the courts of the king in Minas Tirith!”

Legolas saw she had cleared one of the seats beside her, displacing her maids, who shot her indignant looks but retired; and he realized she had asked him to sit at her right. This was a little worrisome, for the lord of the feast usually placed visiting dignitaries at such a prominent spot, and anyway Legolas thought to dislodge her maids rather rude; but Malbeach was not there, and Renna presently lady of the feast; so Legolas said, “An it please you, my lady!” and stepped upon the dais, seating himself beside her at the trestle.

The ladies’ maids shifted off to the sides, watching them closely; their pretty faces were hard and calculating, and the whispering resentful. He could see Gimli at the end of the table, a cup of ale in one hand and a pheasant wing in the other; the Dwarf was feigning tipsiness and laughing with the man beside him. Gimli caught his eye and winked, and all the lingering vertigo burned away. Feeling more confident Legolas turned to his hostess and said: “So what is on the menu tonight, my lady? I see pheasant and duck and trout and pike, and if my senses do not deceive me there is Dorwinion in that pitcher. May I?” He lifted her goblet, a jeweled affair in gilt and silver, and refilled it; Renna gave a mellifluous laugh, and when she took it from him let her fingers trail down his hand. Legolas was not sure but it felt, even from that brief touch, that her fingertips were icy; he wondered at this, for it was warm in the Hall. While she thanked him he took a goblet from the table, a simple pewter one with only a little scrollwork on it; he filled it halfway and took a deep draught. Immediately his mind raced backwards; the taste of the Dorwinion reminded him sharply of his Lord Father, of feasts in the great cavernous hall, glittering and echoing, filled with bright-faced cheerful Elves, laughing and singing, their colorful raiment like the blossoms of wildflowers. Then the inner vision darkened, and the remembered faces changed; there was fear there, and smoke and ruin, and the screams of the doomed. Startled Legolas jerked back; the vision vanished, and he sat once again in the Hall at Esgaroth, the Lady Renna by his side. He set the goblet down with a shaking hand.

“The meat pies are very good,” Renna was saying, as though he had not lapsed at all. “And of course I love the stewed herbs; they are not so damaging to my figure.” She ran her hands lavishly down her bodice, outlining her bosom and small waist; she fluttered her eyelashes at him and said coquettishly: “Though I am certain an Elf of your standing has beheld many more beautiful women than I in your time! For I am but mortal, and certes I cannot hold a candle to your lovely Elven ladies.”

Privately Legolas agreed; but he was far too polite to say so; besides which he felt if he could but get Renna on his side, he might learn more from her than from any of these strange Men in the Hall. “To be certain the daughters of the Eldar are fair,” he said, affecting a bland expression, “but I am so used to them; after a while I do not even mark what they look like. To me the daughters of Men are very interesting, for you are all so different!”

“O do you think so?” asked Renna, fluttering her lashes again and smiling approvingly. “Well perhaps you are right, though I should certainly never say anything disparaging about your Lady Mother. Queen Edlothiel is I deem the loveliest creature I have ever seen, and you resemble her so strongly, your highness.”

The compliment was bald and unsubtle, and Legolas could not help but smile. “No fool she,” he thought, “to praise the wife of the one she had pursued! You little flirt; did my Lady Mother know you had set your sights upon the Elvenking would your words be laced with terror!” “You flatter me, my lady,” he said aloud, taking another sip of wine; he pushed thoughts of his Lord Father’s feasts from his mind, and contemplated how hard she might pursue him, and whether she had hounded his Lord Father in the same manner. “What son does not like to hear his mother praised? If you have sons, my lady, I am certain they would be as pleased as I to hear a Man admire your winsome face, almandine eyes, and chestnut tresses.”

He had expected her to bask in the accolade, but instead she flinched back a little as though he had spoken harshly; the light in her eyes faded and her smile became fixed. “I have no children,” she said; her voice was flat, and Legolas mentally cursed himself.

“No; I suppose you are too young yet,” he said artlessly, feeling only the vaguest twinge of conscience for producing such blatant sycophancy to a woman obviously past the first blush of youth. “Will you have the pike, my lady? For I observe you have tasted none of the wonderful dishes presented before us. An excellent table you set indeed! Why I own I should not have known myself not at Minas Tirith: Fine food and pleasant company have misled me, and again I find myself attended to by a beautiful and noble lady, and surrounded by the hospitality of her house.” To himself he thought: “I am, as my Bandobras would say, laying it on thick; but I had best win her confidence quickly, before Malbeach shows himself!” To his relief he saw her relax, and the tightness in her mouth softened; she smiled at him and said:

“I would be delighted if you would serve me, your highness, though certes it is improper for the guest to serve the lady! Rather ought I to call my lord husband’s valet over to serve you, than for us to act in so indecent a manner, and before the whole Hall, too!” She tipped her head playfully at him and looked up at him from the corner of her eyes.

Legolas laughed, thinking how flustered his father would have been by such a suggestion. “Why, she is harmless!” he thought; “she is only a coquette, like Dúrfinwen. How sorry am I that I did not see their repartee!” “But here one observes the advantage in dining with you, my lady, in preference to the king’s palace in Minas Tirith!” he said to her. “We have no need for such careful courtesy in the kindliness of your house; for here there are no courtiers who watch so carefully lest we use the wrong spoon for our soup, or speak too loudly. We might take our ease here, and do as we like.” He took up the salver and put some of the boiled fish on Lady Renna’s trencher. She blushed again and smiled up at him, her eyes engaging and wistful. When he moved to set the salver down she lay one soft white hand on his sleeve, and leant in; he could see her heartbeat fluttering in her throat.

“You are so gentle,” she said in a low voice; her rosy lower lip trembled. “How – how pleasant it is to be treated with such gentleness – “

Legolas recalled how Malbeach had pushed her into her chair during the joust, and forced her to watch the destrier slain; he was indignant, though he hid it behind a polite face. “It is every nobleman’s duty to regard a lady with civility,” he said, turning to her and smiling; she gazed intently up at him, and the edges of his vision blurred. His head seemed to spin about, and he hastily set the salver down lest he drop it; he forced himself to blink and focus on her, but her pretty face wavered before his gaze. She leant in closer; he could smell her hair, and the faintest scent of rose petals; her breasts shuddered for she breathed hard.

“Prince Legolas,” she whispered; the roses fled her cheeks, and her brown eyes were filled with fear. “You are in danger here. Your people – the Elves you sent from your lands – they have been – “

There was a great shout in the Hall then, and she started back, her eyes terrified; Men were crying out: “Malbeach! Malbeach! The Master comes to the feast!” Legolas shook the fog from his head and turned to the door; Malbeach stood there, his arms outspread, wearing a splendid doublet of green. His dark eyes glittered like a snake’s, and the smile on his face was sneering and cruel. He turned his dead gaze to the high table, and it seemed to Legolas that the room darkened and became misty; the shouts of the Men, and the worried whispers of Renna’s maids, dimmed; there was a throbbing in his head as though he had held his breath overlong. He was finding it difficult to inhale, for an oppressive weight pressed against his chest, and his head spun. He could see Malbeach approach up the length of the Hall to the dais, weaving through the trestles, seeming to glide without step through the thick rushes, his cold black stare pinning the Elf in his seat. Legolas felt trapped in one of his terrible nightmares, and with a great effort, giving his head a little shake like a horse dismissing a teasing fly, he took a deep breath, blinked hard, and strove to clear the clouds from his head. He had a sudden desperate urge to be with Gimli, and turned in the Dwarf’s direction. Gimli turned also, feeling Legolas’ gaze upon him; the Dwarf looked startled, as well he might, for all the color had drained from his friend’s face, and Legolas’ bright gray eyes had dilated black. But when their eyes met something strange occurred: Like a sudden strong wind dispels woodsmoke did the heavy oppression flee; Legolas’ vision cleared and his ears sharpened, and his breath became easy once more. He was keenly aware of Renna trembling beside him, her breath in panicked gasps, and of the maids standing to courtesy, then bolting with contrived excuses to their lady, leaving her to her fate. He rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders; he felt wound tight as a top, and wondered at the apprehension that swelled in him as Malbeach came up the dais. The Man was smiling his oily smile, eyes heavily hooded, looking from his wife to his guest knowingly. Legolas gave a little bow, which Malbeach answered.

“My Lord Master of Esgaroth,” said Legolas. “How pleased I am to see you, though you come late to your own feast! And I thank you for allowing your lady wife to entertain me; else I should have pined in your absence.”

Malbeach regarded Legolas with a twisted, contemplative smile, his eyes flat. “And I thank you, your highness, for thinking so highly of us and of our regard that you present yourself to my poor assembly in your finest array,” he said, his gaze wandering down Legolas’ robe. “How splendid,” he murmured, and Legolas suppressed a shudder. “I was right to keep Tamin in our rooms,” he thought, and said:

“You are very kind to so say! I shall relay your praise to my Lady Mother and her ladies, who labor to keep me appropriately clad; I am certain when I foregather with them in several days’ time that they will be pleased by your kind words.”

Malbeach’s eyes flickered then, and he gave to Legolas a slow, wide smile. “So you go to visit your father, the Elvenking!” he said in his low smooth voice. “Ah yes, the magnificent Thranduil, and his unrivaled wife Edlothiel the fair! Such splendor had never before been visited upon my poor Hall ere they accepted my humble and presumptuous invitation to dine; how they shone like the stars and dazzled us quite! Did they not, Renna my dear?” he asked, smiling at his wife; she swallowed heavily and bit her lip, cringing back as Malbeach came to sit upon Legolas’ other side. “Renna and I will cosset you, O Prince,” said Malbeach, lowering himself slowly into the chair at Legolas’ right hand. “Do you please sit too, for you are the noblest guest I have obtained, and though I bethought to myself the Elvenking and his bride the fairest folk to foregather in Esgaroth I discover to my shame I was mistaken, for you in brilliant resplendence do overshadow them quite.” He glanced round Legolas and said to his wife again: “Does he not, Renna? O I am very certain you did note this. It is one of my wife’s talents, Prince Legolas,” he said calmly, contemplating his empty trencher, “that she descries male beauty far more … avidly than I.” He glanced over at Legolas’ trencher and said, “Will you do me the honor of passing to me the plate of meat pies?”

“Of a certainty,” said Legolas, sitting; his right side crawled and he did not wonder poor Renna recoiled from her husband. “I was about to sample them myself.”

“Do, please, then, your highness,” urged Malbeach, positioning the salver between them. “My cooks are known for their skill in the distribution of pepper and herbs; the flavor is subtle and complicated, but pleases the palate; and the pastry, your highness, I assure you will melt upon your tongue.” He smiled again, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips; a chill went up Legolas’ spine.

“Thank you; I will sample them then,” he said, and taking one broke it. It was full of gravy, and its rich pungent scent made his mouth water; he took a bite, and discovered to his dismay that Malbeach had been correct; the pie was every bit as good as something even Bandobras could have made, though it lacked mushrooms. As he chewed he saw Malbeach watching him, eyes half-closed, toying with his goblet, with ever that strange smile on his face; when Legolas finished swallowing he said politely: “Excellent! Most delicious! My compliments to your buttery!” and thought, “I sincerely hope that was either beef or goat; it is so heavily spiced I cannot tell, and from what I have seen today I am not entirely certain they might not serve something else.”

Malbeach smiled and sampled his own. “Delightful,” he murmured, giving Legolas a sidelong look; then he turned to his wife and said loudly: “You had better keep away from the meat pies, my dear; you would not want to ruin your figure. After all if you grow fat, how will you keep the esteem of all your pretty friends?” Legolas looked at them in amazement; Renna had turned scarlet, and was staring hard at her trencher, her lips pressed tight together; Malbeach was still smiling, and watching her carefully. “What a shame about Doring and Berded! I know well you looked forward to presenting them their rewards, my dear.” Renna closed her eyes, and Malbeach said conversationally to Legolas: “It is another of my dear wife’s talents, your highness, remunerating the knights who win at my tourneys! I declare she takes more effort with the victors at the tilt than even I, her poor husband. But then I do not joust. The ladies love the joust, do they not, your highness? And we have no prize for you, our winner! Ah, I am certain my wife would be happy to think of some small token with which to reward your valor today – would you not, Renna my dear? You are so creative, inventing new ways to please the knights hereabouts.”

Legolas was appalled but affected ignorance; he said: “I require no reward, O Master of Esgaroth; there is no need for your lady wife to be discommoded on my account. Besides which,” he added with a sly smile of his own, “I want for nothing; my coffers are quite full, and I have no need of any middling little trinkets.”

It was Malbeach’s turn to flush, and he took a deep draught. “Well then,” he said, his smile a little stiffer. “That will be good for you, Renna, will it not? But you are not eating, my dear; are you not hungry at all? Or have you already eaten ere the feast began?” He leered at her, and she pushed her chair back with a jerk; it scraped across the floor and made a screeching noise. She rose, her hands trembling, and Legolas hurriedly rose as well; Malbeach remained seated, drinking his Dorwinion.

“I – do not feel well,” she said breathlessly, giving Legolas a fearful look. “I think I will go to lie down.”

“Of course you will,” said Malbeach to his trencher, taking another meat pie. “You do all your best work in that position, do you not?”

Renna did not reply, but turned and fled the Hall; several nearby Men who had overheard Malbeach’s dig laughed raucously. Legolas was incensed by such effrontery, deserved or no, especially before a guest and a stranger; but Malbeach merely smiled up at him and said:

“What is it, your highness? Not thinking of following her, I hope! O do you not worry your handsome head about her, Prince Legolas; she is far too sensitive and cannot take a jest. She needs toughening – all these vapors and fine ways do not suit us here in Lake Town; they are weaker than we in Dale, for they have had all the strength bred out of them, letting the Dwarves do their dirty work.” He glanced down at Gimli, who was actually singing with a couple of the Men; Legolas recognized the song about the blacksmith. He slowly lowered himself into the chair, though Malbeach repulsed him and he was not entirely certain he could eat any more. “Your friend Lord Gimli appears to be enjoying himself,” Malbeach said thoughtfully, pouring himself more wine. “How satisfying it is to find an amiable Dwarf! I do hope, your highness, he is able to turn his squat brethren from their current ways; have you heard of the trouble Thorin has been stirring up, and thus come to rescue your Lord Father from Erebor’s depredations?” He took a deep draught, looking over the rim of his goblet at Legolas with his dead black eyes.

“I have heard of no Dwarven depredations,” said Legolas, trying not to sound too stiff; he could pretend well enough in a court, but was finding it difficult not to put his hands round Malbeach’s throat and squeeze some life into those eyes. He pushed his trencher away and leaned back in his seat, fixing Malbeach with a hard look of his own; Malbeach only smiled. “I am here to visit my royal parents, and to bring my people home that came for holiday. It is planting-time and I need my workers back.”

“Your workers?” asked Malbeach politely. “You intrigue me! Did you send then sundry of your best to your Father, and now seek to bring them home again? Are they truant? Well you are within your rights to demand them back, your highness, though I am puzzled that you came yourself, and did not simply send for them.”

“Well, O Master of Esgaroth, as you yourself said earlier today, betimes it is easier to do a thing oneself, than to send a lackey to do it for one,” said Legolas, forcing a smile. “And my people are not truant; I wished to foregather with my Lord Father and Lady Mother, and to see my old home; I am using the excuse of fetching Belegtilion and Dúrfinwen back to reacquaint myself with mine old abode.”

Malbeach started then, and something like interest glinted in his eyes. “Dúrfinwen?” he said; a muscle in his cheek twitched. “I believe I know her – surpassing fair – with dimples in pale creamy skin, dark curly hair like unto my dear wife’s, and dark eyes, and a hot temper – yes?”

“You recall her well,” said Legolas, and smiled to think of Dúrfinwen giving this oily Man the edge of her tongue. “Yes; Dúrfinwen is my mercer, and the chief of my tucking-mill. She is a lady of my household and a dear friend. Also is she a favorite of my Lady Mother’s, for she was orphaned, and raised in the palace like unto a daughter; perchance was from my Lord Father she learned the gentle art of oral sparring. And Belegtilion and sundry others came with her, and now I am fetching them back – if my Lady Mother will let her go that is.”

“Ah, yes!” said Malbeach, and his smile faded. He fetched a sigh. “O dear,” he said mournfully. “How deplorable it is that I am placed in such an awkward position, your highness! Did no one tell you? Did you not hear? I am astonished that you did not hear of this calamity, O Prince; how could your Lord Father’s messengers have missed you? Did you travel in secret then? O dear, O dear!” And he wagged his head sadly and clucked his tongue.

“What is it?” asked Legolas, feeling a twist of apprehension that had, for a wonder, little to do with Malbeach. “Has aught occurred about which I ought to be apprised? What happened?”

“O dear, O dear! Such a tragedy!” said Malbeach dolefully. “Why, it was the – “ He lowered his voice, and glanced at Gimli, who was sitting listening to several men talk; he had a cup of ale in one hand, and looked quite drunk; Legolas hoped he were only fooling. “It was the Dwarves of Erebor, O Prince,” said Malbeach in a low voice, leaning in to speak softly as had Renna; but he was repellent to Legolas and the Elf was hard-pressed to answer the gesture. “They have been looting – getting more treasure, cheating Girion, the fool, who owns it not – ‘twas for that reason I dismissed Thorin; he robbed me – and to chastise us for standing against them, they are going round, robbing people, and carrying them off.” Malbeach shook his head, his face hard. “There is never enough gold for the Dwarves,” he said; he sounded angry, and his black eyes glittered like onyx. “Always, always they want more – more gems – more treasure! They are insatiable, implacable, avaricious, insistent. I hate them.” His eyes burned hot, and Legolas felt again the weight upon his chest, and the low hum in his ears; his vision blurred and he felt faint. Yet over the racket in the Hall and the buzzing in his head he heard Malbeach’s voice, hissing, angry and indignant: “It was they destroyed that village – that one, and many others. They are monsters, misshapen, devouring as they go, crawling underground where we cannot see, cheating us, promising us wealth and prosperity but giving naught but heartache. And it was they, O Prince, who took your mercer and her companions.”

Legolas blinked hard, and struggled to regain himself; the lights in the Hall were swirling round him, and he could hardly breathe. “Gone – how?” he gasped, fighting for control; through the haze before his eyes he saw Malbeach fix him with bright black eyes, burning, avid; Legolas shook his head and pinched himself, and heard the Master say:

“The women were taken and carried off, and their guard, Belegtilion I think was his name, was slain.” Then to Legolas’ disgust, Malbeach smiled, a wide, fervent smile, showing his teeth. “You had best hope the ladies are dead,” he said, and once more flicked out his tongue to touch his lips. “For the way those Dwarves spoke, death shall be better for them than what awaited them in the wilderness.”

The heavy oppressive weight shifted, and seemed to sit in Legolas’ lap; Malbeach was smiling, his black eyes boring into the Elf’s; he rose, and Legolas, helpless, rose with him, staggering beneath the crushing weight. “If you but accompany me, O Prince,” Malbeach whispered, “I shall show to you the perfidy of the Dwarves; I have amassed much evidence against them, which you must take unto your father the Elvenking – the glorious Thranduil – O Prince.”

“I – “ Legolas stammered, his head spinning; he saw Malbeach move down the dais, his eyes like hooks in Legolas’ belly; he was being dragged along, powerless, his feet dragging in the rushes, toward the blackened lintel; the men round him laughed and shouted, but he could not mark what they said. Then there was a hard hand on his arm, and a blessedly familiar voice cut through the fog; he heard Gimli say:

“There, now! Looks as though we have both drunk overmuch, O Master of Esgaroth! No need to worry yourself getting my friend here to his room; I am heading there myself – do you not miss so much of your wonderful feast. Wonderful! Magnificent! What extraordinary ale! Strong, though! Good night, good night! And be you sure to thank your charming lady wife for her hospitality and kindness!”

The Dwarf’s voice drowned out Malbeach’s protests, and Gimli’s hand was like a vise around Legolas’ elbow; the Green Knight found himself marched firmly down the dark smoky hallway, the swirling murkiness in his head spinning itself dizzily ‘til he felt worse than drunk. He stumbled along gratefully; each step brought him further away from that dreadful heaviness, and at last he felt well enough to fetch up against a wall and press his hand against his forehead. He was sweating and cold, and trembling head to foot. He blinked hard again, struggling to focus; Gimli was standing before him, his kindly eyes worried.

“Dragon’s teeth, Legolas!” said Gimli, shaking his head and glancing nervously around. “What in the name of the seven levels of Hell has got you so het up? And what were you thinking, following Malbeach like that? You are not drunk, are you?”

“No,” gasped Legolas; he felt very ill. “I – I do not know – Gimli, get me out of here; my head is full of muck – I cannot think – help me, Gimli!”

“I am here; I am here,” said Gimli, comforting him and patting his arm. “There! Our rooms are right down this hallway. Let me get you to them, my friend, and get you out of that ridiculous robe; I will let Tamin and Bandy at you, and make you eat something. Aulë, my poor foolish Elf,” he added, taking Legolas again by the elbow and leading him down the passageway. “Those damned dreams are making you thick-headed and silly! You need a solid meal, and a good night’s sleep; this calls for Hobbity influence, it does.”

“It does,” admitted Legolas weakly, and let himself be led away, telling himself the prickly feeling on his spine was simply nerves, and not someone watching him from the shadows at all.

(A/N: In accordance with my beta, Nieriel Raina’s, recommendations, I am heightening this story’s rating from PG-13 to R. I apologize to any of you younger readers out there; if you still want to follow the story, I suggest you go through your parents and/or guardians.

Now then … Jill Paton Walsh, I believe, was the author who suggested a writer, when in the throes of turmoil, will write of simple and clinical things, whereas that same writer may when life settles down allow all the demons and nightmares of Hell appear upon her page. With that thought in mind, O Readers Mine, my life is tranquil, and Legolas, I fear, is in for a rough time of it. I am contrite, and beg your forgiveness.

Le Rouret)

Kaimelas was awaiting them at the chamber door, tall and dark and imposing against the dim candle light as they came down the gloomy hallway. “Finally!” he exclaimed irritably, and glancing quickly right and left drew them inside, and shut and bolted the door behind them, shaking his head. “Esgaroth is become an evil place,” he said, laying the key on the table by the lintel. “I had only to go to – good heavens! What has happened to you, my lord?”

“I do not have any idea,” said Legolas grimly, tearing at his collar buttons with one hand, and his belt buckle with the other. “Help me out of this, Tamin! I feel as though I am being smothered! Gimli thinks I was poisoned, but I cannot believe it; Malbeach ate from the same salver as I, and Renna and I shared from the bottle of Dorwinion.”

“Dorwinion!” said Bandobras, raising his eyebrows eloquently to Kaimelas, though he very efficiently batted Tamin’s anxious hands out of the way, and aided Legolas with his belt buckle. “Well! That’d explain the unsteady pins, wouldn’t it?”

“He had but half a glass,” said Gimli. He deposited Legolas on the pallet and stalked to one of the windows, looked out, then reached round to close and fasten the shutters. Tamin, anxious to redeem himself in his Master’s eyes, hurried to the other and fastened it with a bang. “Something is amiss in this house, to be sure, Bandy; but it most certainly isn’t the comestibles. Better ale and food I have not tasted in quite a while.”

“Nor was it the view,” admitted Legolas, smiling weakly as Bandobras unbuttoned his splendid jeweled robe. “Lady Renna and her maids are I own fair enough to please any palate, excluding Dwarves, of course, as the ladies hereabouts possess no beards.”

Gimli snorted. “Her manners are certainly wanting,” he said; “she left far too early.”

“As did we,” protested Legolas. He rose and let Tamin, who rushed from the window to his Master’s side, lift the robe from his shoulders, and smiled to see Bandobras fuss round it, then take it from the boy and hang it reverently over a chair, brushing bits of straw from it, and tut-tutting at the dirty hem. “And she had good reason to leave, I own. How her husband speaks to her! Why, I have heard the basest innkeeper speak to a two-penny whore with more politesse than that!”

“What is a two-penny whore?” asked Tamin, wide-eyed; Legolas grimaced and glanced at Kaimelas, who grinned.

“Twice as good as the one-penny variety, of course, Tamin,” said Kaimelas, neatly catching his lord’s irritably cast belt. “Now, the three-penny whores are most – “

“Enough!” said Legolas sternly. “This is no time for frivolities, Kaimelas. Belegtilion and Dúrfinwen are missing.”

Kaimelas started. “Belegtilion and Dúrfinwen!” he exclaimed, his face paling. “Why I heard it were Melima and Belias!”

“Drat!” exclaimed Bandobras, and Tamin gave a cry of dismay. “Two’s bad enough, but what if it’s all four? That’d be a blow and no mistake!”

“It is grave indeed,” said Legolas, tearing out his plait and shaking his long pale hair. He cast off his collar and cuffs, and stretched, happier in his simple linen shirt and breeches, though he looked worried. “My friends, we must hold a council of war – a brief one to be sure, but let us determine what we know.” Taking them round him upon the pallet, he described what had occurred on the high dais, the stilted conversation and odd oppressive compulsions. “It is like holding one’s breath overlong,” he said, shaking his head; his long flaxen hair drifted lightly over his shoulders and his grey eyes were pensive. “The sparkles before one’s eyes, the feeling one’s head is overfull, the roaring in one’s ears – and dizziness – such dizziness! I do not think it was the atmosphere, for I did not observe anyone else acting in like fashion.”

“I certainly felt nothing,” said Gimli. “I sat beside that drunkard – what was his name? Ah, yes, Barth – he seemed half-afraid of me, and at times was too drunk to remember I was a Dwarf; yet when he did, would stammer and apologize, and grow near terrified. My people are no longer very popular here in Lake Town I fear, for Barth and his tipsy friends did seem antagonized and suspicious, and were continually warning me off their women – not that there were many of them at the feast! – and bragging of the fortifications round their treasure-houses. And when I distanced myself from my brothers in Erebor, reminding them I was Lord of Aglarond many leagues to the south, they grew unnaturally curious regarding any treasure that might be found in Rohan; and when I left were muttering that Eorl the Young was distant relation to the men of the Long Lake, and Éomer’s gold as good as theirs. Ridiculous,” he huffed, and taking out his pipe began to tamp it full of weed. “In truth ‘twas tiresome conversation; what interested me more was watching you, Legolas, changing color like a wilting rose-leaf, and nearly following that devilish Malbeach out of the Hall! Where was he taking you anyway, my friend?”

“I know not,” admitted Legolas. “Nor know I why I had that compulsion to follow! I am immeasurably grateful to you, though, for arresting me; I am not certain for what nefarious purpose he sought to beguile me away, but if he is no shirt-lifter, I am a Hobbit.”

“And that you ain’t nohow,” said Bandobras grimly. “Give me that tinder-box, will you, Gimli? That weed smells mighty good. Well, your turn now, Kaimelas; Tamin and me’ve been doing nothing, as we were ordered, so we’ve got nothing to say. Speak up, do; and mind you don’t go of forgetting anything!”

“Very well!” said Kaimelas; he drew his limbs in close and rested his chin on his knees. He looked pensive and a little angry. “Uneasy in my mind, I went down to the stables when I quit you. Seeing how the Men treated the destriers at the joust unnerved me; Hammer is a mighty beast, but all our animals are contained, and I felt I might trust no one to care for them and not to harm them.” He gave Tamin, who watched him owlishly, a small smile. “Also did I follow the entreaties of your esquire, O Green Knight, for whom the wellbeing of his little white horse is so pressing an issue! So down I crept, as quiet as I could – be thankful, my lord, you brought with you one of your old scouts! – and came upon a group of men clustered about the pump by the granary. They were complaining of the foulness of the water, of its bad stench and oily texture. They moved on after a few moments and I went to investigate it. My lord, my friends all; ‘twas the same greasy muck we found in the ruined village this morning! Vile smell and worse clarity; it was undrinkable. I did manage to find a well of fresh water outside the town; but it seems to me most of the pumps bring forth this awful muck; whence comes it, I cannot guess.

“When I came back in by the gates – eschewing the gate keeper, of course; I had no wish to announce that I was sneaking round in the dark! – I did see a great group of soldiers, fifty in all; many were the same Men that did find us in the village to the south. They were laughing and drinking, and talking of some sport – “ here he glanced at Tamin with caution, who watched his elders wide-eyed; Legolas caught the look and shivered. “’Twas vile banter, even for one such as I, wed and well-versed in the iniquity of Men. All women were whores to them I saw, and I no longer wonder that Lake Town has emptied of feminine influence. Then did some speak of us and of our visit here; some of the Men were all for striking us down simply, and being rid of us, for they do not want us gaining Eryn Lasgalen; but their lieutenant bid them wait, for their Master has some scheme in mind involving you, my lord, and your influence over your Lord Father.” He shook his head, his fair face grieved. “Then did they speak of Melima and Belias,” he said in a low voice, closing his eyes. “They spoke of them as one would speak of prey or livestock, calling them ‘it’ and pleased over what their fate must be. They laughed about the Dwarves, O Lord of Aglarond, for their blame in the disappearance; but all seemed to know that the Dwarves were but dupes and patsies, and they found it quite amusing that ‘those Southern Elves’ had been driven off into the wilderness – to the East, I gathered; though when they spoke of the area round the Iron Hills many of them shuddered, and cast fearful looks that way. I think me there is some mystery in the wild region, my lord, that goes beyond lions and Dwarves; for though they laughed to think of Belias and Melima in the wilderness, none were sanguine about going there themselves.”

“Ah, me,” sighed Legolas. He too pulled his legs up close, and wrapping his long arms round them rested his chin on his knees, and closed his eyes. Upon his face was a look of profound regret. “My poor Melima; how my heart aches for her! But if she and Belias were driven into the wilderness together, he would look out for her and protect her; she was so young, that dear friend, and he a stern warrior.”

“I’m none to happy to hear about Belegtilion and Dúrfinwen, either, Legolas,” said Gimli, shaking his head over his pipe. “Belegtilion’s a fine fellow, and I like him well; and Dúrfinwen, of course, is an absolute treasure. No beard, but I would forgive her for that; I hope Belias and Belegtilion might keep the maids safe!”

“Well, you know, Gimli, that Belias – “ began Legolas; but then there was a soft knock at the door, and they all fell silent, startled by the interruption. Bandobras gave a little huffing noise and scrambled down off the pallet, stumping over to the door and unlocking it. He opened it a few inches and peeped his head out.

“Well?” they heard him say. “What do you want, missy? Getting pretty late, and my lord’s for his bed.”

“O an it please you, good sir,” said a breathless voice, a girl’s voice, trembling and afraid. “It is a note, sir, for your lord, for the great Prince of Mirkwood.”

“A note, is it?” Bandobras said suspiciously. “Who’s it from, then?”

“My mistress,” said the voice. “She bid me deliver it in haste; for it contains therein news for his knowledge and comfort; but I must go and go quickly, for if my lord finds me here – “ There was a little sob then, and the patter of footsteps; and Bandobras bent down to pick something up off the floor outside the lintel. Then he shut and bolted the door again, and held up a little envelope with his thumb and forefinger.

“Not the boldest maid I’ve ever seen,” he said dryly, turning the envelope over thoughtfully. “Well, seeing as you’re mostly Elves here, I’m a-thinking you heard that little exchange. A note from the lady of the hall! That sounds awful dodgy to me. Do you want this letter, my lord, or shall I just go and whang it on the fire?”

“Give it me, please, my Bandobras,” said Legolas, holding out his hand. “If the lady wishes to impart tidings to comfort me, then I shall take it; I have heard little tonight that gives me any consolation.” He took the note and broke the wax seal; he read it, and frowning gave it to Gimli. “Odd!” he said uncertainly. “If she wishes to meet me in secret, why should she invite me to her dressing-room? Surely her husband would find me there, and I be covered in scandal!”

“Perchance that is her aim, my lord,” said Kaimelas, peering over Gimli’s shoulder to read the note. “I have news of UTMOST SECRECY, which you MUST listen to, for YOUR safety and that of your good retainers, but fearing my husband and his HEAVY HAND against me have little choice but to recourse to NOTE WRITING, and beg of you to hear these speerings, to give you HOPE in these desperate times – A tad histrionic for my tastes; were I Malbeach I might beat her too.”

“O do be nice, Kaimelas,” said Tamin reprovingly. “If she is frightened of her husband, it is no wonder she sends this note to my Master; for as all know he champions the weak and protects those who cannot help themselves.” He peered at the note too, as Gimli passed it back to Bandobras. “Quite a few underlined words, but perhaps that is because she is worried, and wishes to convey her emotions thus upon the written page, when otherwise she could not express them. I do not see anything wrong with it at all!”

“Except perchance the motivation,” said Gimli. Legolas rose to his feet, and fetching his sword-belt began to buckle it on. “Here, now!” the Dwarf exclaimed, alarmed. “Surely you are not going to meet with her now!”

“I am,” said Legolas firmly. “Have any of us met another in this town willing to speak clearly to us of the situation? Something is going on, and I shall wager any amount of money in my treasury that it is bad. Three of my folk are missing, two of whom are maids and ladies in my household; Lady Renna did say she had words to comfort, so perchance these speerings to which she alludes concern them closely, and a manner in which I might save them.”

“This is a really bad idea, my lord,” said Bandobras worriedly. “Going to a married woman’s dressing room, in the dark of night, and against her husband’s wishes! Why, I’ll bet you even Tamin knows that’s not on.”

“Well,” said Tamin, blushing. “I – I do not think it something my Adar would approve of, certainly.”

“There you have it, my lord,” said Kaimelas. “Rúmil would disapprove; is that not motivation enough?”

“Do see reason, Legolas,” begged Gimli as Legolas attached his sword and sheath to the frog. “What can she possibly tell you in her dressing-room that she could not divulge elsewhere?”

“The whereabouts of my people,” said Legolas grimly, loosening the sword in his sheath. “To me those three swore their fealty, and I in return promised to succor and protect them. How can I leave them to such an unknown fate? Even Belias, though he is a king’s man, is my friend, and I owe him enough to discern his doom.” He patted the hilt of his great sword and said, “Fear not! My blood-thirsty blade, Irmatenagar, and I shall exercise caution; I shall go unto her chamber, and tell her simply to meet me in the stables with Gimli in attendance tomorrow morning; she may discharge her secrets then. Perchance if her news is urgent then I shall wrest it from her straight way, and waste no further time; for who knows what difficulties my people currently bear? Then might we leave forthwith, and wind up this mystery sooner rather than later. Good heavens, I am weary!” he added, scrubbing discontentedly at his face. “How my eyes burn! And when I have spoken to her, if she has naught of interest to say, shall I seek my bed; I do not doubt me I shall sleep poorly, but in any case I shall be in the correct position.”

“At least bring one of us with you,” beseeched Gimli. “This is madness, Legolas! What if it is a trap?”

“A cogent point, my lord,” said Kaimelas worriedly. “At least allow Lord Gimli and me to circle round the other side of the Hall; that way if there is any ambush we might spring it ere they find you.”

“O my lord, let me do it,” begged Tamin, clasping his hands and looking up at Legolas earnestly. “I am quieter than Lord Gimli – meaning no disrespect, of course, O Lord Gimli; I do not mean to insult you; but you are a Dwarf and I am an Elf and I am much, much quieter than you, and Kaimelas and I – “

“No, Tamin,” said Legolas firmly. “I do not trust the Men hereabouts. Stay here, Little One; you and Bandobras must hold down our little shelter while you can.” Seeing Tamin’s eyes fill with disappointed tears, Legolas let out a frustrated exclamation, and kissed the crown of his esquire’s golden head. “My poor Tamin!” he exclaimed. “You are my esquire; to you I consign the care of my effects, and how can you do so if you are creeping round hallways? I tell you, stay here; I will be back very soon, I promise you, Little One.”

“V- very well, Master,” gulped Tamin, his head drooping; Legolas ruffled his hair, and winked secretively at Kaimelas and Gimli.

“You had best go first,” he said; “make sure the hallways are clear so that I might escape; there are as you know three ways in and out of this rabbit’s warren. I will take the most direct route, and meet you back here in, I hope, a few moment’s time. Go quietly; go safely!”

“The same goes for you, you reckless fool,” grumbled Gimli, tucking a throwing-axe in his belt. “Well, Kaimelas? Have your knife? Good. You take the eastern passageway, and I shall take the one round the staircase.”

“At your good whim, O Lord of Aglarond,” said Kaimelas with a bow; and Elf and Dwarf slipped out into the passage, leaving Legolas with Tamin and Bandobras. Legolas could hear Gimli fussing at Kaimelas, that surely they had known each other long enough for Kaimelas to call him by his proper name; Kaimelas was laughing at him. The Hobbit regarded the Green Knight gravely; his eyebrows were puckered and he looked worried.

“I don’t like this, my lord, not one little bit,” he said, shaking his head.

“Nor do I, my Bandobras!” said Legolas tiredly. “But have you any other notion how I might discern my peoples’ fates? If you have an idea to get information out of these vile folk, I am willing to attend unto you.”

“Bash ‘em up and make ‘em talk,” said Bandobras with grim humor. “Seems to me that suits the Green Knight better nor all this sneaking round with other men’s wives.”

“Were we more than five against hundreds would I contemplate that,” smiled Legolas, laying one long hand on the halfling’s curly head. “Say nothing, my dear Little One! I know you are thinking of a time when your Master slew two dozen soldiers in his wrath, seeking to protect his little esquire’s life and safety! You acquitted yourself well then in the clearing against Eradan’s men; I fully expect you to do so now, only mind you do not fall out of a waggon and bang up your dear little head this time!”

“O, you!” said Bandobras, batting Legolas’ hand away and blushing a little. “Had to bring that up, didn’t you, my lord? Well, I’ll promise not to go of falling out of waggons if you’ll promise to be a little more careful-like. I don’t trust this Lady Renna, that I don’t, and see to it you don’t neither!”

“I shall exercise due caution, my Bandobras,” Legolas promised, and opening the door he checked the passageway, then slipped silently out.

The way was dark, for the torches were poorly pitched and some had gone black out. But Legolas had been a guest in the Hall of the Master of Lake Town before and knew his way; he walked with seeming nonchalance, seeking to confuse any who might follow him, confident that Kaimelas and Gimli would flush out any predators. He gained the Lady’s dressing-room without incident; but upon tapping at the door was greeted not by Lady Renna, but a white-faced girl of no more than twelve or thirteen summers, dirty and disheveled, and staring up at him in terror.

“I seek your mistress, Lady Renna of Dale,” said Legolas. “Is she within, my child?”

“N – no, sir, she – she – “ The girl gulped, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks; she trembled with fear. “O do not hurt me – I beg you – “

“Bless you, child, I’ve no notion of hurting you!” said Legolas gently. “But tell me whence she has gone and I shall harass you no longer.”

“The Inn,” she whispered, glancing round fearfully. “The Inn – she said – she said to tell you – to follow the candle – “ There was a scratching sound in the hallway, which Legolas recognized as a rat scrabbling round; but with a frightened squeak, the girl shut the door in Legolas’ face. He heard her throw the bolt and scurry away, sobbing.

“Curious!” he thought. “And saddening too. Am I so frightening then? I think not. ‘Tis some other hand she dreads. To the Inn, then; I shall assume I am being followed, and let Gimli and Kaimelas protect my back.” Lifting his chin, he set off down the stairway, though he prudently ducked into an alcove to avoid a pair of passing men, and waited listening for a time; then, hearing nothing more, he slipped out the side door of the Hall and into the street.

Lake Town had been such a friendly and jolly place; it hurt Legolas to see the empty houses, the bolted and shuttered doors where before he might have met many who would have still been round to cheerfully bid him good-night. He passed the well; it stank, and oozing round the edges of the stone wall was a greasy puddle of mud. “Ugh!” he thought; “if aught is poisoning the water hereabouts, I do not doubt me folk have moved on. What a foul stench!”

He found the Inn; it was shut up and dark, but when Legolas circled it saw the faint glimmer of a candle in one of the upper windows. Avoiding the entrance, which was far too open and exposed for his comfort, he scrambled up the stone façade to the next window; it was not shuttered for it was on the second floor, and Legolas crept silently within. It was dark, but not too dark for his sharp eyes; he descried an empty chamber, a bed shoved crookedly askew, and broken crockery in a black fireplace. He pressed his ear to the door, listening; but the passage without appeared to be empty. So cautiously, carefully, he pushed the chamber door open, holding his breath lest it squeaked; at last he had gained enough space to slip through, and ran noiselessly down the hall to the room with the candle.

There was the barest hint of soft yellow light beneath the door. He again pressed his ear to the door, and heard within a voice whispering, and the light step of a woman pacing to and fro, to and fro across the room. Also was there the susurration of hands being wrung together, and now and again the soft voice fetched up in a little sob. Holding his breath and listening with all his might Legolas heard what the woman was saying:

“O what shall I do … what shall I do … he is horrible … a serpent … I cannot … I cannot bear it … “ Another sob; Legolas could almost see her as she paced frantically about, hands clasped; his heart turned over with pity. “He will … he will hurt me again … will give me away to that, that horrible … I am a thing … chattel … O I cannot bear it any longer … what shall I do? Everyone’s hand is against me … my maids … they talk behind my back, take things from me … O what shall I do … I am so alone … so alone!”

Stepping back, Legolas shook his head and set his jaw. “That damned Malbeach,” he thought, his anger stirred. “What has he done to this poor woman? O that Men would be chastised for their wicked ways; for their cruelty against the fairer sex!” And laying his hand upon the latch, he pushed the door open and entered the chamber.

Lady Renna spun round, eyes wide and terrified, her clasped hands pressed to her lips, stifling a cry of fear. “Be at peace, my lady!” said Legolas in a low voice, holding out his hands in parley. “I will not harm you, and I have given you away to no one. You are safe with me.”

“Oh!” Her brown eyes dilated black, and she pressed her hands against her bosom, fetching in her breath with a harsh whimper. Then before Legolas quite knew what to do with himself, she was in his arms, sobbing and clutching at his shirt, gibbering incoherently against his throat and wetting him with her tears. Legolas was taken aback; at first he held his arms away from her hesitantly, unwilling to embrace her; but she crumpled against him and he grabbed on to her, not wishing for her to faint or fall. He patted her back awkwardly, trying hard not to pull away and further upset her.

“There, there,” he said a little confusedly, very aware he was saying absolute nonsense, and mentally kicking himself for being so unhelpful. She threw her arms round his neck and clutched him tight, pressing her face into the cusp of his throat; he could feel her tears and her wet lashes fluttering on his skin. Then he patted her back again, and realized with an uncomfortable jolt that she was wearing nothing but a chemise.

His propriety overcame his delicacy and he pulled away, painfully conscious of the cumbrousness of his position should they be espied together; she seized hold of his lapels with desperate hands, and gazed agitatedly up at him with tear-filled eyes, begging him: “O do not leave me – O Prince of Mirkwood, have mercy on me – my husband – Malbeach – he is so cruel to me – look!” To Legolas’ disconcertment she pulled the collar of her chemise aside, revealing her breast and shoulder; but then he was arrested by the sight of cruel bruising and scratches, and a terrible red burn. “He – he came after me with a poker,” she sobbed, pulling the chemise close and clutching it tight round her throat. “He beat me – and – and – “

“Hush – hush!” said Legolas, more concerned with keeping her quiet than in comforting her; but she read his soft and placating tone amiss and threw herself at him again. Wishing mightily for Gimli just then, Legolas grimaced into her familiarly fragrant curls, and wondered how on earth he was to extract himself from this. “He will not hurt you,” he said, patting her carefully on the back, dismayed to find she was not even corseted. He could feel the curve of her flesh beneath his palm and against his chest, and he cringed back from it. “I am here; I will not let him hurt you again.”

“When he finds out – when he sees I am gone – “ Her lips moved against his collarbone, and he shuddered, looking round a little wildly and hoping Kaimelas showed up soon. “Where are they?” he thought frantically. “Orcs and spiders and swords I can manage; but not this – not this!” “O protect me, Prince Legolas!” she sobbed, wrapping her hands in his long loose hair and holding his head still; Legolas swallowed heavily. “He will beat me– or – or give me to his men again – “

Her words appalled Legolas, and he pulled back, looking with horror down into her flushed fair face, at the brook-brown eyes sparkling with gold. “That blackguard – “ he began; then with sick suddenness the room spun and went dark, and he staggered, trying to keep his feet; he felt very light-headed, and the noise in his ears was like the roaring of a tailrace. He felt her grab at him, and lead him staggering away; he fell heavily upon a pallet, and shaking his head regained his sight. Renna hovered over him, teary eyes anxious and afraid, patting his cheek with her hand and stroking his hair.

“What is it?” she asked anxiously. “Are you ill? What is wrong?”

“I, I – “ he stammered, trying to sit up; his arm encountered her shivering unfettered breasts and he flinched back, pressing himself into the musty pallet and feeling his face burn with shame “How Kaimelas would laugh at me!” he thought confusedly; his head felt like sand and he was having a terrible time marshalling his thoughts. “I have not slept in weeks,” he said weakly, then was suddenly arrested by her eyes, her deep, shining eyes, glazed with tears and filled with compassion and tenderness. He felt her hands caressing his cheeks and knew he should pull back, but he was transfixed, pierced through by her adamant gaze. His hands were heavy, like lead, and his belly burned within him. He wondered if he were indeed ill.

“How dreadful!” Renna whispered, shaking her head with pity. She began fumbling at his shirt collar. “You need air – and rest. O do not sit up – do not think to treat me as you would treat some grand lady, O Prince! I am but a rustic woman and you do not need to rise in my presence. Lie still; rest.” She fixed him with an ardent smile, and he melted beneath it, his entrails like butter in the summer sunshine. His mind was cloudy and he knew he ought to arrest her, but his limbs were water; her lithe white fingers unbuttoned his linen shirt and opened it, and he felt the cool air in the chamber caressing the skin, bringing him out gooseflesh. “There,” she breathed, smiling, her eyes shining at him, smoky and glittering. Her fingertips caressed his chest. He wanted to stop her, but he could not move his hands; he felt her fingers trail over his skin, cold fingers, so cold they burned. “You are so gentle,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes. His vision blurred and he felt himself sink further into the pallet; she had climbed on top of him, her hands on his face, in his hair, skimming over his bare skin. He shivered and wished to push away, but he could not seem to control his arms. “I know you will protect me from my husband,” she purred, leaning in to him; he could feel her nuzzling against his jowl, her lips on his collar bone. “You are so strong … like heavy silk; soft and tough and fine … pure and untouched … not innocent, but pure … so mighty and rich … and so beautiful … so, so beautiful.” Her hands were everywhere, freezing him, holding him still; his mind struggled to fight but he was so tired, so weak. “Lovely,” she murmured against his skin, and drew the flesh of his throat into her mouth to suckle it. “So lovely – you eclipse your father, even. O, your hair, O Prince … “ Her fingers sifted through the silken fall of his hair, and he stared up at her, numb and unmoving. She smiled, showing her teeth. “Your eyes, like the silver of the deep waters … and your lips, like rose leaves … “ She leaned over him, her weight pressing him down; he was drowning in her shadow, in the scent and warmth of her body; her lips pressed against his and she sighed with delight. “Kiss me, Legolas,” she breathed into his mouth, and mindlessly he did, his arms stiff and trembling, staring past the rich chestnut curls to the stained and cracked ceiling above them. She moved against him, her restless limbs stretching and contracting, and the unwitting surge of pleasure shocked him past his compliance. Legolas was unwed, and like many of his kind he was yet fiercely maintained in purity; it was enough for him to combat his mutinous limbs, and he twisted away from her, fetching up on the floor on his hands and knees, breathing harshly, his head spinning.

“What is it?” she asked above him; her voice was teasing and gentle. “You are not afraid of me, are you, O Prince Legolas, Green Knight, Lord of Dol Galenehtar? I am but a woman, and a mortal, O my sweet, my delectable one; you have naught to fear from one as weak as I.” He felt her hand on his back, caressing the bare skin; he was cold and trembling, and he could barely breathe. “Now, then,” she said, laughing; he saw her feet, bare against the wood floor, walk back to the pallet; his eyes tracked her, though he was numb to anything else. “Look at me.” When he struggled to keep his eyes fixed upon the floor, she laughed again, and said: “Am I so ugly then, that the beautiful Prince of Mirkwood will not look upon me? Look at me, Legolas.” When still he fought the compulsion, her voice sharpened. “Look at me!”

As though a hook had been caught in his mouth, his head jerked up. She was standing by the bed, her hands at her collar, smiling at him, her roiling, tumbling curls round her bare shoulders. Her eyes burned like dark gems lit behind with a great roaring fire, and Legolas’ consciousness faded in the conflagration. His head drooped and his vision darkened. Her voice became deep and hoarse, and all he could feel was the rough wood beneath his palms. “Crawl to me,” she commanded. “Abase yourself before me, O lovely Green Knight.” There was the silken whisper of cloth, and Legolas sluggishly raised his head enough to see her feet; she was stepping out of her white chemise, and her legs were bare. Helplessly he crawled toward her, his body afire, his mind insensible; he heard her chuckle richly. “Yes,” she said; he reached her feet and stopped, every joint in his body aching to flee. “Show to me your subjugation, Legolas.”

Powerless to stop himself, Legolas crouched down, and kissed her feet. She laughed again; it was a warm, welcoming laugh, and his heart filled. “O yes,” she said, and there was a creak as she lowered herself on the bed. “Come here, O Prince.”

As though his body were a marionette, controlled by some reprehensible hand, Legolas lurched clumsily to his knees. She sat naked before him, her breasts round and full, her flashing eyes reflecting the candle light, her slim arms reaching out to him. She was smiling, red-lipped, pink-cheeked, affectionate, and when she gestured he was defenseless, and tumbled gracelessly into her waiting embrace. She kissed him, and overcome with the compulsion pressing upon him, he kissed her back, his arms round her naked form. She ate at his mouth hungrily, and he could hear her breath hissing in her nostrils. Some small bright corner of his mind screamed in protest, but the dark oppression crushed him; he felt her gather him close between her thighs, and realized to his horror he had her breasts in his hands, and she was sighing and moaning, and wrestling with his trouser buttons. Then her tongue parted his lips, and the serpent thrust its head into his mouth and slid down his throat.

He retched; his whole body jerked back, and his mind was flooded with light and clarity. It burned her freezing touch from his skin, and he tumbled away, scrabbling against the rough dirty floor with his hands, kicking desperately. He turned, and seeing her standing naked there realized what he had done, and felt again the snake writhing within him; he vomited, and when she stepped closer, he raised his hands to her, blocking her face from his vision.

“Harlot – harlot!” he rasped, twisting and writhing, struggling to be free of the horrible compulsion to lie with her. He felt very hot and was trembling to his fingertips. “Go away – I will not – I – “

“Legolas,” she said; her voice was alarmed. “You are ill; you should be in bed – “

“No – “ He pushed her away, batting frantically at her hands. “You – I – “ Then he blinked, and focused on her fingers; and his heart went cold.

There, upon her forefinger, was a beautiful moonstone, set in mithril and surrounded by diamonds: the ring of Oropher.

He retched again, and when she recoiled grabbed her hands and roughly wrenched the ring from her finger. She cried aloud in pain, but he staggered to his feet, clutching his grandfather’s ring in his palm and lurching back against the chamber door. “You whore!” he cried, fumbling with his sword; he drew it with a steely hiss, and she screamed and fell back on the bed, shielding herself ineffectually with her arms. “You dare defile the royal marriage-bed of Doriath! You harlot – you – “ His gorge rose and he vomited again; his sword dipped and he clutched weakly at it. “Begone from me!” he gasped, backing away from her. She stared at him, terrified, her lush naked body trembling upon the filthy bed sheets, her rich dark hair askew; he saw the pins then, and realized she wore a wig. With a humorless laugh he flicked at it with the point of his sword and it skittered across the room; she clutched at it with a despairing cry; her head was close-cropped and gray. With her face turned from him, the spell was lifted; Legolas spun round, and fled as quickly as his feet could take him.

He scarcely knew how he gained the street, but bolted down a dark alley, his stomach roiling. He fetched up on his knees in the mud, Irmatenagar useless beside him, retching and vomiting, the diamonds in his father’s ring digging into the skin of his palm. He was gasping, dragging in his breaths like a drowning man, his head aching fit to split asunder and his eyes like burning coals. He could hear voices and footsteps, but was far too weak to even respond. To his relief he heard Kaimelas, and felt his valet’s soothing cool hands upon his forehead and bare shoulders.

“My lord! My lord!” Kaimelas said; he sounded panicky. “Lassah! Lassah! What is it? What happened to you?”

“Damn you to writhe in the lowest pits of Mandos in just agony; where have you been, you damned bastard?” croaked Legolas, retching again and clutching at his stomach. His throat was raw, and when he looked down at the detritus of his illness saw the muck was covered in bile and blood. “You were supposed to be protecting me – you and Gimli!”

“We lost you, my lord,” said Kaimelas; he put his arms round Legolas’ shoulders and hauled his lord to his feet, scooping up the sword and tucking it safely under his arm. Legolas lurched against him, his head spinning nauseously; he retched again, and Kaimelas held a handkerchief to Legolas’ mouth. “There was a crisis – “

“O save me; another one?” Legolas gasped and fetched up against a stone wall. He put his hands against it; it was cold and slimy, and he vomited blood. “What now?” he rasped, spitting.

“Our rooms are empty, my lord,” said Kaimelas, taking his lord in his arms, and assisting him down the alleyway. “Tamin and Bandobras are gone. We do not know where they are. They have vanished, my lord!”

(A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Nieriel Raina, for her help with commas and clarity. This chapter would be incomprehensible without her input. – Le Rouret)

14. The Green Knight’s Esquires

Tamin was not happy to be left behind with Bandobras while his Master precipitately ran off to put himself in danger. He did not understand the grown-ups’ interdiction on his wandering round by himself, for he was yet an innocent, and the potential perils that might menace him thus far had eluded his experience. Furthermore, he was offended by Bandobras’ continual criticism, or so he saw it, regarding his Master’s clothing and effects; it seemed nothing Tamin did, folding or brushing or tidying or arranging, was to the Hobbit’s standards, and while Tamin went round seeing to his duties Bandobras was continually fussing behind him, re-folding and picking off lint and moving about and disarranging what he had already done twice before. Tamin was too polite, and far too conscious of his Master’s regard for Bandobras, to complain; but when at last the Hobbit declared himself satisfied with their work and bid him sit still and hold his tongue, Tamin did so with a vengeance, seething within like a hot spring so that it was a wonder steam did not issue forth from his ears. Bandobras for himself did not note anything was amiss, for he was preoccupied with worry; he paced restlessly about, his cold pipe in his teeth, muttering occasionally and peering out the key hole; if he spared a thought for the Green Knight’s current esquire, it was only that Tamin was nicely quiet for once, allowing Bandobras to fret in peace.

After a half-hour’s wait they heard rushing footsteps in the passageway, and low anxious voices; Bandobras risked peeping out, and when he withdrew pattered to the window. “Help me open this here shutter, Tamin,” he grunted, struggling with the latch; resentfully Tamin unwound himself from the limbs in which he had been entwined and wrenched at the other latch so that the shutters opened. He made to look out but Bandobras shook his head and said sharply: “None o’ that, now, boy! Stay down; there’s a candle lit in here, you know.” Offended by the Hobbit’s officiousness Tamin sulkily withdrew, and glared at Bandobras from beneath his golden hair. The Hobbit peered carefully out; Tamin could hear people running round outside, and men’s voices, some angry, some laughing. Then he heard a trumpet blast, and more laughter, and someone shouted: “Bring them to the Master!” There was a great tumult, and the sound of whinnying horses and chains.

“Damn and blast!” exclaimed Bandobras, ducking down from the window and slamming the shutter closed. “This is a pickle and no mistake! I’m going to poke round a bit outside and see if I can get Gimli and them two foolish Elves back in here.” He loosened his sword and went to the door.

Tamin rose and went to the trunk containing the weaponry. “Let me get my sword,” he said, throwing open the lid and rummaging for his belt and frog. “Then there shall be two of us – “

“No, no, and NO!” said Bandobras. He turned and glared at Tamin, who stared at the Hobbit open-mouthed, too stunned and angry to speak. “Are you daft? You plant your silly self in here and STAY here, do you hear me? No shenanigans out of you tonight, if you please!” And without waiting for Tamin to respond he whisked out the door, and locked it from outside.

The anger bubbling in Tamin’s heart boiled over, and he stamped his foot and bit his lip. Had Halgond been present he would have known a second broken nose would be imminent, for such had been the fair sweet boy’s face ere Tamin’s long patience had been stretched to its limit; but this time the esquire’s anger was selfish, and he fumed with the indignity of it. “How dare he!” he cried, his hands in fists so tight his knuckles whitened. “I have been in battles before! I am no infant! How dare he lock me up like a common criminal! I have every right to find my Master as does he!” And he stalked round the room in his fury, striking at the air with his fists, filled with bitterness. “My Master left us both in here,” he complained to the pallet; “and Bandobras dare flaunt his authority!” Then with a sick suddenness the truth hit him: Bandobras could challenge his Master’s orders, and Tamin could not; that could only mean that his Master thought more highly of Bandobras than he did of Tamin. This made Tamin’s burning heart sink to his feet, and he dropped heavily onto the pallet.

“He does not trust me as he trusts Bandobras,” he thought miserably. “Bandobras has been with him for years and years, and they have fought together many times. They are friends.” He put his face in his hands and moaned. “And now I have no friends,” he said, a tad histrionically; he was far too distressed to be logical. “Fastred has rejected me, and everyone else is so far away – my Master is gone, and O I am so lonely!”

Something cold thumped against his chest, and heart lightening he groped for it: Hísimë’s amulet, smooth and cool and comforting. He ran his thumb over the soft curve of the moonstone, and fingered the little globes of citrine and peridot, then clasped it in his palm; it felt heavy. “How I miss Hísimë and Théodred!” he thought wretchedly. “Hísimë would not think me too young to go and protect my Master, and Théodred would come to help!”

He sat and snuffled a little into his hands, blind to the ridiculousness of his assumptions; but then he heard more tumult from outside, and to his horror, the familiar squeal of a horse, his little white horse, his Isilmë, from the stables. “Isilmë!” he cried, dismayed. “O what is happening? What are they doing to you, poor dear Isilmë? I must go to his rescue! But Bandobras has locked the door and I – “

Open rebellion came reluctantly to Tamin, but so distraught was he that he surrendered with a brief, resentful struggle. “It will serve Bandobras right to see I am gone when he returns,” he thought sullenly; “and how discomfited he shall be, when he finds I have rescued the horses, and without anyone’s help! My Master will be proud of me then.” He made certain Théodred’s pocket-knife was in its place, and hurriedly strapped on his sword. He stood for a moment contemplating the locked door; Bandobras had taken the key, and he did not feel quite strong enough to knock it down. “Besides which,” he thought anxiously, “that would make a terrible racket, and someone would hear me, and I would be captured, and get in trouble, and not be able to help Isilmë or my Master!” Recalling something his cousin Bragadel had taught him, he took from the trunk a boot-hook, and went to the key hole, peering out. The passage was empty and dark, so Tamin inserted the hook, felt round carefully, his tongue between his teeth so intense was his concentration; after a minute he felt the latch move, and with an extra-hard twist it gave with a click. His heart leaping, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the passageway.

He slipped through the darkness, all of his father’s training coming into play; he ducked into shadows, crept round corners, and melted silently into the darkness, exulting in his freedom, yet filled with uneasiness on his horse’s account. When he gained the alleyway he made his way swiftly to the stables; there was a lamp lit, and the sound of horses moving restlessly, calling to each other and pacing in their stalls. Tamin moved as carefully as he could, eyes and ears alert; however, the earth beneath his feet gave way, and he slipped, fetching up against the stable wall, his heart pounding. He looked down at the ground and saw he was standing in thick, slimy mud, oozing from a ditch nearby. “Ugh!” he thought; the sulphurous scent was all round him. “How can they live with this stuff?”

He crept round the side of the stable and found the door ajar, the warm lamplight flickering over the old musty straw. He heard Isilmë call again, and one of the horses – Hammer, from the sound of it – kicked the stall wall and bellowed. The grooms were absent; indeed there did not appear to be anything on two legs, barring Tamin and some barn swallows, in the stable at all. Swallowing heavily to rid himself of the lump that had so unpropitiously lodged itself in his throat, Tamin tiptoed in, his sword drawn.

He could hear a rustling noise over the sounds of the horses’ protests, and a soft voice; then Kaimelas’ mare called out in pain and kicked. There was a sharp cry, and then the sound of someone weeping.

Curiosity overcame Tamin’s fear; he sheathed his sword, and ran lightly down the aisle to the mare’s stall. She was moving restlessly, the whites of her eyes showing in the lamplight below her; she tossed her head and nickered at Tamin. He opened the latch of the stall door to soothe her, but then drew back in surprise.

Crouched in the far corner of the stall, huddled into a dirty, disheveled ball, was a girl with yellow hair, cowering from the mare’s stamping feet. A lit lamp was at her side, and she clutched in her hand a quantity of seamstress’ pins. The lamplight reflected upon something in the mare’s hock, and Tamin saw to his disbelief that there were pins stuck all over the hock and fetlock of the mare’s left hind.

“Here; what are you doing?” he cried, shocked past caution; he sprang into the stall angrily and fell to his knees, trying to pull the pins out. The mare called again, and one of the pack horses neighed back from the other side of the stall wall. “Why are you doing this? You do not stick pins in the horse’s feet; that is unnaturally cruel!”

“I – I was not putting them in!” the girl sobbed, cringing back from him. “I was – I was, was taking them out!”

Tamin looked closely at her; she was fair and pale-eyed, like Hísimë, and he wished to believe her; however something in his heart misgave him, and he was unsure. “Well,” he said reluctantly, “help me take the rest of them out then; and then you and I will check all the horses, to make sure none of the others have been harmed so!” He carefully withdrew a pin from the mare’s hock and it flinched back, making to step on the girl, so Tamin pushed her aside, and she gave a little scream and scrambled away from him to huddle trembling in the other corner. Tamin stared at her in amazement. “What is the matter?” he demanded. “I was not hurting you!”

“But you will hurt me!” she sobbed, covering her tangled hair with one dirty arm; Tamin saw she clutched the pins so tight that they were piercing her skin, and she was bleeding. “You will; you always will – “

“Stop being so strange, do; you are making more noise than the horses!” he said, anxious and afraid. “Do not help me then, but be quiet and let me work!” He ran his hands over the mare’s hocks, determining they were free of pins; then hauling the protesting girl to her feet, he dragged her into each stall, one by one checking his Master’s little herd. Isilmë he left for last, because he wanted to sit with his little horse, yet did not trust the girl to stay without force, and postulated he might have a chance to question her if he sat with her in Isilmë’s stall. He found many more pins in the horses’ feet and legs; one of the pack horses had been stuck with a nail right up into his frog, and was bellowing miserably. “Shameful – shameful!” he muttered, and the girl just sat cowering in the filthy straw and watched him, fetching her breaths in terrified sobs and flinching from him whenever he got too close. At last he dragged her in to Isilmë’s stall; his little white horse was delighted to see him, but agitated too; Tamin when he ran his hands down Isilmë’s legs found a quantity of pins stuck into his joints, though he stood patiently while Tamin carefully extracted them. The pricks of blood stood out redly against Isilmë’s lovely white coat, and made Tamin angry. When he was finished, he turned on the girl and said,

“Well, will you speak now? This is a shameful thing that has been done to our steeds; it is cruel and heartless and unkind and petty! If you are not the perpetrator of this vile act, I demand you disclose unto me the reprehensible fellow guilty of doing such a thing, and he shall feel the recompense due him!”

Tamin’s anger terrified the girl further, and she curled herself into a ball; Tamin saw to his dismay the needles were dug further into her hands, and stuck out of her like hedgehog’s quills; she did not seem to even see this, but rocked back and forth, sobbing and covering her head with her arms. “Do not hurt me; do not hurt me!” she entreated. “I do not want – I do not – please – “ Tamin, his heart pricked, stepped forward to comfort her; but this seemed to frighten her further and she screamed, making Isilmë jump in surprise and snort. She clutched her skirts around her knees and rolled away from him, pressing herself into the corner. “No!” she cried, scrabbling at the stall wall. “Do not – I beg you – “

“Stop – stop!” Tamin begged her, terribly aware of the noise she was making. Isilmë blew and nudged him, and Tamin moved back against his horse’s flank; the girl, seeing this, quieted, and regarded him with tear-filled eyes. “I will not hurt you,” he said to her, careful to not make any further moves toward her, but stroked Isilmë’s velvety nose, showing her how temperate he was, and how disinclined to violence. “I promise, I swear to you, I will not hurt you!”

“You – you will be gentle then?” she asked hesitantly, wiping her face with her pinned hands; one sharp edge scraped down her cheek and made her bleed; she did not even seem to note this. She let go her skirts and shifted her legs; Tamin saw her feet were bare and filthy, and looked as though they had been burned by hot oil. The marks were shiny and red and inflamed and looked very painful. “She is scarce older than Hísimë,” he thought, his heart wrung with pity. “And how like her she is; if she were clean, she would look very much like Hísimë.”

“I am always gentle,” Tamin said, absently rubbing Isilmë’s neck while the horse nibbled and nuzzled against him. “Well,” he amended, thinking of Halgond, “I am gentle with girls at least; I have been known to fight with boys, I fear. But I am well ashamed of my past actions and have promised my Master I will not fight thus again.”

The girl appeared to consider this; she was still afraid, but the thoughtful and appraising look on her face made Tamin very nervous. She watched Tamin as he and Isilmë doted on each other; behind her terror she looked almost hungry. “You are friends with Dwarves,” she suddenly said. It sounded like an accusation, and Tamin was bewildered by it.

“Yes, I am friends with Dwarves,” he said. “I know it is considered unseemly for an Elf to befriend a Dwarf, but in truth I do not understand the age-old conflict; and though I own I find Dwarves very different and confusing at times, I do not mind them much at all.”

She looked very cagey then, and glancing sideways round her to make sure no one was listening besides Tamin and Isilmë, she said in an undertone: “Dwarves are behind all of this.” At Tamin’s blank stare she waved her bloody hands around and said eagerly: “The trouble here. In Esgaroth. It is the Dwarves.” Tamin looked skeptical, and she said earnestly: “It is! I heard them. It is Dwarves. It is their fault.”

“What is their fault?” asked Tamin, mystified.

“Everything,” she said, waving her hands again; the pins stuck into her fingers and palms flashed in the lamplight. “All of it. The water – the – the – Master – the Master said – “ Her face changed, became frightened again, and her eyes filled with tears. “He said – he said I had to – or he would – “ She broke down and sobbed, and Tamin fell to his knees to comfort her; but she cringed back again and cried desperately: “It is! It is the Dwarves, the Dwarves! It is their fault – theirs! Look,” she said, scrambling to her feet and stumbling to the stall door. “I will show you. I will prove it to you!”

“But – “ said Tamin, greatly confused; she gestured to him, and giving Isilmë an apologetic look, he scooped up the lamp and followed her out of the stall.

He put up the lamp’s shutters when they exited the stable, and hurried after her down the street in the darkness, hoping no light would escape to disclose them. Despite the painful-looking burns on her feet, she stumbled and lurched rather quickly, though when he reached for her to help her, she cringed away, her eyes rolling with fear at him. So he followed her up the street, past the Inn and down an alleyway. There were no folk about, and no lights on in the houses; everything had a desolate air, and Tamin wondered how many of the homes were abandoned. At the end of the alley there was a large rickety building, dark and shadowy; its eaves were low over its small windows and the front door was broken. It looked like the face of a sneering, broken-toothed beggar, and it smelt of blood and sulphur and filth, and something else Tamin could not identify, but recognized as the same scent they had found in the house in the village that morning, emanating from the room his Master would not let him enter. He hesitated, looking up apprehensively at the ramshackle building, but the girl turned back to him, her eyes alarmed.

“Follow me; follow me!” she entreated him desperately, holding out her pinned and bloody hands. “It is empty; I swear it is empty! Quickly, quickly!” She gestured to him, and reluctantly he followed her round the back of the structure. It was weedy and overgrown, and there was a quantity of rubbish stacked up against the walls or hidden in the scrubby grass. She stumbled over the stuff, and Tamin reached for her once to steady her; but she backed away again with a frightened whimper, and he withdrew.

She led him to a door set in the ground, and grasped one of the handles, tugging hard. Tamin took hold of the other handle and they heaved together, and the doors creaked open; they lay them in the dirt and stared down into at dark, dank cellar. Cobwebs grew in the corners of the entryway and the hinges were rusty; there was a trickle of filthy, foul water running down the stone steps, making them slippery and treacherous. The girl went straight way down, slipping on the last two steps in the darkness, and she landed with a thump on the floor; Tamin rushed down to help her up and she tried to scramble away from him again.

“Stop that!” he remonstrated her irritably; his voice sounded flat in the heavy humid air, and it stank. “I told you; I am not going to hurt you. Now hold still and let me take these pins out of your hand.”

“I cannot see you,” she protested, shrinking back. “How – how can you – “

“I can see well enough,” said Tamin. “Just hold still!”

Her breath shrilled in her throat, rapid and panicky, and her hands were cold and trembled as though she had palsy; but she sat still and let Tamin pull the pins out of her palms and fingers. While he worked, her breathing slowed a little, and her shoulders relaxed; he heard her swallow hard, and then felt her move a little towards him. “That is better, is it not?” he said gently. “You see? I told you I would not harm you. Now, what is it you want me to see, that proves the Dwarves are so evil?”

“We need light,” she said, groping for the lamp; their hands brushed together and she clutched at him. She was sticky with blood. “Light,” she begged, and Tamin opened one of the shutters. A ray of warm yellow light pierced the gloom, revealing a dirt floor webbed over with rivulets of sluggish slimy water, steaming slightly in the chill darkness. The room was cavernous and cold, the beams draped with cobwebs and dirt, and it smelled horrible. There was a hollow dripping noise, and the soft susurration of a snake moving somewhere beneath the barrels and tarps strewn about. Tamin rose cautiously to his feet, holding the lamp aloft and shining the ray of light about, descrying an old work bench covered in rusted tools, rat droppings and bones, and everywhere slime and filth. Then to his surprise, the girl approached him, trembling from head to foot, but her grey eyes alight from within. She reached toward him with a filthy bloody hand, and lightly touched Hísimë’s pendant where it swung over his breast.

“Is this a girl’s?” she asked wonderingly. The moonstone glimmered wan and clean in the darkness, and the green of the peridot caught at the light. Tamin thought she looked eager and afraid and ashamed all at once, and wished he could bring her to Osgiliath. “She would be washed and fed and nursed,” he thought, his heart sore; “then perhaps Hísimë would teach her not to be afraid of me!” He thought of Hísimë’s large pale eyes and lovely tendrils of golden hair, the bloom of health on her smooth cheeks, and fetched a sigh. This poor girl should look like that, and not be so broken and dirty. “Perhaps I will ask my Master to bring her home with us,” he thought. “She cannot live here, the poor thing!”

“It is a girl’s,” he said, taking up the pendant in his hand and showing it to her. “Her name is Hísimë.”

“Did you take it from her?” she asked, looking closely at it, her eyebrows lowered.

“No!” said Tamin, offended. “Of course I did not take it from her. She gave it me ere I left, and I promised to return it. It is to protect me.”

She looked up at him then; her eyes had lost their fear, and she smiled; it was not a very nice smile. “Is it working?” she asked coquettishly, and touched his hair.

It was Tamin’s turn to flinch back. “It appears to be so far,” he said cautiously. The look on her face was making him very uncomfortable. “Now, show me the proof of the Dwarves’ culpability.”

Her smile faded and the frightened look came back. “Are you sure?” she asked; she glanced at the steps leading up out of the cellar and wrung her hands. “Do you really, truly want to see it? You do not want to see it, do you? Not really? We do not have to see it – we can go – we can run away – we can – can get out – “

A terrible sense of foreboding washed over Tamin. “What do you mean, get away?” he said suspiciously. “You swore this building was empty – “

There was a rustling noise outside, and he turned to the cellar door; there were black shapes against the faint light of the night sky, and he saw the gleam of a weapon. “Look out!” he cried, dashing the lamp to the floor and plunging the room in darkness. He drew his sword and said, “Get behind me, quick!”

She screamed and bolted for the back of the room, and a half dozen men rushed down the cellar steps. They slipped on the slime and stumbled in the gloom, cursing and shouting: “Get him! Get him!” Tamin’s eyes were better than theirs though, and ere the foremost man knew where the boy was, Tamin had struck off his head with a single blow. The smell of fresh blood filled the room, and Tamin danced forward, slashing at another man; then there was a sudden flare of light, and the men, blinking, found him, and with a concerted roar rushed at him.

Tamin was quick and well-trained but outnumbered and out-muscled; he managed to wound two more men quite severely ere he was rapped smartly on the head by a big hulking fellow with a cudgel. He saw stars and his sword-hand weakened; the next thing he knew he was flung to the slimy floor, and a great booted foot stamped on his fingers until he released his sword; then he was dragged to his feet and held still, and the men were laughing, and the girl was screaming for mercy. “Let her go, let her go!” he cried, struggling and looking round wildly. Then he saw a man approaching him, holding aloft a sputtering pitch torch, smiling cruelly at him.

“Let her go?” he said with a laugh. “Certainly! Bring her here, boys!”

Two men dragged the girl out of the shadows. She was screaming and struggling against them, and they were laughing at her; they had torn the front of her bodice away, and her nose was broken; blood streamed down her face and into her open mouth, down her chin and throat and all over her breasts.

“Have mercy; have mercy!” she cried to the man with the torch. “Do not send me to the Master; not to the Master, please, please! Do not send me to the East! You promised! You promised you would not send me to the East!”

“O be quiet, you little slut!” said the man irritably. “You make too much noise; and besides, this is easier!” With a laugh, he drew his sword and ran her through. The other men laughed as she gurgled and lurched, her eyes wide and terrified, and they dropped her; she fell to her knees, one trembling arm held out in supplication to Tamin; then with a sickening wet cough she fell lifeless to the floor.

“You horrible man!” cried Tamin, filled with terrible fury, fighting and struggling so hard he nearly wrenched his arms out of their sockets. “How could you – you – “

“Do not waste your sympathies on the likes of her, pretty boy,” laughed the man with the torch. “She served her purpose, did she not? For here you are, nicely caught in our snare!”

“O you will pay for this!” shouted Tamin, kicking with his feet and struggling anew. “You horrible – you vile – you – “

“Spare us your accolades,” grinned the man with the torch. Kicking the girl’s body aside with his boot he stalked to the back of the room. “Bring him!” he commanded the men, and Tamin was dragged helplessly along.

At the back of the cellar was another door, leading further underground; the scent of dirt and moist loam was overpowered by the stench of blood and decay. The man with the torch lit a lamp on a table, and there before Tamin’s appalled eyes were displayed the most contemptible and wicked devices he had ever seen: iron helms with spikes on the inside, racks, cages, whips and saws; sharp pokers and iron-banded cudgels and other things that he did not understand, but looked cruel, rusty and covered in blood and hair. “Welcome to the Master’s play-room!” said the man with an expansive gesture, and the men holding Tamin laughed. The boy’s heart went cold, and he began to feel very afraid. “O that I had obeyed my Master!” he thought. “O that I had obeyed Bandobras! What will these men do to me? What shall I do?” He watched the man with the torch come forward, a cruel and speculative look on his face, and felt very sick. His limbs began to tremble and he cringed back as the man leaned in, grasping his jaw with one hand and examining him carefully.

“The little bitch did her job well,” he said with an awful smile. “I declare, you are even prettier than that foolish Elf-prince! The Master will like you; he will like you very much. And you will be good to your new Master, will you not, pretty boy?”

The men guffawed, but Tamin cried indignantly: “I have but one Master, and that is Legolas of Dol Galenehtar!”

The man spit on his face. “Idiot boy,” he said contemptuously, and slapped him. It stung, and Tamin winced. “The time of the Elves is long past; and the stunted Dwarves are dwindling. There is new power in the world, and it is the power of Men. You had best accept this, for there is no changing it; we are everywhere, and we will have everything – everything.” He leered at Tamin. “Now then,” he said sweetly. “Let us hear you call me ‘master.’ Just for practice, you know.”

“Never,” hissed Tamin, and though he knew his Naneth would have disapproved, he spit back at the man. The man flinched, and his eyes went angry. He drew back, and at first Tamin thought he would walk away; but then the man kicked him violently in the stomach. All the breath went out of him, and he sagged and gasped; through the roaring in his ears he heard the men laugh. “A fighter!” the man called. “We will have fun preparing this one, boys!”

He was turned and flung roughly against a table, fetching up on his face. He scrabbled against the sticky surface with his hands, but the men were on him again, holding him down and pinning him against the table. Someone kicked him from behind, and he cried aloud in shock and pain. “Call me ‘master’!” the man shouted. “Come along, boy; say it! Say ‘master’ to me!”

“No!” croaked Tamin, struggling to catch his breath; his feet slipped on the greasy floor, and he could feel the sharp edge of the table digging into his stomach, already sore from the man’s kick. “Never!”

“This will not do!” cried the man gaily, and kicked Tamin again; Tamin bit his lip to keep from crying out, and the men laughed and laughed. “Say it, pretty boy! Call me ‘master’!”

“I’ll call you master, and more beside!” cried a clear, piping voice from the entryway; there were several twangs and thunks, and the laughter died away into shouts and screams. There was more shouting, and the bellow of war-cries, and then the men let Tamin go; he wheeled round to see Bandobras and two strange Dwarves attacking the men, and the men fighting weakly back. Bandobras had cast aside a bow, and was fighting grimly with his small sword. He looked very gallant and very small standing there among all those big men, though he fought well, and danced aside from their blows. Tamin’s heart was flooded with relief and remorse together, and he thought: “What if Bandobras dies! He will have died defending me! O how angry my Master will be then!” He groped for his sword, but remembered he had dropped it in the other room; then he recalled the knife Théodred had given him, and fumbling in his tunic he drew it and flicked it open with a reassuring snick. He saw his tormentor’s back turned to him, and he sprang upon him, sinking the knife deep into the man’s back, up to the very hilt. The man screamed and arced back, struggling to dislodge him; but Tamin held tight, withdrew the knife, and reaching round slit the man’s throat. He fell heavily, and Tamin leapt aside, looking round wildly to make sure the Hobbit was not in danger.

He saw, however, that Bandobras and his Dwarvish friends had done their work quickly and well; two men were down with arrows in their throats, and the other two dead with the telltale marks of axe and sword; Tamin’s man lay spread upon the floor, his blood mingling with the gelatinous muck. Tamin was battle-tried and not given to giddiness, but his head roared with the sudden violence of it all; he was trembling head to toe, and felt very sick and ashamed. The enormity of his disobedience visited itself upon him, and it was a heavy load indeed; writ large into the furious Hobbit’s face was the disappointment and disapprobation of his Master, and Tamin felt ready to sink into the mucky floor with the mortification of it.

“Well!” said one of the Dwarves, smiling grimly and wiping his axe blade. “That is what I call a nick-of-time rescue; would you not agree, my good Hobbit?”

“And a totally unnecessary one!” said Bandobras angrily. He swung on Tamin, blood spattering from the tip of his blade across the boy’s chest. His small face was dark with fury. “You idiot!” he sputtered, shaking his sword in anger. “Why’d you go of doing something like that? You want to get yourself up and killed? Don’t you know what your Master’d do to me if aught happened to you whilst I was supposed to be watching out for you?”

“N – nothing, Bandobras,” gulped Tamin, his lower lip trembling. “He loves you more than me.” Then he burst into tears.

The Dwarves cleared their throats and looked politely away. “I think I shall check the cellar entrance in case we’ve been followed,” said one judiciously. “Care to join me, Ibun?” Together the two stumped out of the dank room, leaving the sobbing boy with the Hobbit.

Bandobras was quite taken aback by Tamin’s tears; he stared at the boy in dawning comprehension, then sighed and ran one bloody hand through his curly hair. “Confound it all,” he muttered, and going to the boy took him roughly round the waist and gave him a quick awkward embrace. “Now, you look here,” he said a little uncomfortably, shaking Tamin by the elbow. “Sure and he might love me best, for he’s known me longer nor you. But you’re an Elf, you are, and he’ll wind up loving you longest, for he’ll go on loving you for ever and ever, and he’ll have to stop with me eventually, you know.”

The inference was yet novel to Tamin, and he blinked back his tears; suddenly his jealousy seemed very petty. “O I am so sorry, Bandobras!” he sobbed, throwing himself upon the Hobbit’s shoulder. “What have I done! I have placed us both in danger and for no good reason! O must my Master be angry with me, and O how justified you are in your anger! O Bandobras, please forgive me!”

“All right; all right,” said Bandobras uneasily, giving Tamin a couple of stiff pats on his back. “That’s enough of that, now, you silly boy. Now come along of me, dear heart, and let’s go of finding our Master; for he won’t go getting angry – O no, not our Master! – rather he’ll be a-blaming himself for this, and I’m thinking he’s got enough on his plate at the moment.”

“Yes, Bandobras,” sniffed Tamin, and he and the Hobbit wiped their blades carefully, and quit the room. But when they entered the previous chamber did Tamin’s heart wring anew, for he saw, crumpled in a pathetic little heap upon the floor, the body of the girl who had enticed him thither; still were her poor hands bloodied, and her pinched face was set in a terrified grimace. “O, the poor thing!” he said, his tears pricking once more. “How terrible they were to her, and how my heart burns for her, though she sought to harm me! O she was so frightened, Bandobras; how I wish I could have saved her!”

Bandobras fetched a sigh, looking down on the girl lying in the muck and blood. “Damned shame,” he muttered, then said a little loudly: “Get your sword, then, esquire of the Green Knight! The Master’ll be none too pleased if you go and leave it in this here mud, you know, seeing as he gave it to you and all.”

Tamin hurried to it, and lifting it he wiped it clean carefully upon the cloak of one of the men he’d slain. There was a sound on the steps above them, and he looked up; the Dwarves were looking down at them, their eyes bright in the darkness. “All serene down there?” one called softly. “It is clear, and the moon is bright, confound it! We will all have to be extra-careful, even our little Elvish friend, as it is rather obvious he is no good at being surreptitious.”

“An astonishing thing too, for an Elf, I own!” said the other, the one the first Dwarf had called Ibun. “Nír, let us see if this youngling might redeem himself, and pay us back for saving his hide; he might walk point, and so flush out any enemies who lie in wait for us!”

Bandobras spluttered in protest, but Tamin raced up the steps, and dropping to one knee, he grasped Ibun by the hand. “O but I will, I promise I will!” he said earnestly, gazing up into the Dwarf’s kindly face. “O that you have put your lives in danger for me, when I was being so stupid and stubborn and small-minded! And you have saved me, and I am ever so grateful to you; and I shall do everything I can to repay you, well barring money of course, for I have none unfortunately, though I might later when I become a knight, because esquires when they become knights are given some money, but perhaps by then my debt to you shall be repaid and it will not be necessary – “

“Here, now, enough of that, lad,” laughed Ibun, and Nír chuckled and shook his head. “This is no time for histrionics! We need to get back to the Master’s hall, double-quick and double-quiet; do you think you can lead us without following any more girls about?”

Tamin blushed and felt miserable, and privately resolved to never disobey again, for the consequences were too dire, and embarrassing as well. “O yes!” he said, with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. “I will start leading you straight way!”

“Do that then!” said Nír with a laugh, and though Bandobras shook his head and muttered under his breath, he followed them, and they slipped quietly into the darkness.

(A/N: I am terribly, terribly sorry it has taken me this long to get this chapter posted! Real life, i.e. summertime syndrome, keeps getting in the way of my daily forays into Middle Earth, dernit. But fortunately, the kids go back to school in a few weeks, and I’ll have my days to myself again.

Many thanks to my marvelous and beleaguered beta, Nieriel Raina, without whom this chapter would look very strange and sub-par. Please send her your good wishes, for her Elfling has managed to injure herself, making Nieriel’s summer even more convoluted than mine!

--Le Rouret)

17. An Impromptu Council

The snake slid through the mud, dull brown, covered in slime. One could barely descry it, for it was the color of the muck, slippery and obscured. Its black eyes glittered like jet, and regarded him with a wry and cruel humor. The black forked tongue flicked out – zthh, zthh – and the stiff lips were fixed into an awful smile.

The wasp was bright yellow, with many faceted eyes; it darted to and fro, its wings a blur. The snake lifted its head out of the mud; a viscous ooze dripped off its chin. It opened its fanged jaws to devour the wasp, but the insect proved the swifter. It affixed itself to the back of the snake’s head and began to sting. The snake twisted round, looping its long, slimy coils, the mouth wide open, trying to bite the wasp, but the wasp curled its little soft body in, and stung and stung and stung. The snake stretched, writhed, bent in on itself to bite the wasp with its dripping fangs, but could not reach it. Then the snake shrank; its body became soft, the scales dissolving into pulp. It was only a caterpillar, toothless, with wriggling ineffective legs, and blank eyes. Still it twisted and struggled, but the wasp became stronger; its stinger lengthened and strengthened, pierced and poisoned.

“Go to the East,” said the nightingale irritably. It flicked its head at the wasp and the caterpillar, looking hungry. “You must follow the Master to find the Master, you idiot. Now, hurry up! It is nearly dinner-time.” Then it snapped up the wasp and the caterpillar both and swallowed them.

Legolas jerked awake, his heart skipping and thudding in his chest. His stomach and throat hurt, and it seemed horribly dark to him. But then he heard Gimli’s soothing voice, and the hard, strong hands gently stroking his hair.

“What; awake already? That was not much of a nap, my friend. Another nightmare?”

“Yes,” croaked Legolas; his throat was very dry, and his tongue tasted blood and bile. “Not bad.”

“Well, that is something, I suppose.” He pressed a flask to Legolas’ lips. “Drink this.”

Hoping it would wash away the vile taste, Legolas drank deeply. The liquor he swallowed burned all the way down, and warmed his belly; he coughed. “Ugh,” he said weakly. “That is the worst brandy I have ever drunk!”

“That’s because it is pomace,” said another voice. Legolas blinked and focused his eyes; a young Dwarf stood there, grinning down at him through his dark curly beard. “Awful stuff, I shall gladly admit, your highness, but it appears to be all we have save that stinking, mucky water.”

“Nír,” said Gimli. “One of Dwalin’s sons; fortunately he does not appear to have inherited his father’s dislike of the Firstborn. I suspect it is his natural tendency toward mischief. And that is his friend Ibun, cleaning your sword; he is not much better. The slime that the ground emits hereabouts has an acidic taint to it; it has etched a stain into the hilt, and Ibun has generously offered to buff it out; personally I deduce he is eager to examine it for himself, and has leapt at the opportunity to study such an ancient Elven blade.”

Legolas frowned; his head felt full of straw, and he could not quite remember where he was, or how he had come there. Then he remembered Renna’s face, and Kaimelas’ steady hand, and he sat up panicking and cried: “Tamin – Bandobras! Where are they?”

“We’re here; we’re here,” Bandobras’ voice said. “No need to get into such a pother, my lord. We’re both safe and sound, like you. For now, at least; I won’t promise peaceful days ahead, at least not right away.”

Legolas looked around a little confusedly, feeling lightheaded; his eyes did not seem to want to focus, and he blinked hard. At last his vision cleared, and he saw that it was night, and that they were in a small clearing in a densely wooded area; the ground was covered thick with dead leaves and old loam, and there was a small fire crackling in a pit surrounded by stones. The stars were occluded by heavy clouds, and the air was humid and oppressive. He heard the low, comfortable nicker of their horses, and realized he had been reclining against their baggage; the only other noises he could descry were the safe and homely ones of a quiet forest – a cricket trilling, leaves rustling, the creak of branches. Far up in the trees he heard a nightingale, and remembered his dream. “Is that a message to me?” he wondered. “Am I guided or warned? Do I press east now, or west to my Lord Father?” His limbs were aching and feeble, and he felt very dizzy; ever in the back of his mind he could hear the low, sinister hiss of a serpent.

Bandobras stumped over, and stood with his arms akimbo, looking down at the Green Knight with a frown. “You look awful,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Legolas weakly, rubbing his aching head. “Tamin?”

Wordlessly did his little esquire creep round the pile of baggage, his face downcast and his head hanging; Legolas saw his bruised face and tearstained cheeks and his heart turned over. Tamin made to kneel at his Master’s side, but Legolas snatched him up in relief, pressing the boy to his breast. “O my Tamin,” he said breathlessly; “you are untouched – O my Bandobras, please tell me; remains he untouched?”

“Yes,” said Bandobras with a sigh. “Found him just in time, thanks to Ibun and Nír. Mighty handy to have around, a couple spare Dwarves, you know.” He shot the trembling Tamin a frustrated look. “Take after your Master, don’t you, now, Tamin? Running off like that after a girl; for shame, you!”

Tamin fetched his breath in a sob, his small fingers clutching at his Master’s hair. Legolas could smell blood on him, and the ever pervasive stench of the mucky slime. “I am sorry, Master – “

“Hush!” whispered Legolas, holding the boy tight in his arms; Tamin’s heart swelled to hear the broken humor there. “We are fools, you and I, my Tamin; we trust too quickly, and act without thinking – I chose more a son to me when you came to me as esquire, for your father was never so precipitate! And you were beguiled away in like fashion? For shame, my dear Little One! Nay; we shall be wiser next time, shall we not?”

“Yes, Master,” sniffled Tamin, pressing his face against Legolas’ bare chest; Legolas could feel the boy’s tears, and kissed the crown of Tamin’s head. “And it was horrible, and she was so strange, and so afraid, and so dirty, and I knew I could not trust her for my heart misgave me but I followed her anyway and O it was so foolish, and now she is dead and it is even more horrible, and I wish I had never gone for maybe then she should still be alive, though she seemed so unhappy I am not sure how I feel about that, except for guilty, I feel very guilty, Master, and I promise I will never, never, ever ever run away from Bandobras ever again, I promise, Master!”

“We shall both attest to that statement,” said Ibun, approaching with Legolas’ sword, his swarthy face split by a jolly grin. He ran reverent fingers down the fuller, his eyes glittering eagerly. “A promise; did you hear that, Nír? Bandy is doomed; Tamin will follow him to the ends of the earth!”

“Fair enough,” grunted Bandobras, ruffling Tamin’s golden hair. He gave Legolas a thoughtful look. “Are you – er – hungry, my lord?”

Legolas’ stomach lurched, and he closed his eyes tight. “No, my Bandobras,” he said weakly; “the liquor perchance impedes my appetite.”

Bandobras grunted. “More likely the circs,” he said disapprovingly. “But I’ll give you that one, my lord.”

“It is just as well,” said Nír cheerfully. “All we have is cram anyway.”

“But, but Master,” stammered Tamin, nestling down further into his Master’s embrace, “I was touched – I am bruised, for they hit me; and they threw me about, and kicked me.”

“My dear Little One, it could have been much, much worse,” said Legolas with a sigh. He drew back, and put Tamin at arm’s length, looking thoughtfully into the boy’s face; Tamin was red with mortification. Legolas saw that though Tamin had been frightened and hurt, he yet maintained his innocence; some of the fear which had clutched itself tight round his heart bled away. “You are well and unbroken; I would bear near any hurt to you save that which I feared,” he said, rejoicing to see the bewilderment in his esquire’s eyes. “But, my Tamin, you must swear to me to keep a great distance between yourself and the Men of Esgaroth – swear it to me, my Tamin; I command you.”

“I swear,” said Tamin meekly, and Legolas smiled, and embraced him again; and then he said: “Well, O esquire mine, I observe I am yet unclothed, from the waist up anyway. Will you find for me a shirt or tunic to cover myself?”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, eager to be given a task to redeem himself; he scrambled round the back of the bags and began rummaging around. Legolas sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair; it was tangled and sticky. He noticed the two young Dwarves watching him cautiously; there was no disapprobation in their eyes though, and recalling that Bandobras had said they had aided in Tamin’s rescue, he smiled up at them.

“Well!” he said, turning to Gimli, who sat grim and silent beside him. “Will you formally introduce our friends to me, Gimli? Such brave and selfless acts deserve a touch of ceremony I deem.”

“Ceremony, from you?” grunted Gimli, giving him a guarded look. “You must be wearier than I thought!” He gestured to the two young Dwarves, and they both trotted over to them; Legolas started to struggle to his feet, but Gimli put a restraining hand on his shoulder and said: “None of that, now! Save your strength; you look like the eighth day of a week-long party. Ibun Borin’s son, there in the blue hood looking greedily at your sword; and Nír Dwalin’s son with the awful liquor. They are here with my father, looking for us; rumors of our coming reached Thorin Stonehelm, and he is anxious to foregather with us.”

“Your father is here?” asked Legolas, brightening. “Where is he? And where is Kaimelas?”

“Checking the south-eastern shoreline,” said Gimli, watching critically as Legolas shook the young Dwarves’ hands; he was concerned, for Legolas’ face was grey, and his hands trembled; Nír and Ibun however were too polite to comment, and nodded and smiled in a friendly fashion to the Elf. “They have a boat; it is safer to return to Erebor by water than by land. Hopefully Malbeach’s men have found it more fun to torment other Men than try to track us down, for we are few, and they are many.”

“We had hoped you would bring an army with you,” said Ibun, regretfully handing Irmatenagar to Legolas hilt-first; his eyes lingered lovingly on the blade. “But we will take your strong arm and your filial influence – if you can stay away from the ladies, that is!”

Legolas remembered his father’s ring then, and where he had found it, and a sick sense of foreboding filled him; Ibun seeing the shadow cross the Elf’s face said quickly: “I did not mean it, your highness; from all accounts ‘twas an awful situation; I was only fooling.”

“No, no; I deserved that, good Ibun Borinion,” said Legolas with a shaky smile. “Had I listened to the advice of my friends, I should not have placed myself in such an awkward and dangerous situation. I promise you, I am finished chasing after mortal women for now.”

“Good!” said Nír, taking a swig of the flask and grimacing. “Terribly fickle things, the daughters of Men; I cannot for the life of me see what the attraction is. Though I own I’ve seen a fair portion of pretty Elvish maids. I like the dark-haired ones.” He cocked an eye at Legolas, who was anxiously searching his trouser pockets. “Lose something, your highness?”

“I – it is not important,” said Legolas quickly, wondering where on earth the ring had gone. He remembered clutching it tight in his fists when Kaimelas had found him, but then all had gone black, and he could not recall where he had put it ere he had fallen into a swoon. He desperately hoped he had not lost it; yet to admit to its presence in the place where he had found it was unspeakable. He felt a surge of anger at his Lord Father then, for being even more foolish than the son; yet when he recalled the horrible coercion he had experienced, his heart wrung again in pity. “I must speak with him of it,” he thought, slightly panicked; “I know not which shall be more painful, his shame, or mine!” Tamin rushed toward him then with a linen shirt, and Legolas gratefully took it and said, “Thank you, my Tamin – that is capital; it is just what I wanted.” He shrugged into the shirt and said to Gimli while Tamin anxiously buttoned it up and smoothed it down, “So where are we? It is not often I awake someplace I do not remember falling asleep; at least not without the over-consumption of wine the night before.”

“We are deep in the woods east of Esgaroth,” said Gimli; “my father and these two had been waiting here for news of us. Father and Kaimelas should be here shortly; they are but looking for signs of Malbeach, as he was not in the Hall when we regained our rooms, and many of his Men are missing too. There was a great conundrum when we lost you, Legolas; a couple of Girion’s spies were found out, lurking round the walls, and a great mob of Men were dragging them round in the mud calling for death and torture; we decided upon finding you to leave Malbeach’s Halls without proper good-byes, and hope our improprieties are forgiven us under the circumstances.”

“Under the circumstances,” said Legolas, rising slowly despite Tamin and Bandobras’ protests, and resheathing his sword, “I do not own any proprieties to either Malbeach or his wife. What became of the spies?”

“Ugh,” said Bandobras, and Tamin shivered and hugged himself with his arms; Nír and Ibun looked uncomfortable, and Gimli shook his head.

“Do not ask,” said Gimli, “and you will not be further distressed. Suffice to say there is little left to return to Dale.”

Legolas shook his head angrily. “I have had enough of Lake Town,” he said; “I am prepared I own to burn it to the ground, and simply stand back and pick off the escaping Men with my bow while the city is reduced to ashes. Had Girion’s spies found aught worth knowing?”

“Who can tell?” asked Ibun. “I can reveal this to you though; Malbeach sent a messenger to Girion, telling him his spies were slain by Dwarves.” At Legolas’ raised eyebrow, he gave an evil grin, and patted his axe haft. “A shame it is Girion will see neither message nor messenger!”

“But, but,” stammered Tamin shyly, ducking his head when they looked at him. “But why is Malbeach blaming all of this on Dwarves? That is what that poor girl said to me, that Malbeach had said all of this is the fault of the Dwarves. What has Malbeach against you?”

“Well, he has to blame someone,” said Gimli, “and obviously he is not going to take responsibility for all of this himself. Why not the Dwarves? Many Men dislike us; this is nothing new.”

“Why would Men dislike you though?” asked Tamin, bewildered. “What is there to dislike? I like you quite a bit. You are funny and fierce and clever.”

“I knew I liked him,” said Nír to Ibun.

“They are only jealous of the Dwarves, my Tamin,” said Legolas, shrugging, and leant tiredly up against the bole of a tree; his legs were weak and he felt wobbly. “Dwarves are usually wealthy and successful, and live longer than do Men; their workmen are more skilled, and they drive hard deals; they are clever and persuasive in commerce, and ferocious in battle. It is simple to resent a people you cannot beat.”

“I like him, too,” said Nír to Ibun, who was looking thoughtfully at Legolas.

“With a stance like that, your highness,” said Ibun, “it is no wonder Glóin approves your friendship with his son,” he said. He bowed solemnly. “Ibun, at your service!”

“Legolas Thranduilion, at yours and your family’s!” said Legolas with a laugh, bowing back. When he straightened his head spun, and he pressed his hand against his forehead. “No more liquor for me,” he said, and cautiously lowered himself upon the baggage again, Tamin and Bandobras anxiously attending. “I have not felt this delicate since the morning after Himbaláth’s wedding.”

“Are you certain sure you don’t want nothing to eat, my lord?” asked Bandobras. “You’re looking awful peaky to me.”

“It is so,” agreed Tamin gravely; “when one does not eat, Master, one can feel very woozy and faint; Kaimelas did say to us, Master, that you had not eaten much at the feast, and subsequently were ill; your stomach is empty, Master, and I am certain you are weak for there is nothing in it. O do eat something, Master; you will feel ever so much better if you do!”

“Cram it is, then,” said Nír, digging a packet out of his wallet and handing it to Legolas, who took it resignedly. “Nír, Dwalin’s son, at your service! Though I am sure you would find my service more valuable if I were offering you sweetmeats and pastries.”

“Legolas Thranduilion at yours and your family’s!” said Legolas with a smile, taking a bite of the waybread; it was desiccated and tasteless. “Let us promise each other feasts at a later date, then.”

“I have heard good things about the wine from the slopes of Ephel Dúath,” said Nír hopefully. “I will trade you a feast for a barrel of red wine, if it please you.”

“It would please me greatly, O Nír,” said Legolas. He struggled to swallow the dry bread and said, coughing, “Is there any water, or only the liquor?”

“There is clean water, but it is hot, for we have just boiled it,” said Gimli, stumping to the fire and picking up a steaming pot. “And there would be meat to eat, if all the game had not fled looking for a good drink. I wonder what that slimy stuff is, anyway?”

“The earth, vomiting up the evil of the Master of Esgaroth,” said Legolas with a sigh, taking a cup from Gimli and sipping carefully. The water was sound, but had a bitter taste, and smelt sulphurous. “I know not; perhaps there are hot mud springs beneath the ground, surfacing after many years? Though I do not recall such terrain from centuries past.”

“Well, the water’s clean at home, at least,” said Ibun. “And Girion’s folk have said naught about foul water thereabouts. Perhaps it is isolated to Esgaroth only.”

There was the crunch of leaves, and the snap of a twig then, and Kaimelas and Glóin entered the clearing. Legolas leapt to his feet and immediately regretted it, for his head spun and he sat back down straight way. “Little Father!” he exclaimed. “How relieved I am to see you in good health! Such dreadful things have happened hereabouts that I have been very concerned for the wellbeing of all those I love.”

Glóin and Kaimelas regarded the prince; upon Kaimelas’ face was a look of deep concern, but Glóin’s eyes were twinkling merrily. “Well, you are awake!” he said. “And eating our wonderful waybread too; you must be on the mend then!” He stumped over to Legolas and let the Elf embrace him; he patted Legolas’ back roughly. “Silly young fellow,” he said gruffly, ruffling the pale hair. “Coming up here in secret, and with so few! What were you thinking?”

“Thinking?” said Legolas innocently. “I, thinking? How insufficiently you are acquainted with me, that you should suppose I make a journey of near seven hundred miles, with any forethought whatsoever!”

Nír snorted with laughter, and Ibun grinned, but Glóin shook his head. “And here we are,” he said, “eight against a thousand! What I would give to have a troop of your archers, O Lord of Dol Galenehtar, or your knights upon their fearsome destriers!”

“We ought to have come better prepared,” said Kaimelas; he looked cross. “I was against this journey to begin with; now I am convinced it was naught but madness. We ought to have told Galás, my lord; we might have convinced him – “

“He would not be swayed by a couple of letters,” said Legolas, feeling irritated. “You know this; you know how leery he is. And do not throw Meivel’s name at me either,” he added, shaking his finger at Kaimelas, who had opened his mouth to speak. “Galás and Meivel are more alike than either would own, and should have listened once to me quite politely, and then both agreed to send letters of their own ere doing a thing. Then more time would have been wasted, and who knows what we should have heard, or what else would have come to pass? Blame me if you like, my Kaimelas, but though I do not claim the highest acumen or greatest intelligence, I still feel I have done the best I could do.” He paused, considering; then said, “Well, in the greater scheme. I did rather muff the situation with Renna, have I not?”

“Well, rather,” said Bandobras. “Otter of stopped you, we otter.”

“We ought to have brought more folk anyway,” said Gimli, shaking his head. “I knew the dreams were telling Legolas of terrible things; why did we come with so few? I should have told Nórin to send me at least twenty good warriors; that would have precluded some of this nonsense.”

“And I ought to have not leapt first, and looked afterwards,” said Legolas. “If you wish to blame anyone, blame me! I do not think ahead, it is true; my Lady Mother is forever plaguing me, that Father and I did not think ahead, which is why she continually beats us at draughts.”

“We are all to blame,” said Glóin unhappily. “I told you to come, my son, and to bring your friend the Prince. I said naught about armies and arms, for when I wrote you I had no notion ‘twould degenerate so quick, and thought litigation not aggression a proper cure. But degenerate it has, my boy; the gates of Mirkwood and Erebor are closed, and Thorin and Thranduil are twin idiots.”

Legolas’ heart lurched again, thinking of his father’s ring. “Idiot indeed!” he said to himself. “My Lord Father whipped me with a cane once, and deservedly so; I understand now the anger that precipitates such behavior. My poor mother!”

“It is all very well, O Glóin Gróinion, to lay the blame at everyone’s feet,” said Kaimelas, smiling as he watched Tamin fossick about in the luggage for a brush, and fuss round his Master’s hair. “But the question remains: What do we do now? We cannot return to Lake Town, and turning tail and running back to Gondor will avail us little save putting off an evil day, and leaving our folk in danger. But there are so many directions in we might run; I am unsure whether to go west to Thranduil, or north to the Lonely Mountain, or east whence seems to come this menace.”

“East!” said Bandobras firmly. “Belias, Dúrfinwen, Belegtilion, and Melima are out there somewhere – maybe alive, maybe not. That’s the more immediate problem, I’d say, though I don’t expect you folk to agree with me.”

“Whyever not, good Hobbit?” asked Ibun. “Immediacy is not necessarily a poor motivator, and your friends are out there.”

“But it’s only four Elves, silly,” retorted Bandobras. “Compared to all your other folk in danger, north and west, do I suppose you’re a-thinking to go off east and save four Elves’ skins? I’m not, and I don’t blame you. But I’m for heading east, and letting of Thorin and Thranduil suck it up theirselves, since it seems to me they’ve gone and made this problem the worse through not standing up to this narsty Malbeach in the first place, and if you don’t like it, you can stick that in your pipes and smoke it.”

“Convoluted but prudent!” laughed Nír. “For myself I should love to go rescue two Elvish maidens, Dúrfinwen especially; a jollier girl I have yet to meet, and her qualities run to perfections alone, save the chin, which is bare.”

“You and your dark-haired Elvish maids!” said Ibun, shaking his head. “Yet we must needs attend to our own lord. King Thorin is I admit the world’s largest idiot at the moment, and I am unnerved that the Master of Esgaroth is spreading abroad this disaffection to our folk; Girion is not much better, and if he as we suspect thinks the Dwarves are behind all these troubles, we are in for a time of it, and had best get home.”

“If we could but get Thranduil and Thorin to open their gates to each other!” fumed Glóin. “Girion makes a good ally, but Thranduil would be superior in near all ways; he lives underground too, and his fortress is stronger than Dale. Legolas, what influence have you over your father?”

“It is more to ask, what influence has he not over his father?” asked Kaimelas; he sounded darkly amused, and shot his lord a wry look; Legolas made a face, though no one could tell if he were mocking his valet, or wincing because Tamin had found a particularly stubborn knot. “I tell you this, O Glóin father of Gimli Elf-Friend, had Legolas been present during your capture you should have spent your time in the palace, sleeping on feather-ticks and fed fruit sorbets and lamb-chops. The Queen too; she has the gift of keen insight and should have read Balin more clearly than her royal husband, who carries from Doriath a valid if unreasonable suspicion of your folk. Thranduil is hard, but he is not harsh, O Glóin; he is the smooth cold blade, not the jagged edge of the saw.”

“Thorin is just as bad,” said Ibun, wagging his beard. “Lock the eastern gate, Ibun! Set the archers, Nír! Gather mine advisors, Bofur! Insult the Elvish delegates, Nori! Mistrustful, suspicious fool. And after that lovely party we had at Harak-Barûn, when I thought the two kings got on so well together! I am not certain what caused the change; but where congress was before did disaffection appear, and Girion is scarce better, muttering about the evils of those who are not Men. I tell you, some poison is about, changing people’s minds; no one’s judgment is clear nowadays, as you have demonstrated, your highness.”

Legolas shifted then, his face raised and his breath quickened. The snake hissed and whispered in his head, and the edges of his vision went dark. “You have not felt it yet, Ibun, have you?” he asked; his voice, of habit so clear and light, was harsh and ragged, and Tamin drew away, alarmed. “Did you feel the press upon your mind? Did you? Did any of you?” He lurched to his feet, pressing his long fingers against his temples; Gimli rushed to support him when he swayed. His eyes were clouded and confused, and his heart fluttered against his chest like a netted songbird. “If this evil is spread abroad there is no wonder the kings hereabouts are confused, fighting back at each other, biting and snapping. It is monstrous – it is a, a weight, a slimy stone dragged up from the stinking depths of the Lake – sitting upon you, crushing you.”

“Legolas – “ said Gimli anxiously, grasping his friend’s arm; Legolas twitched him aside and said earnestly:

“If this – this burden – has cast itself upon my Lord Father, upon Thorin Stonehelm and Giron of Dale, then we are in danger no matter which direction we turn, east, south, west, or north. You, who did not have the – the snake – the – “ The memory of the serpent in his throat returned to him, and he retched, his hand pressed against his mouth, and Gimli gave him a handkerchief already stained with watery blood. “O save me,” groaned Legolas, trembling violently and sinking to his knees. “It is coursing through my veins; it sits in my stomach, the serpent, the serpent!”

“There is no snake, Legolas,” said Gimli, pleading, stroking the Elf’s hair while Tamin clutched his Master’s trembling hands. “It is the dream; it is only the dream coming back to you, for you have not slept in weeks. And that vile witch, Malbeach’s wife – “

“Lay not the blame solely upon her naked head,” said Legolas, giving a harsh laugh, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He met Gimli’s eyes, and took a deep relieved breath; the hissing voice lurking in the corner of his brain began to fade again. “’Twas Malbeach first who laid the compulsion upon me; his strength is greater than hers I deem, and his more evil also.”

“One might be weak and evil, or strong and evil,” said Gimli. “But if either be the case one is still evil. A snake I call her, and I snake I own her; and the faster we put Lake Town to our heels the better pleased I shall be for your sake, Legolas.”

Legolas leant against the baggage and regarded Gimli with a wry smile. “You wish to go to Erebor,” he said.

Gimli coughed. “Well, yes, I do, Legolas,” he admitted. “It is a strong fortress, is Thorin’s palace; the Lonely Mountain might hold against its enemies for months – “

“But what about Dúrfinwen and Belegtilion and them?” demanded Bandobras. “We’re surely not going to go and leave them out in the wilderness!”

“No, we are not,” said Legolas. He straightened and ran his fingers through his hair; Tamin had done his job well, and it felt better. “Or rather, I am not. I swore an oath to protect my mercer and her maid, and Belegtilion my scout, and I would fain tuck my tail between my legs and slink off without at least discerning their fates. I am going east, my friends; alone if need be. Kaimelas, Bandobras, Tamin, you go with the Dwarves; Erebor will be safe for you there – “

“What!” exclaimed Kaimelas, and Bandobras and Tamin made noises of protest; Gimli exchanged glances with his father, and winked. “Go alone, and in your condition? Absolutely not! My lord, you might be mad enough to make the trek to the east – “

“Now, you see here,” interrupted Bandobras angrily. “It ain’t madness to go and rescue our folk, and anyways it was my idea in the first place – “

“We know nothing of the east save it has become dangerous,” argued Kaimelas. “The men I overheard spoke of it with fear and dread, and the maid who lured Tamin away was afraid to go to the east, for there the Master was. Dúrfinwen and Belegtilion are dead, or close to it; I mourn them, and feel grief for them, but for myself, to put myself in such peril to determine how they died would be madness!”

“Very well, then!” said Legolas firmly. “You will go to Erebor, then, Kaimelas, and I shall go east.” Kaimelas goggled at him, stunned, and Nír coughed; Ibun was grinning. Gimli stood watching his friend, his arms folded, smiling grimly and knowingly. “Go, speak with Thorin. Convince him the Elves are not against him. Tell him what has happened here in Lake Town. Explain to him that the only way we might combat this evil is to join together to confront it – Thorin, Thranduil, and Girion together. Have Thorin gather his troops and meet up with my Lord Father at the joining of the Forest and Running Rivers. This way they might come upon Esgaroth from the West.”

“A fine plan,” said Kaimelas, flushing angrily. “Why might you not present this to King Thorin yourself? I am a mere valet; he will not listen to the likes of me!”

“I am the son of Thranduil,” said Legolas patiently. “I embody the Dwarvish preconception of Elven nobility – rich, powerful, silly, and arrogant. He will not trust me. You are a warrior, a blithe fellow, practical, earthy, and very persuasive. If you arrive with a party of Dwarves – in particular the inestimable Glóin son of Gróin, and his two strong and faithful companions – he will be very likely to attend to your words, and hear your most clever proposal.”

Kaimelas’ mouth worked soundlessly a moment. “O, no you don’t, Lassah,” he sputtered at last, fetching a harsh breath, his cheeks flushed and his fists clenched. “You – you will not go to the east yourself, and put yourself into danger – not without me!” He thumped his chest angrily, and then drew his breath in a sharp gasp, and turned an unhealthy shade of purple; he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his cough. There was an awkward silence in the clearing; they could all hear Kaimelas struggle for breath, his eyes dismayed, his lungs clicking and straining, his cheeks bleeding of color and his hands trembling. Legolas regarded his erstwhile scout with pity, and shook his head.

“The ill accompanying the injured – no, Kassah,” he said tenderly. “Go to Erebor, and thence to Eryn Lasgalen; rally the Dwarves and Elves, and if you can manage it, the Men of Dale. Be mine ambassador, Kaimelas; you were not meant to be a valet forever; it is not fitting an Elf of your many abilities. My dear Little Father,” he said, struggling to his feet, and kneeling before Glóin, putting his hand on the old Dwarf’s shoulder. “Please do you go with Nír and Ibun and my Kaimelas to our two foolish kings! I am going to the East; I must go to the East. I was told it in a dream.”

“A dream!” gasped Kaimelas then. He shook his head, still breathing hard, his hand on his chest which heaved and shuddered. “You ought – to have said – it was – a dream – my lord.”

“This is a strange council-chamber,” said Legolas, “and we have not been following proper protocol. I apologize, my Kaimelas. Tamin, you will go to the Lonely Mountain with Kaimelas; you will there meet the great Thorin Stonehelm – “

“No, Master!” cried Tamin in dismay, stamping his foot. “I will not go to Erebor – I will not!” Stamp, stamp! Tamin turned white with fury and his eyes blazed like flame. “I am not going to Erebor without you and I am not going to Eryn Lasgalen without you and I am going to the east with you and Bandobras to find Dúrfinwen and you cannot make me go to Erebor! I will run away from Kaimelas and let you whip me when I catch up with you but I will not let you send me away!”

Everyone turned to Tamin in amazement. “Goodness gracious me!” exclaimed Bandobras. “What’s next, a temper tantrum, Tamin? For shame, speaking to our Master like that!”

Legolas stared surprised; Tamin was angry and adamant and defiant, and stood tall, his chin lifted, his hands in fists. As a reflection undulates across clear water, Legolas saw a vision then of what Tamin would be like when he was grown: Tall, shining, golden and strong, mercurial, jolly and reckless. He gave a sudden glad laugh and clapped his hands.

“My Tamin!” he cried. “My beautiful, funny, imprudent, brave esquire! You shall be the Black Knight of Dol Galenehtar, and confound all the folk thereabouts, Men and Elves alike! And anyway you have not sworn to not run away from Kaimelas but from Bandobras; so with Bandobras and me shall you go, so that you will not confound Kaimelas further, and run away from him just so you might join me in my imprudent quest.”

“Shall I really?” asked Tamin, astonished, blinking in surprise. “I shall go with you and Bandobras? Truly, Master? Really, truly? Just us three? O that is marvelous, Master!” He laughed and clapped his hands, and gave a little hop on his feet. “We will go to the East, and rescue Dúrfinwen, and bring her to Eryn Lasgalen and – “

“Are you not forgetting someone?” asked Gimli dryly. “Do you really think I pine so for Erebor that I shall abandon you to this fruitless little quest?” He turned to his father and said solemnly, “If you can, Father, send someone – anyone – to the east to find us. I am no augur, but I think I might correctly predict we shall be in need of assistance ere long.”

“Our skiff is swift,” said Glóin with a smile, embracing his son. “As soon as I gain Thorin’s keep will I send a hundred Dwarves to see to your safety. You and your Elves,” he added, shaking his head and smiling. “Well, I suppose Kaimelas here will teach me what all the fuss is about.”

“I will do my best, O Inestimable Glóin!” said Kaimelas weakly. He took two deep breaths and added, “As soon as I can speak clearly again!”

“Be thankful for his bad lungs, Father,” said Gimli with a grin. “The first rule of Elven friendship is that they can talk the hind leg off a donkey.”

“Two hind legs,” corrected Legolas with a smile. “The donkey cannot kick that way.”

“I will start packing straight way,” said Tamin eagerly. “I do not know why you do not punish me for speaking so precipitately, Master; I do not even know what came over me, but O I am so glad you are letting me go with you, for I do not want you to go alone, and I am sorry Kaimelas that you are not going but do say hello to the Dwarves for me, and Nír and Ibun I will repay your kindnesses to me when I see you again but I am not certain when that will be – “

“Enough; enough,” said Legolas gently. “Go you with Bandobras, my Tamin, and sort out our belongings; you are forgiven, and the Dwarves will be devastated to have missed your acquaintance. Go!” Tamin scurried off, with Bandobras at his heels, and the others could hear them chattering anxiously together about fodder and faggots and tinder-boxes as they went flying round the baggage.

“Fair enough!” said Glóin to Nír and Ibun. “Let us gather whatever stuff Kaimelas needs, and get him to the boat. The sooner we get to Erebor, the sooner we can send help. Come, friend Elf; show us what is yours, and we will load it for you; for I perceive you are not so sound as an Elf should be.” And taking Kaimelas by the elbow, he led the valet away, with Nír and Ibun trotting along beside them. Legolas sighed, and leant back against the bole of a tree; the waybread did not sit well with him, and he still felt very ill and weak. Gimli sat by his side, and patted his knee with one big hand.

“Another dream!” he said, his voice heavy with apprehension. “And not of foreboding only, but one of instruction! Do you think you might trust it, Legolas?”

Legolas looked up; perched above his head was a nightingale, warbling sleepily; it cocked an eye at the Elf, and fluttered away. “Yes, Gimli,” he said unhappily. “All the dreams thus far have imparted to me true speerings and warnings, and I must heed them. I am troubled though, for in the heeding of these dreams I have not always made the best of decisions.”

“No wonder,” said Gimli, “for you are so beleaguered.” He took Legolas’ hand then, and pressed something into the palm. “Here,” he said gruffly.

Legolas looked down in amazement. It was his father’s ring, the diamond-girt moonstone glowing white, like the full moon crowned with stars; it glistened and sparkled in the dim firelight. “Gimli!” he exclaimed softly. “Where did you find this?”

“You had it clutched in your hand when Kaimelas dragged you here,” said Gimli in an undertone. “I recognized it – and when I heard whence you had come – “ he stopped, uncomfortable, and clearing his throat, he looked away.

Legolas said nothing a moment, but slipped the ring in one of his pockets and tied it closed. “Gimli,” he said, “I am ever confounded by your friendship, by your tact and constancy and wisdom. Whatever good thing I did to deserve your love, I hold thrice-blessed, for a better and more trustworthy ally I have never found, nor shall ever, though I live ten millennia and see the death of the Sun.”

“Well,” said Gimli, embarrassed but pleased, “I feel the same about you, Legolas; that is why I kept this secret. And it is pleasant I own to know that you shall ever be at my side, and die not; you are a comfort to me, my friend.”

Legolas smiled at him, but did not reply; for in the back of his mind he remembered the dream Faramir had related to him ere he left Osgiliath. “You might outlive me yet, Gimli of Aglarond,” he thought, but sat in comfortable silence with Gimli instead, holding the premonition close to his heart.

(A/N: Again, many thanks to my beta, Nieriel Raina, without whom my offerings would seem silly indeed. And now that school has started up again, let us hope my muse has more time to sit in front of the computer and hack out chapters for her to perfect! --- Le Rouret)

18. The Thorn Amongst the Roses

Kaimelas regained his breath and health long before his three Dwarven companions were quite finished fussing over him. “I am well,” he would insist irritably, brushing aside their polite helping hands and solicitous words. “There is no need to treat me like an invalid. No; I am quite capable of lifting that bag myself – no thank you; if I find myself thirsty I am certain I can get the water on my own – no; I am not tired, and I do not want to take a little nap!” Nír discovered first how much fun he might have, twitting the Elf about his infirmities; but once Ibun caught on and joined him, Kaimelas discerned their mischief, and pled with Glóin for peace.

They sailed the skiff under cover of darkness, for both Dwarvish and Elvish eyes are superior to Men’s, and the moon peering round the scudding clouds afforded them ample light to aid them. The Running River was broad and straight, and as the skiff skimmed the surface, they saw naught upon the banks save sere and empty fields, abandoned houses, and the wrecks of barges and fishing craft. Kaimelas found this inauspicious, for since the death of the dragon the wilderness round the river had been lush and prosperous; now however all he could descry upon the banks were burnt homes and boats, and the occasional bloated carcass of a sheep or pig, half-consumed and rotting.

The first day the Dwarves hove to in a shady and secluded cove, and pulled the tarps over them and slept. “We are too exposed in the sunlight,” said Glóin, “and anyway there is naught to see; it is almost as though I walk in the past, ere Smaug was slain.” So the Dwarves slumbered beneath the low and stifling tarp, and Kaimelas prowled restlessly round, poking through the outbuildings of an abandoned farm, and appropriating some beans for their breakfast.

On the second night the land round the banks rose into rolling hills. Upon these hills were houses, but Kaimelas with his keen eyes could not see folk in them; they were lightless and abandoned, and kine nor people could be found about. Above them flapped herons and croaking ravens, and when they paddled the skiff in the shallows at dawn were thrushes there to sing to them. “This is good,” said Glóin, satisfied. “There yet remain birds that might speak to our people. If Dwalin is still thinking clearly, he might know of our coming ere we arrive.”

Sure enough, as the sky paled on the third day, Kaimelas saw small huddled figures on the eastern bank, with bright eyes glittering in the reeds; he called softly to his companions, and Glóin steered the boat through the shallows. “Now, Kaimelas,” he said warningly to the Elf. “These are tricky times, and my folk are chary. Do you please attempt to appear as a diplomat, dignified and knowledgeable; for in that way shall they be appeased by your wisdom and tact.”

“Wisdom and tact!” exclaimed Kaimelas. “That will be a good trick.”

“Please,” said Glóin. “At least try. For your lord’s sake, if not for my son’s.”

He looked so beseeching that Kaimelas sighed, and said, “O very well, Glóin Groin’s son! Though I should rather play-act for your son’s sake and not my lord’s; were Legolas several centuries younger would I apply a willow-switch to his hindquarters for the ridiculous position he has put me in!” With this was Glóin constrained to be content, and he clapped the valet on his shoulder. He beached the boat, and they clambered out, and one of the figures in the shadows of the bank separated itself from the darkness, and approached cautiously.

“Ho, there!” said Glóin softly. “Is that you, Nith?”

“Glóin?” The Dwarf peered at them from beneath his dark hood. “Who is with you?” He stared up at Kaimelas, his eyes unsure.

“This is a friend,” said Glóin firmly, laying a hand on Kaimelas’ arm. “He is a shrewd and venerable diplomat, come with ambassadorial status to bring news to Stonehelm.”

“Hm!” said Nith, looking Kaimelas up and down. “Well, he does not look very dangerous, at least; but then, diplomats rarely do. Very well; come with us then!”

Glóin drew Kaimelas aside as the other Dwarves came forward to empty the skiff, and the two stood in silence, watching and being watched in turn. Kaimelas held his tongue; he trusted Glóin, and knew the old Dwarf was wise and cautious, and better acquainted with his folks’ views. When all the baggage had been transferred to a low waggon, and the skiff covered with a dusty brown tarp, they all clambered in, and Nith took up the reins. He slapped the ponies smartly on their rumps, and the waggon rolled and jerked up the bank. Kaimelas sat upon the floor, for the benches were too low for his long limbs. He stretched his arms across the sideboards and watched the paling sky as they bumped and lurched along the rough country track; he knew the other Dwarves regarded him carefully, and was not offended by their stares; rather he hoped to show them he had neither fear nor concern, but was unperturbed by their presence. Nír and Ibun chatted quietly with the others about their journey, and Kaimelas noted to his amusement that the other Dwarves seemed rather to be talking round him instead of asking any questions. At last a young Dwarf with a blue beard cocked his head at the Elf, and said:

“So, you are an Elvish ambassador, are you? What were you doing in Lake Town? Cozying up to Malbeach like the Elvenking?”

“Hush, Ónar!” said Nír angrily. “Do you have so little sense you would insult the ambassador of a mighty foreign lord?”

“’Cozying up to Malbeach,’” added Ibun scathingly. “The very idea!”

“Is this the common sentiment hereabouts?” asked Kaimelas calmly. “If so, then my lord has set for me a daunting task.”

“O, I mean no offense,” said Ónar quickly. “Only the Master of Lake Town seems to be rather fond of the Elves nowadays.”

“Does he truly? He does not show it well,” said Kaimelas dryly. “We received more than our just due of abuse whilst sojourning there, and were glad enough to put Esgaroth to our stern. Neither my lord nor I have much good to say about Malbeach or his little slattern; you may set your fears to rest on that subject, anyway.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said another Dwarf, offering his hand to Kaimelas. “Jári son of Nári, at your service! Ambassador, are you? Well we are pleased to have you, especially if you might aid re-opening negotiations betwixt our folk, and the Elvenking and Girion, so assisting us in solving this most perplexing riddle.”

“I should rather solve it simply by sticking a sword through Malbeach,” admitted Kaimelas. “I am no good at negotiating.”

Jári and several other Dwarves laughed, Ónar included. “What; an ambassador that does not prevaricate nor obfuscate nor convolute?” exclaimed an old Dwarf then, his eyes twinkling. “What manner of ambassador are you, Elf?”

“An unwilling one,” said Kaimelas, and the Dwarves all laughed again. Glóin winked at Kaimelas, and said in a loud voice:

“He is the chosen and appointed ambassador of the Green Knight of Gondor, the Lord of Dol Galenehtar far to the south; he and his lord and sundry other companions, of whom include Gimli my son, the Lord of Aglarond, have heard the news of our difficulties and are anxious to put an end to them. This may, I fear, involve some minor readjustments to the authority elected in Esgaroth.”

“Are we going to depose Malbeach?” asked Ónar in surprise.

“I still like the ambassador’s idea about the sword,” piped Nith from the front of the waggon, and several Dwarves assented.

“It would be a good trick,” conceded Kaimelas. “The difficulty is, of course, gaining access to Malbeach with said sword, and having the ability to run him through, while still maintaining the wherewithal to escape with one’s life afterwards, which would be gratifying. A pity it is he is so well-guarded.”

“Kill the guards first,” said Nír with a shrug.

“Easy enough!” said Ibun dryly. “Care to try it yourself, then?”

“There are an awful lot of armed men,” said another Dwarf. “We need an army.”

This prompted a discussion of armaments and numbers and phalanxes, to which Kaimelas listened with flattering politesse. Nír, Ibun, and Glóin remained silent. After an hour of wrangling back and forth, the old Dwarf said:

“Well, it would help if we knew the number of men Malbeach commands, and whether or not Girion would defend him. But I warrant we could spare at least seven hundred fifty warriors to march on Lake Town.”

“That will not be enough,” said Kaimelas calmly. “You need three times that number at the very least.”

“We will march in secret,” argued the old Dwarf.

“The roads are likely watched. That is why we came by boat.”

“We will go by boat, then.”

“Boats for seven hundred fifty? How will you get them past Girion?”

The old Dwarf gave Kaimelas a frustrated look. “You are supposed to be agreeing with me,” he said huffily. “You are an ambassador, after all!”

“Perchance I am too honest to be a good one,” admitted Kaimelas. “I hope I do not over time develop a predilection for duplicity; that would be awkward, for my wife would object, and I might be forced to ask my lord for a demotion. But attack Malbeach by all means; go by boat if you like. But I dispute your being able to approach him in stealth.”

“Well, I like it,” said Jári. “Just you set it before Thorin that way, Thrás, and I shall vote it in.”

“Good,” said the old Dwarf. “I am tired of skulking about, worrying about what the King of Dale, or the King of Mirkwood, think we are doing. Let us Dwarves stand up for ourselves! We will endure no longer to wait about and be robbed and slandered!”

“Hear, hear!” cried several of the younger Dwarves. “Down with Men! Boo!”

Kaimelas said nothing, but exchanged glances with Glóin. Glóin shook his head, and silently did the Elf and his companions ride through the growing dawn to the Lonely Mountain.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Kaimelas with his Dwarvish escort gained the celebrated front gates of the Lonely Mountain without much fuss, though the guards seemed wary of him, and granted him passage solely on Glóin’s recognizance. Kaimelas passed through the grand halls and waiting areas casually and without comment; the grandiose staircases, shining chandeliers, marble-paved floors and splendid fountains did not impress him overmuch. But he was wise enough to politely concur and murmur appreciative praise when the clutch of Dwarves round him pointed out the glories of their home: “Look, Master Diplomat; that is Balin son of Fundin’s stair; he built it ere going to Moria. And that font was carried in one piece from the Iron Hills, where Dain made it; it is a solid block of onyx. Ah! And that pair of sconces are pale quartz overlaid with gold filigree … “ And Kaimelas nodded and said, “Splendid! Beautiful! A marvel of workmanship!” and wondered to himself how on earth he was to pay his lord back for sending him there.

At last they went up the broad marble steps to the throne room. Many Dwarves were milling about, for they had heard an Elvish ambassador had come to treat with Thorin and were curious to see him. Some muttered behind their hands to each other that it was too late for diplomacy; others regarded him with cautious clemency, for they wished to return to their work, as the marketplaces in Dale and Lake Town had been abandoned for months. When they approached the great golden doors, marked all over with bas-relief and runes and strange symbols, an old Dwarf in splendid habiliments, sporting an elaborate gold belt, stepped before them, a scowl on his face.

“Glóin!” he said disapprovingly, glancing at Kaimelas. “So you are back. Did you bring a prisoner for interrogation?”

Kaimelas raised his eyebrows; Ibun snorted into his hand, and Nír glanced up at the Elf apologetically. “Nay, Dwalin,” growled Glóin. “Do not be ridiculous, please! Nír, Ibun and I have just returned from Lake Town, and there we found the Lord of Dol Galenehtar with my son Gimli, and a good stout Hobbit named Bandobras, who is much like Bilbo was, only a touch less cautious, and with rather worse language when pressed. They have set off to find sundry folk of theirs lost in the wilderness, and we have come to see Stonehelm, for the time is ripe we deem to settle this affair once and for all!”

Several Dwarves standing round listening murmured their approval, but Dwalin glared at his son, and looked Kaimelas up and down.

“And so you bring an Elf to Thorin Stonehelm, King Under the Mountain?” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “I am surprised at you, Glóin; I had thought you possessed more sense than that!”

“It was not his idea,” said Kaimelas patiently. “My lord did send me to see your king.”

“Indeed!” said Dwalin suspiciously. “And why should your lord send you, Elf? What especial position do you hold in the courts of Dol Galenehtar?”

Kaimelas said, “I am his val – “

“Ambassador,” interrupted Glóin quickly, stepping on Kaimelas’ foot and making the Elf wince.

“A valambassador?” said Dwalin suspiciously. “Sounds like an Elvish convention. I don’t like it.” He glared at Kaimelas. “He does not look like an Elvish ambassador. All of the Elvenking’s diplomats are well-dressed, and he is so shabby. Where is his robe, his sash? Where are his jewels?”

“He travels surreptitiously, to throw Malbeach off the scent,” said Glóin impatiently. “Had the Master known of Kaimelas’ position to the thrones of Eryn Lasgalen and Dol Galenehtar, would he have made observation and obfuscation the more difficult.”

“Ah!” said Dwalin; though he looked convinced, he did not seem to be any less chary. “And what might this valambassador wish to disclose to his majesty?”

“The destruction of Lake Town,” said Kaimelas glibly, then gave a squeak of protest as Glóin trod on his foot again. Several Dwarves laughed and Glóin said, “What Dol Galenehtar’s ambassador says to the King Under the Mountain is the business of the King Under the Mountain, Dwalin, and not yours; his words are of grave import and the king must needs attend to them. Tell the guards to let us in, and do you please impede us no longer!”

Dwalin shook his grey head. “You have changed, Glóin Groin’s son,” he said, his voice heavy with disgust. “It is the fault of your son, running round with Elves and digging up gold and gems for a southern king. You have got soft.”

“If I have, then I will not apologize for it,” said Glóin angrily. “Let us in!”

“Very well!” said Dwalin. “And if Thorin throws you out with naught but a pick-axe, I hope the Elves will let you in!”

“They will,” said Kaimelas. “Glóin is always a welcome guest.”

“Hmph!” Dwalin gave Kaimelas a black look, but took up the scarlet cord by the doors, and pulled on it; a bell rang out, sweet and clear. The doors opened inward, silent upon their well-built hinges, and Dwalin, gesturing to them, went within, and they followed him.

The throne room of the King Under the Mountain was splendid and ostentatious, but to Kaimelas’ eyes it seemed a little bare. There were empty niches and shelves and displays, and a great vacant room with the broken nubs of piping. Remembering what Glóin had said in his letter to Gimli about the Dwarves being robbed, he shook his head; he was no lover of wealth for wealth’s sake, but thievery rankled him, and he determined to see the throne room restored to its original splendor.

As they walked down the Hall several courtiers turned and exclaimed to see them; a cluster of Dwarvish women were talking anxiously together, and as they passed one of them gave a cry of surprise.

“Kaimelas?” A female Dwarf, gorgeously arrayed in green and with shining red hair, pushed her way through the throng; she stared amazed at the Elf and then burst into a glad laugh. Kaimelas dropped to his knees and let the lady embrace him. “Kaimelas!” she exclaimed, laying one stout hand on the Elf’s dark untidy head. “Whatever are you doing here? And where is that poor silly boy Legolas? You are supposed to be looking after him!”

“He sent me to your people as an ambassador, Lady Frera,” said Kaimelas, making a face.

“An ambassador!” she exclaimed, astonished. “You, Kaimelas?”

“Yes,” said Kaimelas. “It simply oozes irony, does it not?”

“Nay! Gushes it, rather,” she said with a laugh. “But if you are here I am glad, Kaimelas; for that must mean my son and his friend are not far behind.”

“Let us hope so,” said Kaimelas, shaking his head. “Frankly, my lady, the sooner I get through convincing your king to do something, the better pleased I shall be; I do not like this at all.”

“Well, just you be yourself then,” said Frera comfortingly, gesturing him to rise. “Do not put on any airs, no matter what my husband says!” She wrinkled her freckled nose at Glóin, who blushed a little and gave her a quick bow; then she scurried back to her ladies, and they set up whispering at an even more frantic rate.

“Thorin Stonehelm, King Under the Mountain!” cried Dwalin, bowing before his sovereign. “Glóin Groin’s son has returned from Esgaroth with news of the turmoil to the south!”

He gestured them forward to the dais, and Glóin, Nír, and Ibun bowed deeply. Kaimelas, mindful of his greater stature, knelt and inclined his head; then he lifted his face, and looked for the first time upon Thorin Stonehelm, King Under the Mountain.

Thorin was young for a king, but he was stern and forbidding nonetheless. He had a long black beard and sharp features, and his eyes were deep-set and black, glittering like jet. Upon his head was no crown but a tall helm, cunningly worked with mithril and gems, and at his waist upon a jeweled belt he bore a sword. He was holding a letter in his fingers, held away from him as though it displeased him, and was looking down at it in disgust. He lifted his bearded chin, and looked down his long hooked nose at Kaimelas. The Elf raised himself, put his hands behind his back, and regarded the King Under the Mountain with equanimity.

“Your majesty,” said Glóin.

“Glóin,” said Thorin. His voice was deep and gravely, like a great boulder being dragged over stone.

“May I present to you Kaimelas, a diplomat from Dol Galenehtar, issued ambassadorial status by the Green Knight, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, who wishes to parley with you during these troubled times.”

Thorin said nothing, but simply stared down at Kaimelas. His chiseled face did not reveal his thoughts. Kaimelas patiently bore this, gazing respectfully up at the king.

“So,” rumbled Thorin after a moment. “You are the ambassador to the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen!”

“So it would appear,” admitted Kaimelas.

Thorin looked him up and down. “You do not look much like an ambassador.”

“Apparently I am incognito,” said Kaimelas.

“The valambassador is in disguise, your majesty, to fool Malbeach,” supplied Dwalin helpfully.

“Hm!” said Thorin. His black eyes narrowed at the Elf. Kaimelas, who had been raised in Eryn Lasgalen under the tutelage of both Baranil and the Elvenking, was immune. “So, Ambassador Elf, what plaint brings you before the throne of the King Under the Mountain?”

“Warriors, your majesty,” said Kaimelas. “And an end to this fooling about. The three kings of Rhovanion have played round enough; it is time for you to hear the will and reason of the Green Knight, the Lord of Dol Galenehtar. Though to be certain,” he added judiciously, as Dwalin and several other Dwarves sputtered with rage, “my lord has been rather silly too of late; I am guessing ‘tis a combination of reticence, witchcraft, and royal idiocy driving the terrible decisions here.”

“Indeed!” growled Thorin, settling his chin into his beard, and gripping the hilt of his sword. The throne room seethed with the mutters of angry Dwarves, though Frera was smiling. “Idiocy, is it? And of course ambassadors have ample opportunity to observe idiocy, and thus proclaim it as such.”

“Idiocy can be observed at any level of one’s letters patents,” said Kaimelas. “I happen to know your majesty has accused the Elvenking of thievery. It does not take an ambassador to see that as idiocy, O Thorin Stonehelm.” Dwalin began to speak angrily, but Kaimelas waved him silent. “Also, your majesty, has Girion of Dale expressed suspicion of the Dwarves’ culpability in certain violent acts – “

“Lies!” cried a Dwarf from across the throne room; Thorin shot the Dwarf a look, and he subsided.

“So he has,” said Stonehelm. “And do you count that idiocy as well, O Ambassador?”

“Of course,” said Kaimelas scornfully. “Piffle, from start to finish.”

“Hm,” said Thorin again.

“And King Thranduil, bless his hot head, appears to be afflicted with the selfsame mistrust as well. Shutting his gates, and scowling at his neighbors! Does this not seem suspicious to you, O King? One man, Malbeach of Esgaroth, stirring up all this trouble; and you three kings, accepting his whisperings? Idiocy I say, and idiocy I contend yet; my lord, at least, has put his foot down, and as all know, when Legolas of Dol Galenehtar puts his foot down, something or someone gets squashed; at the moment, I am rather hoping it is Malbeach.”

“Do you!” said Thorin; his jet eyes flashed. “And what does Legolas of Dol Galenehtar suggest we do to aid him in the squashing?”

“We need numbers,” said Kaimelas. “Someone was saying – was it Thrás? – ah, there you are, my venerable friend! – that you could muster seven hundred fifty stout warriors. All we need to do, your majesty, is to gather up Girion’s men, which at last estimate, depending upon intelligence given to Galás (I will not deign to comment upon that) might be three thousands, then go on to Eryn Lasgalen, let me talk to Baranil and Thranduil, and we’ll have at least five thousands more. That will be – seven hundred fifty, three and five – well, nearly nine thousands, anyway. Then we all march down together to Esgaroth, set it aflame, put Malbeach’s head on a stick, shake hands, and go home. There! Now is that not a clever plan?”

He grinned up at the king, and Glóin looked from Thorin to Kaimelas nervously, plucking at his beard. In the sudden silence of the throne room someone, possibly one of Frera’s friends, gave an uneasy cough. Thorin stared down at the Elf, his frown nearly lost in the great black beard; then the skin round his eyes crinkled, and he laughed.

It was a hoarse, rusty laugh, sounding to the Elf as though it had not been used in a while; at his side Glóin gave a sigh of relief. Thorin laughed and laughed, and when he was finished he leant forward, his eyes twinkling merrily.

“A fine plan indeed!” he growled. “And I would concede it to you as done if it were not for one little thing.”

“O? What is that?” asked Kaimelas.

Thorin held out the letter to him, and Kaimelas took it with a bow. “This is from Girion of Dale,” said Thorin. “He has signed an armistice with Malbeach, agreeing to withhold hostilities from Lake Town for the duration of his rule in Dale.”

“Bugger!” exclaimed Kaimelas, staring at the letter, his eyes angry. “Why, that two-faced little sneak! And here it says he wishes to maintain peace between the thrones of men at the expense of those non-human creatures of magic – why, that is us, your majesty!”

“So it is,” said Thorin, smiling down upon the Elf. “So that is at least two thousands from Dale negated from our equation.”

“Well, what of it then!” cried Kaimelas. “I was never very good at arithmetic anyway. We will have to do without Girion then. Do you think we might sneak past him on our way to Eryn Lasgalen?”

Thorin took the proffered letter back from the Elf, and tucked it into his tunic. “Do you think you can sneak us into the throne room without getting shot by Thranduil’s archers?” he asked dryly. “I do not much fancy marching on the Elvenking’s palace without some sort of guarantee of our safety.”

“O, leave that to me,” said Kaimelas dismissively. “Thranduil is an idiot, but Baranil will see sense. Well, your majesty? What do you think? My lord is creeping round the wilderness putting his life in danger, and Gimli Glóin’s son is right at his side. Who knows what they have found out so far! We can sign documents and wrangle agreements later. It is two days’ march to the Elvenking, and I am anxious to get this over with so that I might go home and see my wife. It has been near two months since I have been with her and I do not wish to wait any longer than I have to. We can share intelligence as we march. O, and I will most likely need armor or something to wear when we are fighting; I am rather at sixes and sevens and did not even bring a leather jerkin! Do you think you could find something in the armory to fit me? If I am injured in battle again, Seimiel will never forgive me, and she can hold a grudge for a very long time.”

“True enough,” called Frera’s voice from across the throne room, and Thorin chuckled throatily, and sat back in his cushions, smiling down at Kaimelas.

“Thank you, Glóin,” he said, glancing at the older Dwarf, who had listened to this exchange anxiously. “I have rarely been so entertained by an Elf. If his lord is anything like him, we might have to open negotiations with Dol Galenehtar! Very well, Kaimelas Ambassador of Dol Galenehtar; go you with Dwalin here, and we shall set into motion the machinations needed to march upon Malbeach of Esgaroth. It is long ere I put hand to sword, and the frustrations he has thrown at me have irritated me, and I wish to see to his chastisement.”

“Good!” laughed Kaimelas, rubbing his hands together. “Let me just have a wash and a brush and we shall be ready to go! Lead on, Dwalin son of Fundin,” he added to the old Dwarf, who was glaring at Glóin and shaking his head in disgust. “I promise I will try to act more ambassadorial, if it will please you.”

“Do not do that, Master Diplomat,” warned Thorin. “I have had enough of negotiation, treaties, accords, pacts, truces, and contracts. Too much talk! I will dismiss the court, and we shall go to dinner; you will sit at my right hand, O Kaimelas of Dol Galenehtar, and I promise you a jug of good rich wine!”

“Ale, an it please you, your majesty,” said Kaimelas, bowing deeply, and smiling Thorin nodded to him, and watched the Elf as he strode away, Dwalin’s disapproval sticking out of him like quills.

“Glóin,” rumbled the king. “Tell Nori and Bombur to send out the order to muster. I want us to be ready to go by daybreak.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Glóin, bowing; and when he turned to leave the throne room, he took a deep breath, and smiled.

(A/N: Many, many thanks to my beta, Nieriel Raina, who corrects my egregious errors in spite of her own busy schedule. I offer this chapter to you, dear readers, in exchange for your good wishes and felicitations upon my own Little One, who is riding Sonny’s Two-Eyed Jaxx for the first time at UGA this weekend. If any blue ribbons are earned, they shall go in proxy to NiRi. – Le Rouret)

19. The Elvenking

“This is how I see it, your majesty,” said Kaimelas. “This fork is the River Running. This salt cellar is the Lonely Mountain, and this servillete Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Very well; where is Dale?”

“That greasy wine blot. It serves Girion right. And Esgaroth is this wilted leaf of parsley.”

“Apropos.”

“Thank you; I rather thought so. When we come out of Eryn Lasgalen we will be about here – “

“O no,” interrupted Thrás, gesturing with his knife. “If we are with the Elves, we might hug the forest line and come out further south – “

“The villages thereabouts have been pillaged and destroyed,” argued Kaimelas, “and numerous indecencies and atrocities performed, which are laid upon the Dwarves’ heads. We must avoid that area at all costs, lest your detractors seek to find proof of your culpability against you.”

“Inconvenient!” grumbled Dwalin; a bottle and a half of wine had softened his opinion of Kaimelas considerably, and the Elf estimated another couple of goblets might make him think charitably of the Elvenking himself. “So we must march south-east – “

“If we flank the Forest River we will run right into Esgaroth,” said Kaimelas.

“But will that venue not be watched?” asked Thrás worriedly.

“Perhaps, but Baranil’s scouts are famous for their cunning and accuracy. Also did my lord instruct me to lead the army there; he will meet us, I hope, with further speerings of Malbeach’s malfeasances.”

“From what you have told me, we scarcely need any more proof against him,” rumbled Thorin, shaking his dark head. “That filthy rake! And I remember Dúrfinwen your lord’s mercer; if aught has happened to her, as we fear, shall my heart be heavy indeed.”

“To be honest, your majesty, I do not think me she has survived,” said Kaimelas with a sad sigh, putting his fork down. “Nor she nor Melima nor Belias nor Belegtilion. Esgaroth is become a dark and fearful place; there is some horrible malevolence there, far surpassing any work of Man I have yet had the misfortune to encounter.”

“Well, let us stamp it out then,” said Thorin with a grim smile. “So we will come out down the Forest River, heading east toward Esgaroth – “

“Thranduil has few steeds; they will likely walk, which is expedient for you. I would suggest you and your advisors and body guard travel in the van with the Elvenking and his retinue, with your troops arrayed behind the van, and the Elvish pikes to either side; the archers may fan out on the north and south and pick off any wishing to flank us.”

“Sound enough so far,” admitted Ori; he leant over the table and frowned at the disarranged cutlery and salt. “I think we ought to have a bigger salt cellar for the Lonely Mountain.”

“You have had too much ale,” complained Nori. “You are getting silly.”

“Then I have not had near enough,” laughed Kaimelas. “More ale, Ori?”

“I will not complain,” said Ori, and smiled as the Elf refilled his mug. “Getting up tomorrow morning is going to be difficult, I fear! How goes the muster, Dwalin?”

“We are ready,” said Dwalin disinterestedly. “Seven hundred fifty to go to Eryn Lasgalen, and that hundred down to rescue that silly prince fellow. And I think I shall go to bed.”

“You are getting as bad as Bifur,” laughed Nori. “To bed for all of us, then! I bid you a good night, O valambassador; you have been informative and persuasive. At dawn I suppose we will see if you are useful too!”

“It is my aim to be useful, O Nori!” said Kaimelas with a grin. “Sleep well!”

Sundry Dwarves bid their king and the Elf good night, and wandered away from the table upon the dais. Most of the rest of the court had left, and only a few servants were about, picking up the trenchers and sweeping up the scraps. Thorin sat back in his great gilt chair and folded his hands on his stomach; he settled his chin in the plush darkness of his beard and fixed his black eyes upon Kaimelas.

“Glóin tells me you have heard of the disappearance of the Arkenstone,” he rumbled.

Kaimelas glanced cautiously at him. “I have,” he admitted. “Gimli Glóin’s son did reveal it to us.” When Thorin said nothing, but simply fixed him with his thoughtful stare, Kaimelas said, “How did it happen, your majesty?”

“As far as I can discern, it occurred during a synod I held in the Spring,” said Thorin. “I invited delegates from Eryn Lasgalen, Esgaroth, and Dale, and many men from the surrounding regions came as well. I did not trust Malbeach,” he added, frowning. “I mistrusted him from the moment of his accession. Sly, smooth, foppish, flattering; I wished to see him at conclave with sundry others, to discern whom he favored, and whom he might plot against. I will admit to you, O ambassador of Dol Galenehtar, that the Elves sent by the Elvenking did not appeal overmuch – “

“Let me guess,” said Kaimelas, making a face. “He sent Valanya and Morsul.”

“Valanya,” said Thorin, raising an eyebrow. “Also several others, but Valanya in particular made himself noxious to several of my advisors – Dwalin, sadly; also Bofur and a few others who think poorly of Thranduil’s economic policies – and there was a goodly bit of quarrelling. Though as I think on it, Kaimelas, I am forced to confess that Malbeach sought to ‘mediate’ the disputes; I am sure with his forked tongue he did stir up the more mischief.”

“He has sought ever to sow discord, has he not?” smiled Kaimelas. “So you discovered the Arkenstone was missing after the synod?”

“We did,” growled Thorin. “Oakenshield’s tomb was plundered. Also is Orcrist gone, and several chambers attached to the tomb were looted. Naturally, Dwalin and Bofur proclaimed the Elves had done it, and sent an armed company after the Elvish delegates; there were heated arguments, and it came down to blows I fear; fortunately Fundin and Óli stepped in, as did Methlon and Belias, and wiser heads prevailed. But the Elves’ baggage was never searched, and so many in the Lonely Mountain suspect yet that the Elvenking had coveted the Arkenstone, and sent his delegates to steal it.”

Kaimelas regarded Thorin carefully. “And are you of that estimation, your majesty?” he asked.

“I am not,” growled Thorin, his eyes flashing. “Do you believe the Dwarves raped and slaughtered all those women to the south?”

“Good heavens, no!” exclaimed Kaimelas, shocked. “The very idea!”

“Well, Valanya appears to,” said Thorin. “I saw a letter sent by him to one of Girion’s delegates, purporting to support the theory.” At Kaimelas’ disgusted look he smiled. “By your estimate, ambassador, how many Elves will be willing to let bygones be bygones, and join with us to destroy Malbeach? And in your opinion, does the Elvenking believe Malbeach’s lies?”

“I like you,” said Kaimelas, playing thoughtfully with the handle of his ale mug. “You ask such direct questions. Well, as I said before, your majesty, I am no mathematician; nor may I speak for the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, for it has been nigh twenty years ere I left the Elvenking’s service for his son’s. In Dol Galenehtar, did a man suggest to our people that Dwarves were evil and untrustworthy, yet the chariest one among us would scoff and call the man a simpleton at best, at worst, a liar. But in Eryn Lasgalen, who can say? We Elves do not change our minds very quickly, and it has been but eighty or ninety years ere the Accords of Rhovanion were signed under Radagast’s aegis. Some of Thranduil’s folk remember all too clearly the destruction of Doriath, and are none too fond of Dwarves. But if Thranduil and Edlothiel tell them to fight on the side of the Dwarves against Malbeach, I tell you this much; they would rather cut off their own hands than disobey.”

“And will Thranduil tell them to join with us?” asked Thorin.

“He had better,” said Kaimelas, swallowing the last of his ale and setting his mug down with a thunk. “He might be enchanted by Malbeach and his wife, but I shall wager my sword that Edlothiel will not be, and to her I may appeal. We might have to tie him up and leave him behind, and let the queen lead us; but either way, your majesty, my lord and Gimli and Bandobras and Tamin are wandering round alone down there, getting up to who knows what kind of mischief, and I will be damned if I let Malbeach’s malevolence destroy them!” He looked so determined that Thorin laughed, and clapped the Elf on the shoulder.

“Good!” he rumbled. “If that is the way of it, then let us to bed, so that we might commence with the sun and get this scheme underway!” He rose, and Kaimelas rose as well; the two regarded each other approvingly, dark eyes glinting with purpose. “Sleep well, ambassador.”

“You as well, your majesty,” said Kaimelas with a bow, and the two parted.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

It is difficult to hide seven hundred fifty armed Dwarves, even in the arms of Erebor. The sun had not yet reached its zenith when Kaimelas espied to the south a small troop of men, flying under the pennant of Dale.

“Damn!” he said to Glóin and Thorin. “I knew we ought to have circled north.”

“We would have added two days to our march,” said Glóin practically, fingering his mattock, “and time is short enough.”

“What shall we do?” asked Nír, shading his hands and squinting over the landscape. The men were moving slowly on horseback, their armor shining in the sun.

“It might be more practical to simply kill them,” said Kaimelas. “If Girion has signed accords with Malbeach, he will certainly tell his spurious ally we are on the move.”

“Perhaps they might think we are attacking the Elvenking,” suggested Thrás. “After all, is that not what we feared Thranduil’s scouts would believe?”

“Possibly,” said Kaimelas unhappily. “I would still rather kill them.”

“You are very bloodthirsty, are you not?” asked Dwalin. “I suppose that is the difference between a valambassador and the regular variety. I am no lover of Elvish things, but I confess I prefer this sort to the other.”

“Well, we will have an opportunity soon enough,” said Kaimelas, frowning across the rolling landscape. “They approach.”

“Conceal yourself from them, O ambassador,” said Thorin firmly. “Let them think we travel alone. We will tell these men we go to confront Thranduil and get back what is ours. Girion will tell Malbeach, and Malbeach will gloat, thinking he has set Erebor and Eryn Lasgalen at daggers-drawn. Then he will be all the more surprised when we attack Esgaroth as one.”

“If your majesty insists,” said Kaimelas. “I still think killing them is more efficient, but your plot is rather clever, too.” He slipped with Nír and Ibun over the crest of a hill, and Thorin sent out Glóin and Thrás with a white flag of parley. The Dwarves waited anxiously; then they saw the horsemen approach, with the two Dwarves walking among them. To Thorin’s surprise, the head of the troop was Girion’s son Bard. The lad was scarcely out of his boyhood, and gangly and awkward; but he brightened upon seeing the Dwarvish king and scrambled quickly down from his horse. His armor was overlarge and ill-fitting, and he clanked loudly when he approached and bowed.

“Your majesty,” he said.

“Your highness,” rumbled Thorin. “What brings the son of Girion so far afield?”

“My father was too ill to come, so he sent me out to find out what you are doing,” said the boy, ignoring the older man behind him who gestured to him to hold his tongue. “He knew you were on the march and wanted to ask if we could be of any assistance.”

“Assistance?” asked Thorin with a smile. “In doing what? How do you know we are not simply out on maneuvers?”

Bard looked at the even lines of heavily-armed and armored Dwarves standing in the bright sun, and smiled. “Are you?” he asked, a little wistfully. “It sounds like fun, I must say. I would rather believe you are out on maneuvers than – “ He stopped, and turned very red.

“Since you already think you know what we are doing, I scarce need to elucidate, do I?” rumbled Thorin disapprovingly. “And did your father send you out to join us, to see if he might profit by it? Tell your father that I do not appreciate being spied upon; if he wants to know what I am doing, he may ask me legitimately, and not send his folk to skulk round watching our gates. Furthermore, you shall say to him that he is not the one who was robbed, and if any plunder is forthcoming, it belongs to us. Do you understand?”

Bard looked very uncomfortable and embarrassed and distressed. “But – but,” he stammered. “Is this really necessary? I mean – “

“Enough,” said the older man behind him, rather sharply. “Prince Bard, it is not your right to dispute with a king of Thorin Stonehelm’s wisdom and authority, whether he should or should not do anything. He has refused our help. You are supposed to thank him, wish him good luck, and politely excuse yourself.”

“I am?” asked Bard; he looked very troubled. “Even if I do not think – “

“Yes, even if you do not think,” the man snapped. “To horse, your highness! Let the Dwarves go on their way. Their disputes with the Elvenking are no concern of ours.”

Bard looked unhappily at Thorin; to the Dwarves’ secret amusement his lower lip pouted out a little. “Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose Gith is right – he usually is. Good journey, then, and er, good luck with your venture, your majesty.”

“Your highness,” growled Thorin, his eyes glittering angrily. The lad sighed, and turning, he mounted his great steed. His troop started off to the south, but Thorin saw, ere they disappeared over the crest of a small hill, the boy turn and watch them, his mismatched armor glinting; then he gave a small wave, and vanished.

“We might as well keep marching,” said Thrás to his king. “Otherwise they will know we are waiting for someone. The ambassador and those two young scalawags can catch us up.”

“Very well,” rumbled Thorin. “Give the orders to proceed!”

The trumpet sounded, and the Dwarves started off again at their even clattering pace; sure enough after an hour the forward scouts espied three figures seated upon a little grassy hillock watching them. Kaimelas had a stalk of grass between his lips, and Nír and Ibun were smoking. “O there you are!” said Kaimelas, rising to his feet and stretching. “We were beginning to wonder if you had got lost.”

“Of course; the way betwixt Erebor and Eryn Lasgalen is so fraught with short-cuts,” said Thorin with a throaty chuckle, his eyes twinkling. “How I wish we were as swift as you, O ambassador! Then we could make our first big push the faster, and arrive at the Elvenking’s gates at dawn.”

“It would look better to arrive tomorrow evening,” said Kaimelas seriously, tugging Nír to his feet, for the Dwarf had been drowsing. “Save your strength today, and march slowly tomorrow; were you truly attacking Thranduil’s caverns would you arrive at dawn, fresh and ready to fight. But a friendly visitor shows up right before dinner-time, hoping to be invited in for a drink and a sup.”

“Well, I suppose you know Thranduil best,” growled Thorin. “I wish I knew what we might expect when we get there.”

“As do I, your majesty,” Kaimelas agreed.

So following Kaimelas’ wisdom, they camped upon the rolling hills, building bright fires and singing their war-songs cheerfully. Kaimelas wandered from fire to fire, sampling this or that bit of food, or taking a dram here or there of pomace or wine or beer; but ever was the Elf on the lookout for the Elvenking’s scouts, and betimes would melt into the grass in the starlit darkness, seeking his own. Several Dwarves grumbled at this, suspecting him of betraying them; even Dwalin however bid them hold their tongues. “That is not the way of a valambassador,” Dwalin said huffily. “He has dealt with us honestly enough so far, and I do not think I brag when I say I might feel a fellow is forthright or no. Nír trusts him, and I trust him too.” And anyway Kaimelas was disappointed; he trudged back to Thorin’s camp fire with a face crestfallen. “Either they elude me, or Thranduil has pulled everyone in from the reconnaissance forays,” said the Elf. “In the first case, I am confounded; in the second, concerned.”

“Well, then, let us take care tomorrow to march loudly,” said Thorin ere he wrapped himself up in his blanket to sleep. “If any scouts are about, at least they will know we do not approach in stealth!”

When dawn pinked the sky the next morning, Kaimelas was not with them. “He slipped out a few hours ago,” said Ibun, who had been guarding the western perimeter. “He did say to me he felt someone was nearby, and wished to discern who it might be.” Ibun looked worriedly over the fields where the Elf had gone and plucked at his yellow beard. “I hope naught has happened to him! I have got so used to him; I would miss him if anything tragic occurred.”

“You are as bad as Nír,” complained Dwalin, but he related Ibun’s report to Thorin. “You do not think he has abandoned us?” he asked carefully. “I know I said I trusted him, but – “

“Trust him, then,” growled Thorin, pulling on his boots irritably. “Or don’t. But make up your mind which it will be.” He shot Dwalin an angry look, and Dwalin hurried away.

By the time the Dwarves had broken camp and were preparing to move, two forward scouts came running back. “The ambassador returns to us!” one of them panted; “and he brings a second Elf with him, a tall forbidding fellow in armor.”

“Is it Thranduil?” asked Thorin hopefully.

“Nay! The Elvenking is golden-haired,” said the Dwarf. “This one is dark as night; darker even than the ambassador. He has a stern look to him too.”

“Well, let them pass,” rumbled Thorin. “If there are but two I do not think they pose much of a threat!”

So the bodyguard stood aside and let Kaimelas and the strange Elf in. The Dwarves watched him warily, for they did not recognize him; he was clad in shining leather armor, heavily intaglioed with green leaves; he was tall and proud and dark, but his black eyes were deep and expressionless. Kaimelas took him straight to Thorin; he was grinning from ear to ear.

“I did not find you a scout after all, your majesty!” he said gloatingly, leading the tall Elf forward. “Look whom I have found! This is Baranil, Thranduil’s captain! He is the head of the militia of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Your majesty,” said Baranil, bowing low.

Thorin inclined his head to him. “Captain Baranil,” he said in his deep voice. “I am very gratified to meet you. I suppose the ambassador has brought you up to date on our plans here?”

“He has indeed,” said the Elf. His voice was deep too, but smooth and low, and when he smiled all the grimness fell away. He glanced at Kaimelas, and the jet eyes twinkled. “Ambassador! You could have knocked me over with a feather. Wait ‘til Galion hears about this, Kassah!”

“Well, am I doing well at least?” demanded Kaimelas. “I know you always used to tell me I was the worst at espionage you had ever trained, for I simply could not prevaricate or tell an untruth. Ambassadorial duties seem a tad less obfuscated to me.”

“I think you are doing very well,” said Thorin. He turned to Baranil and said, “In fact, if the Lord of Dol Galenehtar concedes, I shall have Kaimelas to regulate trade agreements hereabouts; his honesty is refreshing.”

“But grating at times,” said Baranil with a smile.

“Pah! Never that,” said Thorin, waving his hand dismissively. “So, Captain, what do you think of our plan? Think you your sovereign shall fall in with us, or do we waste our time asking him to come out and play? For we could easily turn south here, and march upon Lake Town ourselves.”

“I would not recommend it,” said Baranil soberly. “At our last estimate Malbeach has upwards of three and a half thousands at his command, and who knows how many of Girion’s fighting men will come over to his side? Nay; let us go to King Thranduil; something must needs be done, for the situation hereabouts is desperate; it cannot go on this way. I have sent the rest of my party to my lord and lady to apprise him of our coming. You will all be welcome; our lady is distressed, and to know allies march to our aid will raise her spirits considerably; and as you may know, when Queen Edlothiel is relieved do all round her benefit.”

“So I surmised,” growled Thorin with a smile. “Lead on then, Captain Baranil! Glad am I to foregather with you, for in this way we might discuss our campaign, and you may acquaint me with your lord’s mind.”

“Alas! I wish I could,” said Baranil with a grim shake of his dark sleek head. “Think you the situation is bad in Erebor? It is worse for us. You will see when we get there.”

Baranil walked through the fields with them, and Kaimelas taught Nír and Ibun and several other young Dwarves some Elvish marching songs. As the sun dipped low over the dark stippled eaves of Eryn Lasgalen, the Dwarves entered the forest. The great arched branches curved up over the Elven road like a green arcade, winding through the dim shimmering trees; in the gloaming the nightingales warbled and the insects hummed. Glóin, Nori, Ori, and Dwalin smiled to see the change in the forest since the first time they had penetrated the gloomy blackness; there was regret there too, that they had had need to traverse Mirkwood ere Dol Guldur fell.

“Looks much better, doesn’t it?” muttered a grinning Glóin to Dwalin, who was marching along with a bemused expression on his face.

“Hm,” was all Dwalin offered in return.

The sun could not pierce the great hoary trees all round them, but the forest’s gloom was no longer oppressive; the marmalade light filtered through the green, and the bright frothy ferns and mossy glades shimmered. Birds flitted from brake to branch, and somewhere nearby they could hear the cheerful chuckle of a stream, and smell the moist loamy banks. At last they gained the great way, and walked up the smooth paved road beneath the tall pale birch trees to the bridge over the Forest River. The bridge spanned the river in one smooth arc, and the Dwarves trooped over it, looking critically at the stonework, as though seeking something to disparage. Thence they went up the great staircase to the gate, a huge half-circle sunk deep into the side of the green hill. On either side of the gate was a legion of Elvish soldiers, garbed in white leather armor and bearing tall shining pikes. Their lieutenant, cloaked in green, called out in a loud voice, and the legion snapped to attention and presented arms. As Thorin Stonehelm passed the lieutenant, the Elf called in a loud voice:

“Eryn Lasgalen welcomes his majesty, Thorin Stonehelm of Erebor!”

“Hail!” cried the legion as one, and Thorin proudly strode through the open gate.

The Great Hall within was thronging with Elves, men and women both, garbed in beautiful robes and tunics and bright armor. They left the broad carpet to the dais open, but pressed forward, eager to watch the King Under the Mountain approach their sovereign. Upon the dais seated on two carven chairs were the King and Queen of Eryn Lasgalen, clad in green and gold. The queen sat straight and tall upon her throne, glimmering like abalone and silver; but Thranduil was hunched as though with pain, and his golden hair was unkempt, and fell over his face.

Baranil gestured to the party, and they paused. “Let the King Under the Mountain and his retinue continue,” he said; “my lieutenants will see to your troops’ billeting.” Thorin nodded, and a tall pale Elf dressed in black approached. “Methlon,” he said to the grinning lieutenant, “are the quarters and feasts prepared?”

“They are, O Captain,” said Methlon, smiling at the Dwarves. “And as much ale as you like!”

The Dwarves cheered then, and eagerly followed the lieutenant out. Then Baranil said to Kaimelas, “As you are the ambassador, Kaimelas, do you approach the thrones first to bring Thorin Stonehelm to our lord.”

“As though they’d never met before,” muttered Kaimelas discontentedly; he disliked ceremony. “But I warrant the queen has something in mind.”

“Not she but the king,” said Baranil, and Kaimelas raised his eyebrows in surprise. But he turned to Thorin and his party and said,

“Now, follow me in proper order, if you please, and let us get this fussing about done quickly. I am hungry and want my supper.”

“An it please you,” smiled Thorin, and they set off down the walk.

The dais was low and trimmed with rushes and ivy, and canopied with green and white, and there was a fountain to the left of the king’s throne. Thranduil stared blankly with heavy-lidded eyes as the party approached, his hands clutching the arms of his throne; Edlothiel was pale and looked strained, and gazed with desperate hope at Kaimelas. He took a deep breath and bowed before his erstwhile king and queen.

“Your majesties,” he said, feeling very worried on Thranduil’s account, and mighty foolish on his own. “I, Kaimelas, Ambassador of your son Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, do bring to you in these troubled times a friend and ally, his majesty, the King Under the Mountain, Thorin Stonehelm.”

Edlothiel turned to her husband, who stirred; his eyes were bleary and unfocused, and it did not appear he seemed to note or even to care who stood before him. “Thank you, ambassador,” he said; his voice was thin and reedy, and so unlike his usual blustery shout that Kaimelas’ throat tightened. But he stepped aside, and Thorin strode forward.

Thranduil lurched unsteadily to his feet. Kaimelas reached to steady him, but the Elvenking jerked unevenly away from him. Then he fell to his knees and gestured to Thorin.

“The King Under the Mountain,” he said weakly, blinking blindly round.

Thorin stepped carefully up the dais steps. Thranduil was shockingly thin; his cheeks were sunken and gray, and he looked as though he had not slept in months. His piercing gray eyes were clouded and indistinct, and his head wobbled upon his neck. He groped forward, and took Thorin’s hands in his own, shakily laving them in a basin of fragrant water; then he fumbled with a cloth and dried them. He was breathing unevenly, and when he with trembling fingers replaced the cloth, Thorin said under his breath:

“Your majesty … are you quite feeling well?”

Thranduil looked up then, his groggy eyes struggling to focus; then his gaze met Thorin’s, and his face cleared. He blinked and swallowed, staring at Thorin as though seeing him for the first time; then he clutched at Thorin’s sleeve with sudden violence.

“Stay with me – stay with me!” he hissed desperately. “I have been ensorcelled – it surpasses even my wife’s powers to break it. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat – the dreams, they are visiting me in the daytime now – but stay, I beg you; I have not been clear in mind for – I know not how long. But you, you pierce through the fog. I know not how, nor care! Stay until the enchantment is lifted!”

Thorin stared at him in surprise, and from the other throne Edlothiel stifled a little sob. Thorin looked quickly over at her; she watched him with tear-filled eyes, her hands clutching her skirts tight. “Please,” she mouthed to him; and setting his jaw Thorin covered Thranduil’s shaking hand with his own.

“We are allies,” he rumbled, loud enough for everyone by the dais to here. “Of course I am staying.”

Thranduil sagged then, as though all his strength had been bled away; then he opened his eyes, clear gray once more, and smiled.

(A/N:  Okay, guys, remember at the beginning of Chapter 15, when I said my life was tranquil so I was able to write about violence and angst?  Well, the past two months, my life has been anything but tranquil, and I’m afraid the converse was true of me.  That is why it’s been such a horribly long time since I’ve posted.  This chapter simply would not write itself, and my muse, after taking one look at the direction my life was headed, packed her suitcase and ran off to Cabo with the Brazilian pool boy and a margarita machine.  Can’t blame her, really.

Well, the pool boy’s charms got tedious (he’s so high maintenance) and she ran out of tequila, so my muse came crawling back, not only giving me the ability to write again, but landing me with a whopper of a plot bunny for TGK, the Next Chapter.  My sincerest apologies to you all for the delay, but here it is – Chapter 20, lovingly [and patiently] betaed by the fabulous Nieriel Raina.  Kudos to her and her sympathetic and understanding nature, and my thanks to all of you who have offered me your support in this harrowing time.

-- Le Rouret)

20. The Unlikely Alliance

The stars spread their sparkling banner in the velvety heavens.  The fountain sent its mirroring spray to salute the glittering host, and tiny droplets collected upon the linden leaves and dripped down on the smooth white pavers choked with moss.  Little white flowers bloomed on a lush vine twining round the heavy chairs, sending out a subtly sweet fragrance into the cool moist air.  The courtyard was quiet save for the trilling of a nightingale, high in the rustling branches above them, and the uneven and labored breathing of the Elvenking.  He sat slumped in a chair, propped up with soft pillows, his arms clutched tight round his stomach; his hair was lank and dull and hung over his face like an untidy curtain.  Edlothiel sat by his side, tall and slender and pale, her silvery hair reflecting the starlight, her skin smooth as polished abalone, her face tragic.

“When did the dreams come?” asked Kaimelas.  He sat uncomfortably on a chair; he was unused to being treated with such politesse before royalty, and was more accustomed to standing guard at doorways and walls; however, he told himself that ambassadorial status had one thing at least to commend it; he could ask all the questions he liked now.

“I know not – five weeks ago; six?  Shortly after we dined with Malbeach and Renna the first time, at any rate.”  Edlothiel touched her husband’s shoulder lightly; he stirred, and groaning pressed his arms against his stomach.  “Our gravest error was allowing them in the palace at all.  We both mistrusted them, my husband and I; however we sought to keep the peace hereabouts, and to show favoritism to Dale and Erebor we deemed should only serve to widen the gaps betwixt Elf and Man, and compound a situation already teetering on political disaster.”

“Many of our difficulties started too, after allowing Malbeach’s presence beneath the Lonely Mountain,” growled Thorin.  He and Glóin were settled on low soft chairs, with salvers of sweetmeats and cheese at their elbows, and goblets of fine dark wine to drink, but neither Dwarf seemed very keen to indulge; they both watched the Elvenking with aghast disquiet.  “When the Master of Esgaroth is in proximity, my mind becomes strangely clouded; his words seem wise and I find myself, despite my apprehension, eager to accept them.  I wonder what sorcery it is, that gives him so much power over our minds?”

“It is an evil magic,” said Edlothiel, shaking her head.  “I could feel it the moment he approached me – and it is not Malbeach only; it is Renna too, though her magic is weaker and lower, yet somehow subtler; for in her I feel a deep grief and regret, while from him I feel nothing save avarice and anger.  Their minds are clouded and twisted, tangled and torn, so turned in on themselves they choke their own strength with their convolutions, joined together yet warring against one another also.  They want riches and power and pleasure, and will stop at naught in their pursuit of those things.”  She turned her gaze upon Thranduil again; pity and anger suffused her lovely face.  “And they both wanted something of my husband,” she said; her voice trembled with wrath.  “Renna’s impetus I could comprehend; what woman, mortal or immortal, would not swoon before my lord in his glory?  But Malbeach – “

Thranduil retched then, clapping his hand over his mouth; Kaimelas leapt up and pressed a handkerchief in the king’s hands.  Thorin and Glóin stared at Thranduil in dismay.  “Your majesty,” rumbled Thorin uncomfortably.  “What did Malbeach ask of you?”

“Will you make me say it?” groaned Thranduil, coughing into the handkerchief miserably.  “I had gone to Dale to treat with Girion; the Master and Lady of Esgaroth were his guests at the feast.  Even as Girion and I spoke at table did those two watch me, their eyes calculating, whispering together.  Girion seemed weary, and unable to speak with clarity; I do fear me now those two had got to him already, and he was enchanted by their malice, for he spoke oddly, and seemed to make but little sense.  After the feast I withdrew alone, for I was troubled; an air of oppression surrounded me, and I could not shake it.  And when the moon set and the whole Hall slept, there in the darkness of my chamber afterwards they did both come to me, the husband and the wife together – their wills colluded; I was surrounded by their artifices; I could not fight – “  He retched again, and when he pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth to continue speaking, they saw upon it a dark bloody stain.  “I was overcome – blackness overpowered me; my limbs were water.  I felt hands dragging me, and fought them fiercely, though I could not cry out; when my sight and my mind returned to me I was out of doors in an alley; I had been stripped of everything, and lying in the dust at my feet was the body of a Dwarf, slain as though by mine own hands.”

“And so Morsul, of course, concluded the Dwarves had set upon him and robbed him,” said Edlothiel angrily.  “The rash fool!  I was at home; I was not there to dispel Morsul’s rumor with cold logic; many imprudent things were said, and my husband was returned to me, bloodied and ensorcelled by dreams and illness.”

“What do you dream, your majesty?” asked Kaimelas.  “For I must tell you this:  Your son dreams also, and is likewise beset by both Malbeach and Renna; he is ill too, and grows ever weaker as the days progress.”

Edlothiel gave a cry of dismay, and Thranduil looked up at Kaimelas, his grey eyes grieved and filled with tears.  “My poor son!” he said hoarsely.  “My poor little Legolas, O my Little One!  Would that those two jackals had taken me and my life together, yet left his body and soul alone!  O why did he come?  Why did I beg to see him?  Why did he not stay in Dol Galenehtar, where he would be safe?”

“Because he loves you, of course,” said Glóin.  “Do you think I am happy to know Gimli is in danger too?  But at least I have this to comfort me, that Malbeach and Renna care nothing for my son’s person; and you have this to comfort you:  Whatever happens to Legolas, wherever he goes and whatever he attempts to realize, will my boy be with him; alone they are fierce enough; in concert they may accomplish many marvelous things.”

“So they may!” said Thranduil, a ghost of a smile upon his pale lips.  “Well, Kaimelas, ambassador of Dol Galenehtar – what a strange happenstance is that!  Whatever possessed my son … ?  Well, anyway, my dreams are of blood and fire, of death and decay.  And I am continually beset, attacked and beleaguered; worried as though with canine teeth, and slavered upon; but cannot fight back; in my dreams I am weak and ineffectual, and cannot even lift my sword to defend myself.  I awake crying for aid, and for a release from the torment.”

“Hm,” said Kaimelas, frowning.  “You do not dream of snakes then?”

“Snakes?” said Thranduil, puzzled.  “Nay; I do not dream of snakes.  Why?  Does my son do so?”

“He does,” said Kaimelas.  “Snakes, and orcs and spiders, and a voice ever in his head demanding subjection.”

“Snakes!” exclaimed Edlothiel.  “What a strange thing of which for him to dream!  He is not even afeared of them; betimes when he was small he would capture them, and then would we discover him secreting them about the palace – “

“In Thilivren’s wardrobe, for example,” said Kaimelas, his dark eyes twinkling; Glóin burst out laughing.

“I will have to remember that!” he said.  “Hiding snakes in ladies’ chambers!  What a scamp that one is, to be sure!  And he is my son’s dearest friend!  Ah, such an appalling influence he is on my boy; I am not certain now that I approve of their friendship.”

There was a stirring at the garden gate; then two figures approached, one tall and dark, the other, short and stout.  It was Baranil and Nír.  “We are ready to go, your majesties,” said Baranil, bowing low to the King and Queen of Eryn Lasgalen, and to Thorin Stonehelm also.  “Four thousands have we at muster; a thousand archers, a thousand pikesmen, and two thousand footmen.  The waggons with the supplies will take up the rearguard with a phalanx of archers and pikesmen to guard them, and in the vanguard shall be your majesties and your bodyguards.”  He flicked an eye over Kaimelas, who still knelt anxiously by Thranduil’s side.  “We are leaving one thousand to guard the Halls under the Queen’s command, O ambassador; I am certain she would be delighted to have your company and your council.”

“There will be none of that, now, Baranil,” said Kaimelas angrily, rising to his feet.  “Do you think I accompanied my lord this far to miss out on all the fun?  King Thorin has graciously loaned to me a full set of armor – good stuff, too; you will be green with envy when you see it – and I fully intend to put it to good use.”

“Do you think that wise?” asked Baranil soberly.  “Your soldiering days are well behind you; I was at Amon Din too, you know.”

Kaimelas flushed.  “You have not seen me since, however,” he said, his voice cold.  “You were my captain once, ‘tis true; but you are no longer, and no longer am I of lowly state, and I shall do as I will do.  And I will accompany these two kings in the vanguard, and I shall don the armor, and I shall fight; and there is naught anyone can do about it!”

“Very well!” said Baranil mildly.  “Shall I begin composing a letter of condolence to your wife now, or wait ‘til I am home?”

Kaimelas suddenly grinned.  “Wait ‘til you get home,” he said.  “Let us not be precipitate.”

“That is well, coming from you, Kaimelas,” said Baranil, smiling.  “Promotion has had a strange effect on you.”

“I have little intention of keeping this grade; I will be suitably modest later.”

“That will not set well with your wife,” said Edlothiel, smiling despite her worry.  “I am certain she will enjoy her elevated status by proxy.  And do not forget, O Kaimelas, that I have not forgiven you for stealing Seimiel away from my son!”

“Stealing her!” exclaimed Kaimelas.  “Why, my lord had no notion of courting my girl; besides which, he irritates her.  Of course, so do I; but I like to think she might suffer me better than she would he.  My heart is heavy though; Dúrfinwen was Seimiel’s closest confidant, and ‘twill sadden my wife deeply to know the maid is gone from this world.”

“Poor Dúrfinwen!” murmured Thranduil, shaking his head.  “The poor little Laiquenda!  Like a daughter was she to us, the dear little thing, with her curls and dimples and big brown eyes!”  He retched again, and Edlothiel anxiously patted his shoulder.  “O Lady mine,” he croaked, turning his bleary gaze upon his wife; “deal with me severely if I do not inflict at least a modicum of castigation upon the head of the persons who took her and her companions from us!”

“My dear husband,” said Edlothiel fondly.  “How could I deal harshly with you?  Save where mortal women are concerned of course; I reserve the right to jealousy, should Renna at last catch your eye.”

Thranduil made a face.  “Ill and ensorcelled might I be, but I am not mad,” he said.  “You have naught to fear from me!”  He turned to Thorin.  “I am curious,” he said, wiping his face with shaky fingers.  “You entertained Malbeach and his wife as well, but though you said he clouded your mind, yet you are intact and unchanged.  How did you escape his enchantments?”

“I know not,” rumbled Thorin.  “But beneath his cunning compulsion I yet felt a strong dislike – as though he watched us Dwarves, and more even than disapproving was disgusted by us.  It is only this suspicion wakens enough strength in me to fight that magic of his.  And perchance he did not press upon me as heavily, for I possessed not those traits to attract his attention; I tell you this, though:  The instant I felt the magic upon me, I left his presence, and ordered that our women should be hidden away; there are plenty of good stout Dwarvish men, but our women are on short supply; and if I were to save anyone, it would be they.”

“Ah!”  Thranduil smiled, and reached out a tremulous hand to his wife; Edlothiel took it tenderly.  “And how patronizing we might be to the ones we love best!  I own my Lady Wife is stronger than I, for she withstands enchantment and trial better, and is prettier beside.”

“The Master of Esgaroth might argue that point,” said Edlothiel dryly, but she looked pleased.  “Your majesty, I am loath to take my husband from your presence, for he is clearer in mind now with you here than he has been this past fortnight; however if you are to march on the morrow should my lord get as much rest as is possible.  I bid you all good night and good dreams, your majesty, my lords, gentlemen all; ere the sun rises shall we meet upon the river strand to see the troops’ assembly.”  She rose, and with Kaimelas’ help, the Elvenking rose too; he was bent over in pain however, and went very pale, clutching at the ambassador’s strong arm.  Thorin and Glóin rose as well, and Glóin bowed; they watched as the King and Queen of Eryn Lasgalen crossed painfully slow to the portal, and thence their pale glow faded from sight in the gardens.  Thorin shook his head grimly and said,

“I am uneasy in mind regarding the Elvenking to come with us; he cannot fight in that condition!  What shall we do, Captain Baranil, to protect your lord from further harm?  For though broken in body and spirit will he yet insist upon drawing his sword, and I fear for his life, and for his mind and spirit too, should we come across Malbeach in the flesh.”

“How might one protect a man from himself?” asked Baranil with a wry smile.  “It cannot be done, your majesty; know well I have tried for many centuries to do just that with my lord, and with his royal son also, to which Kaimelas might well attest.  They will do as they will; all one can do is to make sure they are surrounded by those who love them and will do anything for them.”

“Put me by Thranduil’s side then, as I cannot stand my mine own lord’s,” said Kaimelas.  “I may be a king’s man no longer, but in the detraction of my service was my love made none the lesser; besides if aught happens to my lord’s father I shall never hear the end of it!”

“As you wish it,” said Baranil, but he looked troubled.  “I am uneasy for you too, Kassah.”

“Pah!” said Kaimelas dismissively.  “If a man’s arrow in my chest could not kill me, I think I have little else to fear.  Besides, it is a matter of odds, and having taken that arrow my odds are better that no further mischief shall be visited upon me.”

“Remind me never to dice with you then,” growled Thorin, and laughing the party separated.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

If it is difficult to hide seven hundred fifty Dwarves, to hide seven hundred fifty Dwarves in the company of four thousand Elves is tactically impossible.  They sent out scouts to fan round the countryside as they marched east, and both Elf and Dwarf reported men lurking in the folds of the hills, or behind the boles of trees.  Reluctantly did Thorin agree with the Elvenking’s command to have these spies slain, for though the men were of Esgaroth and inured in sly evil, he had hoped to treat and not kill.  “Do not be foolish, your majesty,” Glóin chided him.  “Thranduil has it right, though it seems harsh; Malbeach whether he has enslaved or tricked or persuaded these men is our enemy, and the enemy of all the innocent; war is upon us, and the time for negotiations is past.”  So the scouts slew the spies and hid the bodies, and in good time did the strange army reach the village where the raftmen lived.

Since the death of the Dragon, Esgaroth and Eryn Lasgalen had collaborated upon the maintenance of the shores and docks, and Elf and Man dwelt side by side in relative amity, barring some minor territorial infractions, or levy disputes.  The roads and paths had been rebuilt and the fields cleared, and a market constructed; also they would raise cattle and sheep, and sell the meat and wool and leather.  But the village was empty; Thranduil had removed his Elves when the difficulties with Malbeach arose, and now it appeared the men had gone too.  The houses and docks were empty, and all they could see upon the shores were the shabby hulks of coracles, clunking and rocking mournfully with the flow of the river.

“I take it trade has ceased for now,” growled Thorin.  Thranduil gave a weak smile.

“Understatement appears to be one of your noblest traits,” was all he said; and the army passed by.

They bivouacked three leagues from the delta into the Long Lake.  They built no fires, seeking to hide their numbers, and both kings sent out numerous spies to scout out the land nearby.  To the east they could see a strange orange glow; it did not appear to be fire, for it flickered not, nor was there the smell or sight of smoke; still it was unnerving, for they could not see the town in the darkness past the curve of the lake, but only the light, a queer unnatural color.  They spent a restless night there, and very few slept.

At dawn they all donned their armor and set up file.  Thranduil was in his ancient dark cuirass, and Thorin in the splendid bright mail wrought far in the depths of the Lonely Mountain.  Kaimelas surprised them all in a beautiful breastplate of blue, intaglioed in bronze, with broad shining pauldrons and a flared fauld.  “Is it not marvelous?” he gloated, pinging it with his fingernail.  “I declare I am the best-dressed Elf in this army!”

“You are better dressed than many a Dwarf too,” chuckled Glóin.  “Mind the greaves; they are stiff at first, for the leather points are new.  And be careful of the charnel!  It is large and heavy, and rests on two braces, one on either side of the sternum.  If you must fall, fall backward, or you will look as though your horse kicked you in the chest.”

“He would not do such a thing,” scoffed Kaimelas, shifting his shoulders a little.  “And the cuirass is so light!  Thank you, your majesty King Thorin, for allowing this humble ambassador to spread my vain tail before my old Captain here; already I can see the green glow in Baranil’s eyes!”

“Do not flatter yourself overmuch,” said Baranil, though he eyed the armor appreciatively.  “Yet the poorest knight may be impressive upon the lists in new kit.  Just you walk about in it for a few hours, and we will see how you like it!”

“It would be better if we could fit it to you properly,” said Nír, fussing with the polder-mittens.  “You are too tall … well, I suppose it will do for now; mind you do not go denting it!”

“O yes!  Heaven forfend I actually fight in it,” said Kaimelas dryly.  “How may I guard the royalty hereabouts if I do not put myself betwixt them and the enemy?  I tell you this then, O Nír my friend; if I damage the armor, I shall see to it my lord reimburse you for its repair.”

“That is generous!” said Ibun as Nír laughed.  “Does ambassadorial status give unto you access to your lord’s exchequeur?”

“I hope so!” grinned Kaimelas.  “There are few enough gratuities associated with this new job of mine.  I should not balk at a few pennies here and there, and I am certain my wife will not either.”

Just then a forward scout ran up.  “A large company of men approaches,” he said; “they carry the white flag of parley.  There is a large contingent of armed and armored knights, fierce with tall lances, and with them rides the Master of Esgaroth beneath a red pennant, and wearing full armor!”

“How many are they?” asked Thorin, loosening his sword.

“It is difficult to say,” admitted the scout.  “They are coming up out of a narrow dale which winds back toward Esgaroth through the trees.  I descry two hundred fifty, but a thousand more might be secreted beneath the forest’s limbs.  But Malbeach rides confidently, as though he had the might of many men at his back.”

“Well he may,” said Thranduil unhappily.   “But seeks he to parley he might think himself outnumbered.”

“He may not know we are here at all,” said Kaimelas.  “Listen!  I have an idea.”

“You, Kaimelas?” said Baranil.

“Yes, I,” said Kaimelas.  “None of that, now; I am better dressed than you, so mine opinion means more.  O Stonehelm, you ought to take your Dwarves into the hills to the north, into the high dells and dingles, and secrete yourselves there.  For Bard of Dale will surely have told his father that you went to attack the Elvenking with only seven hundred fifty warriors, and ‘twould be an easy guess on the Men’s parts that you were vanquished, and that the Elvenking sets his sights upon Esgaroth to destroy next, so that the treasure of the Dwarves might be his alone.  In this manner if we are engaged, and Malbeach’s men come up through the curve of the forest beneath the hills, we will sound the trumps, and you might come down upon them ere they strike our left flank.”

Baranil stared at Kaimelas.  “I am amazed,” he said.  “It is a very good idea.”

“And so you ask me and my men to skulk off; is that it?” growled Thorin, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

“Well, did you not ask this of me, when Bard and his men approached?” argued Kaimelas.  “And it is not the same as skulking.  You get to attack downhill, which is strategically superior, and will get your share of the fighting, I am sure.  Moreover you will have the fun of being part of a big surprise for Malbeach when you charge.”

“I do not like surprises,” grumbled Thorin.  “So if anyone must be surprised, I own I would rather it were Malbeach.  Well, Thranduil, what do you think?  It will be as though you brandish a sword, but hide a sharp stiletto in your boot.”

Thranduil sighed and shook his head.  His face was pale and there were dark circles beneath his eyes; he looked terribly weary, and the weight of his armor dragged him down.  “Very well,” he said tiredly.  “I suppose it is a sound enough idea.  But I do not want to face Malbeach without you near me; his magic will overcome me, and it is only in your presence I have clarity of mind.  How might I parley with him in my current state?  He shall confound me; already I can feel the tendrils of his darkness creeping toward me, sliding along the grass, seeking me, feeling me.  He knows I am here … he descries my presence, and beckons to me.”  He shuddered and closed his eyes.  “I should rather die than submit to him,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You need not approach him at all,” said Kaimelas anxiously.  “Look!  I am an ambassador – not a very good one, I will gladly admit; but still, I am an ambassador.  Baranil and I will go in your stead, your majesty; we will follow the briefest of protocols for a parley, and after we have spoken with him we will return to tell you what he has done.”

“But what if he ensorcels you too?” asked Nír, his brow furrowed.  “If his magic is strong enough for the Elvenking to feel it all the way out here, then it is mighty strong indeed, and might overtake you and Baranil both.  Might we risk that?”

“We could simply ignore the parley,” suggested Dwalin.  “After all, we know he is a slippery fellow, and that he is up to no good thing.  What might he say to us that we need listen to?  All I wish to hear out of his foul mouth is a death-gurgle.  Send an archer and have done with it.”

“O I do like Dwarves,” said Kaimelas to Baranil; “they are so blood-thirsty!”

“Come!” said Baranil calmly.  “To be sure he is a rake and a liar and an evil man; but the institution of parley is sacrosanct, and to disregard it will speak poorly of our own honor and intent.  Kaimelas, you and I will go with select members of his majesty’s guard, and meet Malbeach in the dale.  We shall speak but briefly, giving nothing away; if at any time either of us feels the press of his magic upon us we shall signal each other so.”  He raised his left hand and made a gesture.  “When that occurs shall the other take command; I doubt me his power is great enough to ensorcel us both together.”

“Fair enough,” said Kaimelas doubtfully.  “But what shall we say?”

“Let him do the talking,” smiled Baranil.  “He is a Man; he cannot help himself; he will brag, or simper, or flatter, or threaten.  All we need do is to listen, to reply but briefly that we have naught to say to him, and return after the parley to the troops.  In this fashion will King Thorin and his warriors have had sufficient time to have gained the upper ridge and secreted themselves there, and when the trumpets sound to attack will they come down upon Malbeach like many mighty hammers.”  He turned to the two kings.  “Well, your majesties? What say you?”

“I think it is a good plan,” said Kaimelas helpfully.  “Agree with him, do; for the faster you agree with Baranil shall the battle be joined the faster, and the faster we shall rescue my silly prince, and the faster shall peace be gained, and the faster shall I return to my home and my wife.  I cannot wait to tell her that her eminence has been increased!  She will, I am certain, go straight way to the tucking-mill for a new gown.  I hope it will be a red one.”

Thranduil looked tiredly at Kaimelas, but he smiled, his eyes fond.  “Poor Kaimelas, caught in the selfsame trap in which I found myself enmeshed many centuries hence!” he said.  “And poor Seimiel, who must endure your prattle of eminence and red gowns.”  He sighed and turned his clouded grey eyes to the sky, where the sun shone down brightly, smiling upon them through the hurrying wispy clouds.  “I concede to this,” he said, drooping.  “I am ashamed of my weakness, but would fain deny it.  So long as I might lift the sword to Malbeach’s front line might I redeem myself; I do fear me though without Stonehelm beside me I shall falter.”

“You shall falter not nor fall,” growled Stonehelm, reaching up to grasp Thranduil’s arm.  “You are the Elvenking, and have ruled in might and adamancy longer than this humble Dwarf has been round.  And I shall not be far, your majesty; we shall meet upon the battle field, and the crows shall feast upon our enemies as surely as you and I shall feast together upon the high dais of Erebor, raising jeweled goblets in a triumphant toast to our might and victory.”  He turned to Glóin and Dwalin.  “Tell our men to break away to the north,” he rumbled.  “We will cut up through that break there, and circle round the top of the ridge so that we might look down upon both Malbeach and our Elven allies.  Let no horn nor trump sound until the battle is engaged, and then let us blow mightily!”

The Elves bid their Dwarven brethren a quiet farewell, and watched the underbrush shift and flicker as the warriors passed north above them; then Baranil commanded the king’s guard to surround Thranduil, and told the standard –bearer to come forward and ride behind Kaimelas.  “You will be ambassador to Eryn Lasgalen now,” he said; “you ride no longer beneath green oak-branches, but the encircled full moon of your erstwhile lord.”

Kaimelas looked up at the green and silver pennant snapping bravely from the pole.  “It is the first time I have ridden directly beneath it,” he said, unsure.  “Baranil, I am a humble scout and a valet; what if I speak amiss?  It were simple enough to speak with the Dwarves on behalf of my lord, for they are blunt and unsubtle and I like them well enough.  But Malbeach is a vile creature and full to the brim of craft and evil.  I do not trust myself to be terribly diplomatic.”

“I do not expect you to be, Kaimelas,” smiled Baranil.  “Simply be yourself, and guard against his machinations.”

The trumpet sounded then, and the Elven army surged forward through the woods.  Soon they could hear the march of feet, of hooves and the speech of men; then a trumpet sounded as though from far away, and all the Elves began to sample the air, smelling sulphur and smoke.   Baranil, Kaimelas, and the king’s guard went forward then upon the road, and round the bend they saw at last Malbeach and his retainers.

The Master of Esgaroth sat tall and proud upon his great black destrier.  His armor was bright and red, and gleamed with gold and bronze, and he rode beneath a splendid banner of red and yellow.  His hair lay upon his pauldrons, gleaming dark and speckled with silver streaks, and his handsome face smiled serenely upon them.  A great sword girded with rubies and other fine gems was bound to his waist, and all round him were his warriors, likewise clad in beautiful armor and riding tall horses.  An esquire walked before them bearing the white flag of parley, and Malbeach stopped, raising his hand to them.

Kaimelas shuddered.  He had only seen Malbeach from a distance, and had not been in such close proximity to him before; now that he was before the man did he feel deep within himself the stirrings of sick fear.  A cold wave rolled over him, and his vision clouded; he felt pressed upon from above, and his bile rose.  Frantically he gestured to Baranil, hoping his friend would see him struggle; it was as though through surging water he heard the captain say:

“Malbeach of Esgaroth; for what reason have you gathered your armies against us?”

“I might say the same of you, Elf of Mirkwood.”  The voice was low and smooth and calm, and sounded very reassuring.  “Why do you march upon us?  What quarrel has the Elvenking with poor Esgaroth?  For I perceive you come upon us with many soldiers, and we in our blameless apprehension do come to you to treat peace.”

Baranil said nothing, and shaking his head firmly, Kaimelas sought to regain his clarity.  He struggled to focus and saw Baranil staring blank-eyed and bewildered at Malbeach then; Malbeach was smiling, his black eyes hooded and contemplative, studying the captain’s face and form.  Feeling ill, Kaimelas grasped his courage and composure in both hands and said:  “Many things are you, Malbeach, but blameless is not one of them!”  But his words sounded hollow of threat, and indeed did Malbeach turn to him and laugh softly; the wool seemed to descend upon Kaimelas again, and speechlessly did he gape at the Master.

“What fine armor, O Elf!” Malbeach murmured.  He let his gaze drift over Kaimelas’ face and body, a small cold smile gracing his lips.  “Dwarven, if I am not mistaken?  Was this just booty, or a gift?”

Kaimelas could not speak; his tongue was frozen, and his eyes were full of clouds and his ears of thunder.  A weight like a boulder sat on his chest and he was finding it difficult to breathe.  Then he heard Baranil say weakly:

“It is … none of your concern.  This – parley – is over.”

“But it has hardly begun!” laughed Malbeach.  “And what will you now, O lovely Elves?  Will you and your people attack my poor Esgaroth?  Will you slay us all, our women and children and old men and maidens, simply to satisfy your king’s lust for gold?”  His tongue seemed to linger on the word lust then, and Kaimelas nearly vomited; his stomach twisted upon itself and a tight pinching feeling gripped him between his eyes.  Why was Baranil not speaking?  What were the rest of their party doing?  Malbeach spoke again, his voice like a hot knife sliding through warm butter.  “For I perceive you are fresh from conquest, and seek to enlarge your power and your treasuries.  O how kind and fair is the Elvenking, that he release his might against poor humble Esgaroth!”

Kaimelas through blinking hard and pinching himself managed to clear his sight; he watched as Malbeach rode closer beneath the white flag, feeling like a bird held in thrall by a snake.  He could not move; he could not speak; he could barely breathe through the nausea that gripped him, and there was a high, terrible whine in the middle of his head.  Closer and closer did the Master of Esgaroth come; and with each step closed between them did the horrible pressing compulsion increase, until Kaimelas was paralyzed with it.  “And what of our friends the Dwarves?” asked Malbeach; his voice was of silk and oil, smooth and shining; it covered Kaimelas in thick cloying waves.  “What of the great and powerful and rich Thorin Stonehelm?  What did the Elvenking do to him, who dared march upon Mirkwood on evil deed intent?  Did the beautiful and glorious Thranduil take him down like the insect deserved?  Like grubbing dung-beetles are the Dwarves; how grateful am I for the splendid King Thranduil for his deeds, for vanquishing the creeping denizens of Erebor.  And what now, O Elves?  Do you seek to share the bounty with us, or deny us our own?  For you well know how we have complained of the Dwarves’ thievery; what is in Thorin’s storehouses is as much ours as it is your king’s.”  Now Malbeach’s voice was very close; Kaimelas could not see anything except swirling cloud before his eyes, and his nostrils were full of the scent of decay.  But ever did the Man’s voice caress him, sliding across his skin like the stroke of cold satin.  “And where is Thranduil?” he whispered, and within Kaimelas’ breast was the desire to tell him.  “Where is Thranduil the golden, Thranduil the fair, Thranduil the resolute?  For I tell you truly, did our last meeting go awry, and I am … desolate in his absence.”  The voice lowered to a purr.  “Bring him to me,” said Malbeach, and Kaimelas’ hands began to shake.  “Bring before me the splendid Elvenking, and he and I … will join together … for the benefit of both our kingdoms.”

“Liar!” cried Baranil then, and like a flash of lightning across his vision did Kaimelas’ mind clear.  Malbeach was right before them, his face flushed and eager and his dead eyes alight with hunger; the king’s guard was half-surrounded by Malbeach’s men, seeming insensible and dull; but when Baranil spoke they shook their heads, and blinked, and looked around in alarm.  “Back; back!” shouted Baranil, drawing his sword; behind him twenty Elves drew their bows.  “Back, you serpent, you knave, you wicked villain!  Cloud our minds and vision no more; remove your vile magic to use against your own folk!  To me, O Firstborn!  To me, children of Doriath!  Back, back!  Back, Kaimelas!”

Arrows twanged, and several of Malbeach’s knights fell; the Master of Esgaroth’s face changed then, became angry, and great waves of hot blackness seemed to emanate from him.  Baranil faltered, overcome; Kaimelas drew his sword and urged his frightened horse to Baranil’s side.  “Get out; get out!” he shouted.  “Back to the troops!  Let us bandy words with this lying snake no longer.  Back, back!”

The Elves turned and fled back down the road into the woods.  Baranil clung to his horse’s mane; he was very white, and vomit trailed from his lips.  “What devilry is this?” he gasped to Kaimelas.  “Thranduil’s warning fell on our deaf ears!”

“As did my lord’s,” said Kaimelas; he tasted blood, and wiped at his mouth as his horse thundered along.  When he glanced down at his hand he saw he was covered in it.  “Well, we are in for it now, Captain!”

Trumpets and horns blew all round them, from the Elvish troops in front of them, alarmed at the sudden retreat, and from Malbeach’s army hid in the forest.  There were many trumpets sounding, and when Baranil and Kaimelas gained the rest of the host, Thranduil and Methlon were calling to their lieutenants to arrange the lines.  “Archers, footmen!” Methlon was calling, his pale head shining.  “To ranks, to ranks!  King’s men, to the king, to the king!”

All the Elves cried out in a great voice then, a terrible and wonderful sound; and all the heaviness fell from Kaimelas’ head.  He laughed and swung his sword in the air.  “To Esgaroth!” he cried gaily.  “Down with the Master!  To our king, to our king!  Thranduil Oropherion!”

“Oropherion!” cried all the Elves together, and turning as one, Baranil, Thranduil, and Kaimelas led the charge.

They met the men of Esgaroth as they plunged downhill through the trees.  Arrows twanged and thunked all round them, and there were shouts and the sound of metal clashing against metal.  Kaimelas felt the press of Malbeach’s malice upon him but shook it off and called, “Down with the Master!”

“Down with the Master!” replied many other Elves around them, and they charged into the fray.

Malbeach’s men were fierce and driven by their lord’s magic, and fought the Wood-Elves with viciousness and rage; the Elves outnumbered them though, and because they were more at ease in the forest did press the Men overmuch.  After only an hour of battle did the horn for retreat sound, and the Elves all cried with gladness to see the Men run away.  “After them, after them!” shouted Thranduil, rising up on his horse.  His thin face was sallow and pale, but the light of battle was in his eyes and his arm was strong again, for Malbeach was nowhere to be seen, and the Elvenking’s strength had returned somewhat in the Master’s absence.  “Hear the horns of our Dwarven brethren; we will put them to rout!”

But as he mustered his soldiers to follow did a scout approach then, white-faced and terrified.  “Your majesty, your majesty!” he cried, falling to his knees.  “The Dwarves do not sound their trumpets to come to your aid, but to request aid of you.  Girion comes from the north, and pinches us in the vise between Dale and Esgaroth.  We are outnumbered!”

“Damn!” said Kaimelas irritably.  “I knew it was too easy.”

“Well, if we remain in the woods we should be at an advantage,” said Baranil.  “But we ought to send help to Stonehelm; we sent him out there alone, and I would fain see the King Under the Mountain slain for our own obfuscation.”

“I will go,” said Kaimelas.  “I am supposed to be the ambassador to the Dwarves, after all.  Methlon!  Get me at least five hundreds!  We must climb the hill there, and seek out our Dwarvish friends.”

Methlon was not Baranil’s first lieutenant for naught; ere the sun touched the tip of the western hills did Kaimelas rally his five hundreds, and lead them up the steep slope to the north.  They could hear a great tumult, and shouts and horns. Kaimelas’ Elves crept noiselessly up the rocky hill and through the brakes, but Kaimelas’ armor continually snagged upon the branches and vines, impeding his progress.  At last Kaimelas rose to his feet with a curse.   “Damn this armor!” he muttered, tearing his left manifer from round a tangled bit of ivy.  “Too heavy, and too bright; I am no knight; I am not even an ambassador.  What am I thinking?”  Telling his men to halt, he tore off the cuirass and fauld, and let the vambraces and manifers fall to the ground.  “I will fetch them later,” he told Methlon; “I cannot creep in this stuff; I am like a tortoise.”

“Watch how you go then, my friend,” said Methlon worriedly.  “You have naught upon you but an arming doublet and breeches.”

“I will be well,” said Kaimelas.  “I have already taken an arrow; what else might befall me?”

Methlon shook his golden head.  “As always, you gamble too freely, Kassah” he said with a smile, but they went on anyway.

They reached a high dingle, shaped like a bowl beneath the top of the hill, and peering over the edge of it the Elves saw the Dwarves at bay.  Girion’s men beneath the standard of Dale shouted incoherently down at them from the high ridge; there were a thousand at least, and the Dwarves were shouting back and shaking their fists.  “Trapped!” grunted Kaimelas.  “Well, into the fray, then, Methlon; when you have got the men arranged we will rush in and up, and put ourselves betwixt the Dwarves and the Men.  If Glóin dies will my lord be sure to remove my head, and it would be very inconvenient trying to get round like that.”

So when Methlon got Kaimelas’ five hundred lined up at the ridge he did bid the trumpeter to sound; the Dwarves turned then, expecting Malbeach’s men, but upon descrying the Elves a great glad shout went up.  “The valambassador comes to our aid!” cried Dwalin from where he stood by Stonehelm’s side.  “Hail the valambassador of Dol Galenehtar!”

The men of Dale found this unpropitious at best, and there was a great deal of shouting and noise from the top of the upper ridge; then to Kaimelas’ dismay the men began to roll boulders down upon the Dwarves.  “Ware, ware!” he cried, dashing forward.  “Away from the rocks, O children of Durin!  You will be crushed!”

The Dwarves scattered before the onslaught.  Great round boulders tumbled down the slope, bouncing and clattering; one caught another rock and sailed over the front line, landing in the midst of a party of Dwarves with a sickening crash.  Kaimelas heard someone cry, “Ibun, Ibun!” and with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach Kaimelas rushed over.

The boulder had crushed two Dwarves, and they lay dead beneath it, their limbs splayed and their heads bloodied; Ibun was pinned beneath it by his legs, and cried aloud in agony.  Nír stood beside him, weeping.  “Ibun, Ibun!” he cried again, and pushed ineffectually against the boulder.  “Help me; someone help me!”

“I am here, Nír, Ibun,” panted Kaimelas, and together with Nír he threw his weight upon the boulder.  It would not move, and Ibun screamed.

“My legs, my legs!”  He writhed, his face filled with pain.  “O Mahal, get it off, get it off!”

“We need more muscle,” said Kaimelas, looking round the confusion wildly; some of the men of Dale were descending, and he saw Bard son of Girion among them, though he was expostulating, his voice hid in the din; it did not appear to Kaimelas as though he wanted to be there, but no one was paying him any mind.  All round him rocks flew and Elves darted to and fro, trying to protect their Dwarvish allies.  Then Kaimelas descried a little cluster of Dwarves standing with Methlon and sundry other Elvish warriors, looking fierce and dangerous, and his heart lifted; surely with all that strength they might be able to roll the rock off of Ibun’s legs.   “Wait; there are some over there – “

“Look out!” someone called, and Kaimelas turned just in time to see a goodly sized rock coming straight at him.  He hardly had time to cry out when it struck him full in the chest and threw him to the ground.  His eyes filled with stars and he was sure his heart had stopped.  Then he felt the pain, excruciating, crushing; he tried to inhale, and discovered he couldn’t.  He could not even breathe in enough to smell the blood, or the grass, or the dirt; the stars occluding his vision faded and he saw Nír’s  face, streaked with sweat and grime.  “Breathe, Kaimelas!” he called, though it sounded very far away.  “Breathe – breathe – “

Kaimelas’ lungs seemed to explode outward and he coughed; blood spewed from his mouth.  The pressure in his chest released, and with relief he looked down upon Seimiel’s face, tranquil in affection, and felt her arms round his neck, and her lips against his.   “Breathe, Kaimelas!” came Nír’s voice, but it faded, and then the pain faded, and then the light; and everything went blessedly quiet and dark.

21. Detritus

(A/N:  My beta, Nieriel Raina, is not happy with me … not at all.  But thank her for her editorial skills anyway!

Le Rouret)

The snake’s coils were soft and sinuous, sliding smoothly over his skin.  Its cool flesh felt comforting against him, for he was hot, too hot; he burned with fever; his very blood boiled.  But the snake’s long twisting body soothed him, its black eyes wry and its mouth in a fixed smile.  He sighed and stretched, dropping the heavy shears into a pile of brow wool, and the long muscular serpentine body draped itself over him, gliding up his torso, the tongue flickering in and out, in and out.

 “Ssssssoft …. ” the serpent hissed, and a shiver of fear shook his belly.  He tried to lift his arms, but the snake’s heavy coils held them down, compressed them against the earth which bubbled and popped on his back, his shoulders and head.  He could feel the slime on the backs of his legs as he struggled.  The serpent laughed quietly.

“No need to crawl now,” it whispered, and tightened its grip.  He couldn’t move; his chest was tight; he couldn’t breathe.  “Yesssss,” it hissed, and the blunt-nosed head raised itself over his chest, looking down into his eyes.  The smiling mouth flicked its tongue out again, then rested itself against his lips.  He pressed them together desperately, trying to keep it out, but the snake was too strong for him; he opened his mouth to gasp for breath, and the serpent thrust its head in and slithered down his throat.

Legolas awoke vomiting.  He choked and wheezed on his blood and bile, retching miserably.  He felt a strong arm lift him until he sat up, and could spit it out on his lap; he sat trembling and disoriented, and let Gimli mop him up.

“Again?”  That was Bandobras’ voice, worried and thready.  “Oh, I don’t like that, I don’t.  More blood.”

“Well, it is not as though he has eaten anything.”  Gimli’s voice, soothing and deep at his ear.  Legolas sighed and leant against his friend; he felt very weak.  “This cannot go on.  He will waste away if this keeps up.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Bandobras irritably.  “Make him a nice rabbit stew?  We ain’t seen no game out this way in days, and we’re out of everything except beans and salt pork, which don’t sit right with him nohow.”

“I am not hungry,” said Legolas.  His voice sounded very thin and trembly and hoarse; his throat hurt.  He tried to pull out of Gimli’s embrace but the Dwarf held him tight.

“Legolas,” said Gimli.  “You need to try to eat something.”

“After this?”  Legolas gestured to the mess in his lap.  “How do you propose I ingest anything now?”

“What about some water, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously.  “At least sip upon some water; water will do you no harm, you know, Master, and will likely do you a great bit of good; for everyone knows that water is good for you, Master.  Though we do not have much left,” added the boy, knotting his brows and looking very grave.  “But I will gladly give up my ration of water for you, Master, for water is so efficacious you know, and I really, truly think it would do you good, I do, Master.  And besides I am not thirsty, not at all.”

“Very well,” Legolas conceded weakly, though his stomach twisted at the thought.  “Water, then, my Tamin.”

He took the skin from his esquire with shaking hands and drank slowly, in small sips.  The first time he swallowed he felt as though everything in his gorge would rise up again, but after a moment his stomach stilled, and he managed to drink a little more.  The tremors in his hands ceased and he sat up.  Gimli released him and sat glowering at him, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

“I am two steps away from abandoning this fool’s errand, and heading north to Erebor,” he growled.  When Legolas’ brows lowered in protest he said, “O I know, I know; you wish to find out what happened to Dúrfinwen and Belegtilion and the rest of them … but we have been following these strange tracks for days with naught to show for it but footsore horses and your continued illness.”

“I am not ill,” said Legolas irritably.  “I am … merely discommoded.”

Bandobras snorted.  “’Discommoded,’ I like that, my lord, I do indeed.  So there you sit puking on yourself, hardly able to drink down water, and all that’s wrong is you’re discommoded?  Very nice; don’t see why there’s anything to worry about, then.”

“If I dreamt not then I would not be sick,” said Legolas, giving Tamin the water skin.  “And if you did not force me to sleep then I would not dream.  So it is your fault, my Bandobras, teasing me to sleep.”  He gave the Hobbit an arch look, which Bandobras did not seem to like; he made a face at the Green Knight, and got up, dusting off his knees.

“Have it your way then,” he grunted.  “There’s enough meal for porridge, if you think you’ll eat it.”

“O I will eat it, Bandobras,” said Tamin earnestly.  “I like your porridge.  Well, I like your eggs and rashers better – and your quickbread  – and mushroom pasties – but porridge is very nice, too, especially your porridge.”

“Nicely said, Little One!” said Legolas.  “There is little better to raise my Bandobras’ mood than to praise his cookery.”  He looked down at himself and made a face.  “I think I will change my tunic.  I wish there were clean water in which to wash.”

“As do I,” said Gimli.  He got up and stumped over to the edge of the ridge where they had set up camp.  Putting his hands on his hips he looked out east over the sere and blasted land.  It was drizzling, but the water running down the bare grey earth was dirty and slimy, and the water accruing in puddles looked greasy, with scums of oil on the surface.  The only stream beds they had found contained but oily, gooey muck, stinking and cold; the horses and ponies picked their way fastidiously over them, and Isilmë wrinkled his nose disapprovingly.  The rude shelter Gimli had constructed to ward them against the elements leaked, the tarp slipping on the poles, and they had spent a damp and miserable night without much of a fire at all to warm them; then he had woken to hear Legolas choking and thrashing about again, and the tell-tale, guttural retching he knew would presage another bout of sickness.

The wilderness was bare, slick, rocky, muddy, and lifeless.  The only tracks they had found leading there had been men’s booted feet, and the faintest trail suggesting Elves had gone as well; there was also, as had been in the village outside Esgaroth, the strange marks as though a large barrel had been dragged round.  Gimli thought about his favorite faery-tale as a youngster, in which the villain had met his end through being shut in a barrel filled with nails and dragged to death, and shuddered.  Neither Legolas nor Tamin had been able to descry any life in this horrid place; it was like the Brown Lands – worse, even; the Brown Lands had been desolate and empty, but the uneven rocky territory east of Esgaroth brooded with a lifeless, putrid evil.  Betimes Gimli felt that even the rocks watched them, menacing and low; he could not shake the underlying sense of moving closer and closer to some malevolent source.  “If at the end of this we find Malbeach or Renna,” he thought blackly, “I will behead them myself!”  He turned back to his friends and wiped the drizzle from his face.  Bandobras was kneeling over a steaming pot, frowning into its depths and stirring the contents carefully with a small wooden paddle; Tamin was helping his Master change out of his soiled clothes, his small pale face anxious and fearful.  And Legolas – well, Legolas looked shockingly thin, worn like a sea-shell battered by the inexorable tides, gaunt and hollow-eyed and with all the color leached from him; but he smiled yet, coaxing a giggle out of his little esquire, and making Bandobras laugh at some outrageous comment.  Gimli shook his head.

“The poor frivolous fool,” he thought affectionately.  “Well, if I have to be mired in a hopeless and horrible place, there are worse folk to be around, I suppose.”  He sighed and looked to the east.  The ground was rough and uneven and hilly; dead stumps of trees dotted the landscape, and the low weeping sky obscured the highest points in grey mist.  It was a convoluted and difficult terrain; even from their vantage point on the ridge it was nearly impossible to see who or what might be lurking in the folds and corners.  But Legolas insisted they at least follow what marks they could find; he was determined to find out his peoples’ fate.  “Besides which,” Gimli thought, “there are those dreams, telling him to push east.  East!  It looks darker and bleaker the further we go.”

They ate Bandobras’ porridge and broke camp.  Isilmë seemed eager to press on; he pranced a bit under Tamin, and snuffed at the air.  Hammer stood drooping disconsolately.  He did not travel well over such rough ground and bore his master’s ill mood poorly.  Spark and Burnt Toast were little better, irritable and quarrelsome; they tried to pick a fight with Hammer, who bit them and took a scraping of skin off Burnt Toast’s neck.  Gimli put a bit of sticking-plaster on it and shook his head disgustedly. 

“Stallions!” he said.  “Give me a good gelding any day.”

“Isilmë is a stallion and he is not causing any delay,” said Tamin, reasonably enough, patting his little white horse proudly on the neck.  “And anyway Burnt Toast should not have harried Hammer so.  Hammer is head of the herd and he should not balk when Hammer leads.”

“It is in a horse’s nature to challenge the leader,” said Legolas.  He looked apologetically at Gimli’s pony.  “That is a deep bite; I am sorry, Gimli.”

“It is not your doing,” grumbled Gimli.  “Stupid steeds.  We might actually make better time on foot, you know, Legolas.”

Legolas sighed.  “That is true,” he admitted.  “But … “  He lowered his voice.  “But I am so weary,” he whispered, his shoulders drooping.  “So, so weary.”

Bandobras and Tamin exchanged worried looks, and Gimli bit his lip.  “Well,” he said with forced cheer, “we ride then, and let the horses grumble instead!”  Legolas smiled weakly at him, and they pushed on in the drizzle.

Ever eastward did the tracks lead them, and ever eastward where they turned their faces did they feel the burgeoning evil.  It was like a wall before them, thick but cloying, beckoning and repulsing all at once.  Even the horses did not like it, and though as the morning passed and progressed into midday it ceased to rain, their mounts walked all the more reluctantly, shying at the clack of pebble on stone, or someone’s sudden cough.  The leaden sky brooded and roiled above them, and the air was heavy and cold.

At last they reached a low chuckling stream that appeared to bear clean water.  They explored the little stony ford, sniffing and sampling, and at last both Legolas and Tamin declared it sound.  “We had best let the horses drink their fill,” said Legolas, “and my Tamin, do you go a ways upstream and fill the skins; perchance there shall be yet cleaner water there, unsullied by the horses’ hooves.  But mind you do not go far!”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, and hanging the skins about his neck and shoulders scrambled down into the cleft of the little gorge, and round a boulder.

The water was shallow and the rocks jutted up through it, but the water smelled and tasted good, and it was very quiet round him; Tamin could descry the soft voices of his Master and Gimli and Bandobras, and the slurk and whicker of the horses drinking.  He poked round a bit, following the stream up a ways, until he found a little pool, dark and shining.  “Finally!” he thought, and dropped the skins on the ground with a clatter and a bang.  He unstoppered the first one and sank it into the water to fill it.

He paused, raising his head; the hair on the back of his neck had prickled, and he felt as though he were being watched.  He sampled the air cautiously, sniffing, and smelled only Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit and horse; puzzled, he turned round, but he was quite alone.  He could yet hear Gimli speaking, and one of the horses whinnied.  Shrugging, he finished filling the skin and stoppered it; then he reached for another one.

The rock’s sudden descent startled him; it was a small stone, the size of his fist, clattering down into the little gorge where he squatted, bouncing off rocks and landing in the pool with a splash.  He turned around, squinting up at the darkened ridge twenty feet above him, and his heart turned to lead in his throat.  Someone was standing there, staring down at him.

Tamin leapt to his feet and drew his sword.  The figure did not move, simply stood, shoulders slumped, head hanging; the eyes were wide and wild, and the mouth slack.  Long, filthy hair hung down over the face, which was likewise dirty; the man wore no clothes, and was covered in mud.

“Who are you?” cried Tamin.

The figure stirred and began to stumble down the slope, scattering pebbles and dirt and sending more stones clattering down.  His gait was broken and uneven, and he seemed scarce able to keep his balance on the steep incline; yet he staggered on.  He held out his hands in supplication to Tamin.  “Kill me,” he croaked, his dark eyes rolling and his tongue lolling out.  “Kill me.”

“What?”  Tamin backed up and felt the water in the pool tickling at his ankles.  The man frightened him; he was so ghastly and ungainly, and the voice so hoarse.  He held his sword point-out to the man and said tremulously, “Stop.  Stop, I say!  Come no further.  Identify yourself!”

“Kill me – O have mercy on me; kill me, kill me!”  The voice rose into a guttural screech, and the man slid and lurched down the slope to Tamin.  Then Tamin realized this strange person was no Man … he was an Elf, unknown to him, and mad from some terrible impetus.  One of the outstretched arms had been broken at the elbow, and the hand upon the other arm was fingerless; raw bone protruded from the torn skin.  Then Tamin saw that the toes of both feet had been cut off, and his heart stopped.

“Wait – we can help you – help, help!” cried Tamin, terrified of this mad broken thing; still the strange Elf reeled down the slope to him, closer and closer, chewing on his own tongue, blood dribbling from his mouth.  “Get away, get away!”

He recoiled from the Elf, and the earth gave way beneath his heels; he staggered backward, and landed with a splash in the pool, arms waving.  Just as he’d righted his sword the Elf leapt as best he could toward Tamin, arms flung wide and chin raised; his full weight fell upon the point of Tamin’s long blade, knocking the child onto his back in the water.  Tamin’s head submerged in the icy pool, the breath knocked out of his lungs; his legs were pinned by the strange Elf’s body, and his arms pressed against his torso, still clinging to the sword.  The Elf convulsed above him, and Tamin, feeling as though his chest would burst, wrenched his hands away from the hilt, and scrambled out from beneath the stranger’s weight, coughing.  He bolted for the far end of the pond, panting and anxiously brushing his hair out of his face; he looked down into the pond and saw the Elf, lying face-down, the point of Tamin’s sword protruding from his shoulder blades.  He did not move, but simply lay, pinned like an insect, dark tangled hair floating out over the head, dark blood rippling into the water around him.

There was another clattering of stones then, and Tamin’s Master and Gimli came rushing round the corner of the little gorge.  His Master had drawn his sword, and Gimli wielded his axe.  “What is it?  Why did you call?” asked Legolas, looking round; then he saw the body in the water, and stared.

“Oh, heavens preserve us,” groaned Gimli, shoulders slumping.  “Who was that?”

“I, I do not know, I, he, he came at me from above, and he, he would not stop – “ Tamin stammered; his heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings and he felt very sick.  “He, he is an Elf, he said, he said to, to kill him – “

“He what?” asked Legolas, staring at the body in the water with horror.  “What happened?”

“He – he came down the slope – I, I told him to stop, he would not, he, he kept coming, Master, and I drew my sword, to protect myself, Master, and he told me to kill him and I told him to stop but he would not stop, Master, he would not and, and then I fell and he fell on me or he jumped on me, I could not tell, Master, it all happened so fast, and I fell in the water and I was underwater and I could not breathe and I tried to get out and I – I – “ Tamin stammered to a halt, staring at the body, shaking from head to foot.  “O please forgive me,” he whispered, though whether he spoke to the Elf or to his Master, even he did not know.

Legolas sheathed his sword and walked over to the body, and Gimli stood with his axe upraised, watching the slopes above them suspiciously.  Legolas checked for the Elf’s pulse in the throat, shook his head, then turned the body over.  Tamin’s sword was buried in the Elf’s chest to the hilt, so great had been the impact between them, and the face, washed in the water of the pond, was still and serene, and very handsome.  Legolas sighed, and gently brushed the hair from the Elf’s forehead, then sat back with his hands on his knees.

“Belias,” he whispered.

“Oh, no,” moaned Tamin, covering his face.  “I have killed one of mine own – I am a kinslayer – a kinslayer!”

“Hush, dear heart,” said Legolas tenderly, rising and going to Tamin; he tried to take the boy in his arms, but Tamin twitched away, sobbing.  “You did not mean to kill him, now, did you, my Tamin?”

“I did not – but he – he would not stop – and he – he kept coming – and he – he kept telling me to kill him – “  Tamin’s breath was rapid and shallow, and he hid his face from his Master.  “He was – so wild – and I – I did not know what to do – I called for help – I wanted to help him but – he frightened me – and he would not stop –  I am a kinslayer – I am disgraced – my, my family – all Dol Galenehtar – Ithilien – Gondor!  I shall be driven forth – because I am a kinslayer - O what shall I do - “

“Tamin Rúmilion!”  Legolas’ voice was like the crack of a whip.  “Turn to me; face me.  Now!”

Gulping in surprise and fear, Tamin turned and pulled his hands from his face, looking up at the Green Knight; he expected disgust, or censure, or disappointment, but all he saw were the lovely and benevolent eyes of his Master, gazing down at him with tender concern and deep pity.  “My poor Little One,” Legolas said, holding out his arms; and with a sob Tamin launched himself into that comforting embrace.  He wept and wept, and Legolas held him and stroked his dripping hair; Gimli busied himself at the pond, removing and wiping Tamin’s sword, and dragging the unfortunate Belias from the water.  He laid the Elf upon the shingle, folding the broken and fingerless hands, and taking his cloak covered Belias’ nakedness, shaking his head.

“A good fellow,” he said gruffly.  “Nice and steady, always spoke well of everyone.  Not the best sense of humor, and took things a tad too seriously, but a good fellow all the same, and if I catch who broke him like this, I shall take my time killing him with my bare hands as just retribution.”

“Poor Belias!  That is all the elegy I can muster,” said Legolas shakily, and taking Tamin by the shoulders led him back to the ford.

Bandobras fussed and tutted over the boy, and put him in dry clothes and rubbed his hair with a blanket so hard Tamin was sure the Hobbit was trying to take his ears off.  Isilmë was quite distressed by his little master’s state, and kept pushing his nose in Tamin’s lap and snuffling at the boy’s hands, getting in Bandobras’ way and making him curse.  After some time Legolas and Gimli came back round the bend in the stream whence they had tended to Belias’ remains, looking very dirty and tired.  “We covered him with rocks as best we could,” growled Gimli, wiping his hands on his cloak.  “At least there are no scavengers about to defile his body.”

This was cold comfort for poor Tamin, who began to cry again; Bandobras glared at Gimli, and upon finding all their water skins had been left by the pool declared that he would take care of it himself, stalking off round the corner angrily.  After a few moments he came back, a bit red about the eyes himself; but he brushed off their inquiries and told them to load up and quick or he would have something to say about it and they would not like it one bit, O no they would not.  So they hung the skins on their horses’ packs, and mounted up, and pressed east once more.

Soon they began to find signs that men had been there recently:  Old campfires, and the marks where tents had been; old cups and broken plates, and bones and old gristle from a meal.  These collections of filth were disorderly; it was as though they had feasted, drunk too deeply, and in their insouciance left what they no longer felt necessary behind, not bothering to clean up after themselves.  But as before there was no sign of life:  No birds, or rodents, or even insects; and in the cracks and corners, in dells and dingles, were pools and puddles of the stinking sulphurous slime.

They camped in a damp cave overlooking the sunset, for they had no desire to face east once more, and the sun when it rose the next morning looked watery and pale behind the thin scum of cloud streaking the sky.  By midafternoon the clouds had rolled in again, and it was raining steadily, and very dreary.  No one spoke; Tamin was still heartbroken over his inadvertent kinslaying; Gimli and Bandobras were both weary and apprehensive; and Legolas brooded on Hammer’s back, his eyes glassy, his hair lank.

The tracks took them through a shallow canyon that twisted and wound round a mucky, greasy stream bed; here and there they found a broken sword, or a belt, or some article of cast-off clothing; the signs were weeks old though, and the air thick and foul.  Soon they could smell decay, and proceeded carefully, peering round the twists and corners; then as they came up out of the canyon Tamin looked up, and with a cry pointed above them.

There was a dead tree clinging to the side of the canyon wall, its roots twisting round the rocks, sunk deep into the soil.  It was lumpy and deformed, its branches reaching crookedly to the roiling sky; but to their horror they saw one lump that had not grown there:  A body was nailed to it, arms outstretched, head lolling.

They dismounted and scrambled up the slope as quickly as possible; then Legolas gave a cry of dismay and grief.  “Melima!” he said, and broke into a run.

“Stop, stop!” shouted Gimli.  “What if it’s a trap – Legolas!”  But Legolas did not seem to hear him; Gimli sighed and said:  “Well, if it is a trap he has sprung it.  O Mahal, what now?”

They led the horses up to the ridge cautiously.  Legolas was standing before his maidservant, gazing up at the body, his face pinched and pale, his eyes swimming with tears.  “O Melima!” he groaned.  He reached out one hand and touched the torn face, its eyes gouged out, the head shaved, the ears cut off.  The rest of her was similarly destroyed; most of her had been rent away, and there had been little left to affix to the dead tree.  “O Melima!” said Legolas again, and taking hold of one of the nail heads in his hands he tried to pull it out.  “Help me!” he begged Gimli.  “Help me get her down!  We cannot leave her like this!”

“Just a moment; just a moment,” grumbled Gimli, turning to his pack and wiping his eyes hurriedly.  He glanced over at Tamin, who stared up at Melima’s body with a very blank expression on his face.  “Tamin!” he barked.  “Turn around.”

Tamin jumped, then looked at Gimli; his eyes widened, and his lip trembled.  “Gimli – “ he began, then to everyone’s surprise he turned away and vomited.

“Blast!” said Bandobras, white-faced and trembling; but he took Tamin in hand and led him to the other side of the horses, where the boy could not see the Melima’s body.  Gimli and Legolas could hear him muttering, “There, there – no shame to it – here, take a sip of water – no, wait – “  Tamin retched again, and Bandobras said soothingly, “There, now.  Rinse your mouth.  That’s right.”

Gimli and Legolas worked at the nails, straining against the wet dead wood, and finally managed to work Melima free; they laid her out on a blanket, covering her torn and naked body, and with trembling fingers Legolas carefully examined her.

“I can scarce bear to watch,” said Gimli; his voice was very husky.  “Melima is – was - such a pretty young thing, with her long golden hair and large bright eyes.”  He shook his head sadly, looking down at the ruined face.  “Who did this to her?” he asked, laying one large broad hand on the naked and dirty head.  “Who would do something like this to someone like Melima?  Her pink cheeks and shy voice – “

“I know not,” said Legolas; his voice was shaking.  “Look; her stomach is torn open, and all her insides are gone.  Both feet cut off, and her hands too – “  He shook his head and dashed his tears away with the back of his hand.  “I am quite ready to kill someone right now, Gimli.”

“Well, be you sure to leave some necks for me to cleave,” grumbled Gimli.  “Though I know you will take responsibility for her death upon your own head, Legolas, as Tamin does Belias’.”

Legolas looked up at Gimli through his fair flossy hair; his grey eyes were full of tears, but his mouth quirked into a reluctant smile.  “You know me too well,” he said; his voice broke, and he cleared his throat and turned back to the body.  “Well,” he said, a little too loudly, “let us wrap and cover her well; I hope to come back some time, and retrieve her body, and Belias’ too, to give them a proper interment; but now the tracks press ever east, and my compulsion as well.”  He covered her face with the blanket, and rising to his feet turned to the east.  He clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed.  “Who are you?” he murmured under his breath, his eyes narrowing.  “What are you?”

A gust of wind hissed round the rocks, whistling derisively at them; the air stank, and thunder rumbled in the distance.  Gimli felt then a heaviness, a pressing against his face and hands, and he shook himself and drew back, alarmed.  Legolas stood strong above him, his hands clenched into fists, staring defiantly to the darkness of the east.  “I do not know who you are,” declared Legolas, shaking his fist; “but you have done great harm to those I love, and I tell you, I will not rest ‘til I have answered this vile cruelty ten times against you!”

There was a sound then, an odd noise that was not wind nor rain nor rock and stone; it was a voice, echoey and indistinct, and seemed to carry from far away.  They all started, and the horses shied, even Isilmë; they scrambled to collect them, and in the racket the voice faded.  Legolas stood anxiously on the ridge, straining to hear; but save the sound of the wind whispering round the rocks, and the horses shifting and snorting anxiously, there was nothing more.

They covered Melima as best they could, and after following the detritus of camp and cookfire rested in the shelter of a low hill.  It was covered in dead trees; there had been a great fire, consuming everything round them; in the drizzle it was very grim and cheerless.  The sun was setting behind them, and before them in the dark wet sky simmered and shimmered a malevolent presence, mocking them.  They slept poorly, and in the morning, no one felt much like eating.

The followed the tracks, winding through the dead and blasted land; there was more fire damage, and more trash, and more rain.  Legolas drooped on Hammer’s back, shoulders slumped, eyes wretched; Tamin sniffled now and then, thinking of their sad errand, and Gimli and Bandobras watched their progress with grim dread.  At noon they crested a low tor, and Tamin looking round them suddenly cried out.

“Look; something is down there!”

Gimli and Bandobras could not see to what he pointed, but Legolas after scowling at it a moment said, his voice thick with relief:  “Not a body this time!  But what is it; a dead snake?”

“No, Master, I do not think it is a snake,” said Tamin, squinting down at it.  “It shines a little, and it is awfully long, and see that spiky thing on its end, Master?  I do not think it is a snake at all.”

“Well, we won’t find out what it is standing up here, anyhow,” said Bandobras.  “Spark’s tired; let’s get down this hill and give our ponies a little rest, and we can see what this snaky-thing is.”

“Very well,” smiled Legolas, and dismounting they descended.

They reached the bottom of the decline, slipping and skidding on the mud and rocks, and fetching up uncomfortably upon the blackened remains of stumps, some still with withered leaves upon them.  They were in a low twisted canyon that opened to their right, but it was dark and shadowy, and they could not see where it led; before them and to their left were boulders and walls, corners and turns, fissures and caves, and a quantity of scrub, and amongst it all the strange scored marks on the earth of a barrel dragged, and men’s footprints.  They approached the long shining object cautiously.  It was a quantity of heavy chain, lying in the mud; it was rusty but still usable, and at one end was a long spike, covered in earth and broken at the end.  On its other end was a shackle, empty, but when Legolas turned it carefully over in his hands, he frowned; he sniffed at it, and then said slowly:  “An Elf escaped this shackle.”

“How can you tell?” asked Gimli.

Legolas handed him the shackle, and pointed at something caught in one rusty notch.  “Skin,” he said.  “And it smells like Elf.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” muttered Bandobras, looking around disconsolately.  “Ugh!  How I hate this place!  Mud and muck and slime and death.  I thought Mayor Gamgee’s tales of Mordor were bad, all the dust and dryness.  But water don’t do you much good if you can’t drink it.  Makes things worse, in my opinion.”

“It might have been Belias,” supplied Gimli.  “Perhaps they left him to die, and he escaped; and finding no way out of this desolate wilderness begged death off a friendly face to cure him of his suffering.”

Tamin turned to Gimli, his little face tragic.  “O Gimli, please, please do not remind me of that terrible thing!” he begged, wilting like a frost-bitten daffodil.  “I could not stop him; I wanted to help him; I truly did – “

“Tamin,” said Gimli gently, putting one big hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “I did not mean to grieve you.  Did I not say he came to you with despondent entreaty, to heal him of his hurts?  Betimes a thing might happen to one that time and physic cannot cure, and only death brings an end to the affliction.”

“But, but,” said Tamin, greatly confused, “how can one welcome death?  It is so permanent, Gimli, and when one has achieved it one might not go back, well, one cannot go back unless one is a great warrior like Glorfindel, which Belias was not, as he has not come back yet, more’s the pity for I should very much like to apologize to him for running him through.”

Bandobras looked as though he wanted to cry; instead he laughed, and clapping Tamin on the shoulder said:  “Gimli, there’s no use a-tryin’ to get him to understand this thing!  Give him time, though; there’s griefs aplenty in this life, Tamin me boy, and you’ll get to know them pretty well over the years; then maybe you’ll understand what we mortals got to deal with.”

“Not mortals alone!” said Legolas, ruffling Tamin’s damp pale hair.  “For now, O Tamin my Little One, let us instead focus our attention upon this malevolence that seeks to kill and harm our people; let us find it; let us hunt it down, so that we might bring it to its knees, and make it to feel a little bit of the horror and pain it has inflicted upon those we have so dearly loved!”

“Not a little bit, though!” said Tamin, his eyes very bright.  “That will not do at all.  A lot of suffering, if you please, O Master; so much suffering meted out deserves much suffering in return!”

“Dear me; so bloodthirsty!” said Bandobras.  “To think this was the boy as said Nwalmä enjoyed his work too good.  Come around, didn’t you, boy, now you know what might be done to deserve it?”

“I do,” said Tamin, and like his Master had done before he turned to the east, and raised his fist to the roiling dark sky.  “Mete torment if you dare!” he cried, defiant and resolute.  “For my Master and me and Gimli and Bandobras are coming to get you, and you had best run away fast, for we will not stop until we have found you, and paid you back for every horrible thing that you have done!”

His piping voice echoed in the valley, and the wind soughed, and the rain pattered; then there was a noise, like the scrape of bone on rock, and the clatter of stone on stone; and in the stillness that followed a voice, thin, wavering, guttural.

“Muck.”

They froze, staring round, ears straining.  The wind hissed; Hammer shifted uneasily.

“Muck.  Muck.  Crawl.”

Isilmë whickered, his black eyes rolling.  Tamin shifted closer to the horse’s warm white neck, his eyes wide as saucers; Legolas held up one long white hand cautiously.

“Muck.  Eat muck.  Crawl, harlot, crawl.  Crawl.”

A scrape, a retch and a cough.  “Muck.  Muck.”

Legolas and Gimli exchanged knowing looks, each pulling their weapons.  Nodding to Bandobras, the Elf and Dwarf moved cautiously toward the source of the voice; Bandobras crept carefully over to Tamin, and taking the boy’s hand guided it to the hilt of his sword, placing one finger over his lips warningly.  Carefully, silently, Gimli and Legolas stole forward, to the source of the voice, a low brake of dead gorse clustered round the outflung knee of a hill.

Tamin and Bandobras drew their swords slowly and held their breath.  Even the horses were quiet, staring at the gorse with whitened eyes, ears up and forward, heads alert, nostrils flared.  Step by step Legolas and Gimli moved forward, Gimli with axe raised, Legolas with bow cocked and at the ready.

“Crawl.  Harlot.”

A cough.

“Muck.  Eat.  Muck.”

A gagging noise, and another cough.  Legolas glanced at Gimli, who nodded and began moving round the outside of the gorse brake.  Slowly they advanced, their eyes everywhere.

“Harlot.”

A scrape and a rattle, and a skeleton’s arm thrust out from the gorse bushes, fingers groping and seeking.  A head followed, lolling weakly on the scrawny neck, naked and scabbed and stubbled.  Spine, ribcage, impossibly thin legs emerged, crawling in the mud, thin fingers scraping, mouth slavering.

“Eat muck.  Crawl, harlot.  Muck.”

Isilmë gave a little jump, throwing his head up, and snorted; Tamin grasped him by the nose, his heart hammering.  The creeping figure paused; the head swung slowly round, dull blank eyes staring unseeing at them.

“Harlot,” it rasped.

“Ai,” whispered Legolas, letting fall his arrow.  “Ai, ai, ai.”

“Mahal,” said Gimli, his axe trembling.  “It is Dúrfinwen!”

(A/N:  I apologize in advance to those of you with, shall we say, delicate constitutions.  Think of my poor beta, Nieriel Raina, who was compelled to read this through twice … and right before her birthday, too.

Muses are odd things.

--Le Rouret)

22. The Daughter of No One

Legolas darted forward, his bow and arrow forgotten in the mud; he dropped to his knees before the wasted ruin of the woman and reached for her.  “Dúrfinwen!” he exclaimed, and touched her head with his hand.

She stared blankly at him for a moment; her eyes were clouded and bloodshot.  Then she focused upon his face gazing down at her, and with a startling suddenness, she scrambled backward, flinging her hands before her, scrabbling in the mud and screaming.

“No!” she shrieked, kicking desperately and groping for the safety of the gorse bushes.  “Get back – devil – devil!  Do not touch me – do not touch me – “  Legolas drew back, nonplussed; Dúrfinwen retched again, and spewed forth something dark and greasy, streaked in blood.  She slavered upon it and tried to crawl beneath one of the dead bushes, coughing and sobbing hoarsely.  “No – I will not – you promised – liar – liar!”

“Dúrfinwen!” cried Legolas, his face grieved.  “It is I – your lord – it is Legolas, Legolas!”

“Liar!” she screamed, kicking at him with her scarred and filthy feet; Legolas ducked, and grasping her by the leg tried to pull her out of the bushes.  Dúrfinwen began to screech, convulsing, tearing at her skin with the sharp branches.  “Let me go, let me go!”

“Gimli, Bandobras, help me!” begged Legolas, and the Dwarf and Hobbit rushed forward.  They dragged Dúrfinwen back out of the gorse bushes and tried to hold her down, but she fought them like a mad thing, like a rabbit caught by its neck in a snare, eyes bulging, froth spewing from her mouth, beating at their hands and screaming.  They could not hold her; the skin stretched over her bones was slick with greasy mud, and she thrashed, desperate in her blind panic, dashing her head against the stones until she bled, and biting her tongue ‘til pink foam spit from her mouth.  “No!” she screamed again and again, in her terror fighting them, gouging at their eyes and tearing at them with thin dirty fingers.  “You promised – let her go – stop, stop!  You said you would let her go – let her go!”

At last they pinned her by her shoulders, and had Tamin hold her feet, and Legolas slapped her firmly across her face; her head jerked back and she closed her eyes and sobbed.  “Dúrfinwen!” he said, stern-voiced, but his hands trembled.  “Stop this at once!  It is I, your lord, Legolas, to whom you swore your allegiance; and I command you to be still!”

She quieted, the air broken by her trammeled breath, and the thin whistling wind; then she slowly looked out the corners of her eyes at Legolas.  No longer brown and warm were they; no more did they twinkle slyly, or widen in false innocence; they were dark and clouded, and filled with a terrible hot fire, with poison and hate.  In them were loathing and disdain, and drawing in her breath sharply through her teeth, she spit upon his face.

“Legolas Thranduilion!” she hissed, grimacing horribly; Legolas drew back, shocked, and wiped at his face with the back of his hand; she grinned at him evilly, and spat again.  Her voice was hoarse and low.  “Puppet-son of stinking Doriath!  Dwarf-lover, Halfling-lover, friend of monstrosity and absurdity!  What is allegiance to you, pale and puling prince?  Did you not swear as well? – you swore to protect them – and you did not – you are a coward and a liar – liar!”  She twisted sharply in their grip, nearly wresting free; they struggled to hold her still.  With a shriek she kicked at Tamin, catching him in the nose with her heel, and he leapt back with a yelp, clapping a hand to his bloodied face.  “You promised!” she sobbed, writhing in the mud.  “You promised – not again – not again!  O have mercy – you promised you would let her go – I did what you said – I did, I did!  But you, she, O have mercy, have mercy, you promised, you said if I did it you would let her go – let her go – liars – liars!  You promised, you promised!  Melima, Melima!”

She started to scream incoherently, thrashing in the mud.  “She’ll have every man in Esgaroth on us at this rate,” muttered Bandobras, and taking the pommel of his small sword, he rapped her on the back of her head; with a gurgle she slumped, her eyes rolling back into their sockets, and there was silence once more.  They sat back, panting; Tamin was wide-eyed, and looked like he was ready to either cry or vomit again; blood streamed down his chin.  With an abrupt movement Legolas tore off his cloak, and cast it over her; then he sat back, wrapped his arms round his legs, buried his face in his knees, and went very still.

No one said anything for a moment.  Bandobras, Gimli, and Tamin looked from Legolas to Dúrfinwen and back again, but neither Elf moved; Dúrfinwen lay as one dead, her thin limbs splayed in the mud, her stubbled head bloody and mud-spattered; Legolas’ face was hid by his long hair, and the hands that clutched at his legs were white-knuckled and trembling.  Then he sprang apart like a plucked string, and leapt to his feet; his face was resolute, and he clenched his jaw.  He strode to the horses and began to rummage through Tamin’s pack; Isilmë rolled his black eyes at him; his short white ears were pinned.  “Tamin,” Legolas said; “take this handkerchief, and hold it to your nose, and tip your head back.  Bandobras, see if it is broken, will you, please?  Gimli, here is one of Tamin’s tunics; let us dress her quickly; it is unseemly and wrong to have her naked.  I hope her madness will pass when she awakens, else we may be constrained to bind and muffle her.  She may be starved, or delirious from dehydration.  If that be the case, then she will need broth and water ere we may determine what has happened here.”

Bandobras went to Tamin, who stared bewildered at Dúrfinwen lying in the mud; the Hobbit got him to sit, and raise his face to the sky; he pressed the cloth against Tamin’s bloody nose and spoke quietly to him.  Gimli, after a sharp and knowing look at his friend, wordlessly took hose and tunic from Tamin’s sack, and helped Legolas dress Dúrfinwen.  She was horribly thin, and her cheeks and skull were sunken; whoever had shaved her head had done so carelessly, for there were great scabbed gashes all over her scalp, and one of her ears had been cut nearly through.  The top flapped a little, and was red and inflamed.  They clothed her quickly, trying not to stare at the bruised and battered body; but some marks were very obvious, and Gimli, after determining Tamin could not hear him, muttered to Legolas under his breath:  “I think, my friend, we might guess all too well what has happened here.”

“O, Elbereth, Gimli,” whispered Legolas, looking up at the Dwarf; his eyes were haunted and his face pale.  It seemed to Gimli then that Dúrfinwen’s look was echoed there, in his darkened and hollow eyes, and sunken cheeks.  “O Gimli, what shall I do; what shall I do?  Poor Dúrfinwen; my poor Little One, my Lady Mother’s Little Laiquenda!  You heard her – you know what they did to her.  And even in her madness she spoke truly.  She is right; I swore to protect her, to protect her and Melima – “

“Now, enough of that, Legolas!” growled Gimli angrily.  “You could do nothing; do not blame yourself, though well I know that in telling you this, it is as though I beg the moon to cease circling the earth.  Look at this bruise – at her ear – at her head.  Do you not see these wounds are well over a week old?  Even had you known she had disappeared, we were many leagues to the south and could have done naught to help either her or her fellow maid.  So let us have none of this thinking it is your fault; let us instead press ahead to determine whose fault it truly is, and do something – anything – to rectify this as best we can.”  He looked sadly down at Dúrfinwen, who was whimpering and twitching, her eyes buttoned tightly shut.  “Mahal!  That I could take a hot poignard to the fellows who did this!  O I should take great pleasure in teaching them a lesson about how to treat ladies!”

Legolas did not reply; but Gimli saw his friend was not comforted, and shaking his head to himself he aided Legolas in carrying Dúrfinwen’s limp form to where the horses stood, shifting uneasily.  Unexpectedly one of the draughts shied, which set the other steeds prancing; Hammer bellowed, and swung his head round, his big teeth bared, his eyes rolling; then to their surprise, he kicked at Dúrfinwen.  “Hammer!” said Legolas, dismayed.  “That is no way to treat one of mine own!  For shame!”

Isilmë was the only steed who would suffer Dúrfinwen’s form near him; still he twitched away from her, his broad short ears swiveling, snuffing nervously. They lay her upon a blanket, and the four stood round her, looking down at her and wondering what on earth to do about her.  “Well,” said Bandobras at last; “leastaways we found one of ‘em, my lord; mebbe after a drink and a sup she’ll be able to tell us what’s going on round here.”

“Let us hope so!” said Legolas fervently, and kneeling by the woman’s side he lay one long hand on her forehead.  His face went very still; his grey eyes were sober, and he frowned in concentration.  Dúrfinwen twitched, then moved again; then so suddenly they all jumped in surprise, her eyes popped open, and she sat up, grinning horribly at them.

“Look at all the tasty morsels!” she cackled, reaching out with her long thin arms to them, her fingers snapping.  “O do let me taste you, let me taste you!  Hot blood and sweet flesh!  Tender, tender!  The Master eats babes; yes he does, he does indeed!  And his men devour tasty meat like you and me, pretty boy, he does, he does!”  She leered at Tamin, who drew back in alarm.  “He eats babes, eats children, O beware, he will eat you, eat you!”  She laughed at them, and scraping her hands in the mud she brought it to her face and slavered in it, smacking her lips.  “Eat muck!” she chortled, choking on it and licking her fingers.  “Eat muck – crawl, harlot – “ She retched, and Legolas tried to pry her fingers from her mouth; she scrambled back from him, kicking; her face was full of fear, and her eyes wild.  “No!” she screamed; Isilmë snorted and balked, his little black hooves shifting.  “Let her go – let her go – harlot – liar!”  Legolas attempted to restrain her, but she struck him hard in the face with her fist; Gimli grabbed her by the wrists and held her still.  She stared at him, her mouth, bloody and filled with mud and drool, hanging slack; something in those mad eyes seemed to flicker, and a sob scraped at the back of her throat.

“Help me, Gimli!” she choked, and vomited again; blood and dirt spewed from her mouth.  “Help me – child of Durin – help me – “  She tore away from him, squeezing her eyes shut, and began to scream:  “Misshapen foul creature, begone, begone!  Take your magic from me!  Crawling, climbing, digging, delving, stealing and lusting, no, no, no!  O help me, help me – kill me, kill me quick, quick, quick!”  She threw herself upon the ground, thrashing; they each took a limb and tried to hold her still, but her thin body arced up and she cried:  “What are you doing – stop – no, no, stop!  You promised, you promised!  Liar!  Liar!”

“Let her go!” cried Legolas, and they sprang back; she pulled herself into a little ball, all her limbs wrapped round her, screaming hoarsely.  “She needs water,” said Legolas a little wildly; his hair was in disarray, and he was panting.  “Bandobras – a water skin – “

“If you think it’ll do any good,” said Bandobras grimly, but he stumped over to Spark, and taking his skin he unstoppered it and brought it to Dúrfinwen.  “Drink this, missy,” he ordered; his face was hard, but his brown eyes were filled with pity.  “Drink; it’ll make you feel better, it will.”

“O do drink, Dúrfinwen,” begged Tamin, dabbing at his nose, which had begun to bleed again.  “You are terribly thirsty I am sure, and it is making you so strange, and we do not wish for you to be so strange, and I am sure you will feel better if you drink so – “

“Shut up!” she hissed, glaring at him; her eyes burned with hate, and Tamin flinched back.  She took the water skin from Bandobras and threw it as far as she could; it landed wetly in the mud and pooled out, all the clean water oozing into the muck.  “Water!  We do not drink water.  Blood is our wine.  Blood, blood!”  Then she shuddered violently, and the hatred on her face melted away into terror.  “Kill me, kill me!” she begged them, rolling onto her knees and bashing her head into the mud.  “What are you waiting for – quick, quick; if you value your skins, kill me, kill me!”  Then she wrenched herself up onto her knees, threw her head back and laughed; her eyes were wicked and wild.  “Idiots, ha!” she cackled; tearing at the tunic she bared her wasted breasts to them.  “What are you waiting for?  What are you waiting for?  What are you waiting for?”  Legolas moved to cover her, and she fell back onto the earth, rolling into a ball and sobbing.  “No, no!  You promised, you promised!  Let her go!  I did it – I did everything you said – Melima!  Melima!”

“For pity’s sake, shut her up!” said Bandobras; and together Legolas and Gimli took her, writhing and shrieking, and bound her hands, and gagged her.  She lay squirming in the mud, eyes rolling and staring, gnashing at the gag and pulling at her binds; and very shaken they stepped back, standing together much as the horses did, huddled and fearful, sniffing and listening to the canyon round them, wondering what on earth would befall them next.

Fortunately, Dúrfinwen’s cries did not seem to have alerted anyone to their presence; Legolas and Tamin scouted round the little valley, bows and arrows at the ready, seeking spies, but as far as they could tell, no one living was near them at all.  So Gimli built a fire, and Bandobras cooked up some beans, and they sat listening to the broth in the pot bubble and pop, and to the wind in the rocks moan and sigh, and to Dúrfinwen, groaning and slavering behind her gag.  She watched them keenly, her dark eyes flickering from one to the other; though they descried after some time that she avoided meeting Gimli’s gaze, and if he attempted to speak to her, she turned away and shut her eyes tight.  They ate their beans, speaking little, and when Legolas tried to prise some into her mouth, she bit him, and began to scream at him again that he was a liar and she had done everything he had said.  Gimli then took her chin in his big meaty hands, and terrified she begged him to kill her; instead he poured as much clean water as he could down her throat, which she choked on, and vomited back up; but at least the detritus was clean with neither mud nor blood; and after gagging her again, she seemed to drift into a stupor.  Legolas covered her with a blanket, and they all sat round the little flickering fire, lost in their own gloomy thoughts.  Legolas in particular seemed sunk in shadow; his head drooped, and his shoulders slumped, and his face was unhappy; his grey eyes had lost their shine, and his hair was lank and dull in the darkness.  The fire snapped and crackled and smoked, and the wind moaned mournfully round them; the stars were obscured by low sullen clouds, and the horses crowded together, heads down, casting fearful looks at the limp, scrawny form in the mud; only Isilmë would stare at her long, and his ears swiveled curiously.

“Legolas,” said Gimli after some time.  “Shall I pitch the tent?”

“Hm?”  Legolas looked up at him blankly; the dark circles under his eyes made them look abnormally large, like a child’s.  “O yes, Gimli, certainly, whatever you think is best.”

Gimli and Bandobras exchanged a long look; then wordlessly they both rose and began pitching the big tent.  Tamin, after a fearful glance at Dúrfinwen in swoon, crept meekly to his Master’s side; Legolas smiled at him, and opened his arms; and Tamin pressed himself to his Master’s breast, hiding his face in the Green Knight’s tunic.  Legolas held the boy, stroking his sunny golden hair and now and again kissing the crown of the trembling head; Tamin’s arms were wound round him tight, and he could feel the child’s heartbeat against his ribs.  The poor boy smelt of blood and mud and stone and iron; Legolas’ heart twisted within him, for ever before, in his own peaceful demesne, had Tamin smelt of bread, or of grass and leaves, or of sunshine and hay.  He regretted then the selfish impetus that had brought the child into this desolate and dangerous place, and thought of Rúmil and Maelaëri, of the boy’s parents who yet believed their son to be safe with his lord.  He thought then of poor Belias, and of Melima, and of the girl Andunië had found upon the slopes of Ephel Dúath, and a deep dread filled him, and he doubted himself and his ability to safeguard Tamin’s innocence.  Then to his dismay Tamin whispered, his voice shivering into Legolas’ chest:

“Master – what did the men do to Dúrfinwen?”

Legolas’ head felt light, and wide-eyed he contemplated his answers, each more desperately untruthful than the last.  Finally, borrowing a page from Mistress Pearl’s handbook, he said:  “What do you think they did, O my Tamin?”

Tamin was quiet a moment, thinking; then he replied slowly:  “Well, they hurt her, Master.  Did they not hurt her?  She seems so badly hurt.  And they cut off her hair, Master, and snicked her ear, and made her mad.  Unless it is her thirst driving her mad, Master; I cannot tell, for I am unused to this sort of thing.”

“I know well you are, Little One,” said Legolas, relieved.  “Yes, O my Tamin, they hurt her; they cut off her hair and sliced at her ear, and she is mad; though whether she is mad through their hurt, or mad from thirst, I cannot say; I am not Liquíseleé, and I am no leech.”

“Is she mad, Master, like the girl I met in the stables was mad?” asked Tamin, sitting up; his grey eyes were puzzled and afraid.  “For she speaks a little like that girl did, Master, and was afraid of Dwarves too.  I do not understand why everyone around here is afraid of Dwarves, or why they should go mad like this.  It is very strange, Master.”

“Yes, dear Tamin, it is strange,” agreed Legolas, and taking Tamin in his arms again he snuggled the boy, drawing equal comfort from the act that he offered.  “Strange and terrible, and I do not know what to do.”

Tamin heard the frustration in his Master’s voice, and said confidently:  “O but that is only because you are weary, Master; you are of habit so wise, and can work out any problem, but you have not slept, Master, and are weary; and that is why I am certain you cannot find our way out of this.”  Legolas chuckled a little, and taking heart, Tamin reached into his tunic, and fingered Hísimë’s pendant.  The large globe of moonstone was smooth beneath his thumb, and he touched the little cabochons of jet and peridot and citrine.  Now that he had made up his mind to give it away, it was dear to him; and he seemed to see gazing up at him that sweet girl’s face, pale and kind and smiling, with long tendrils of fair, soft hair.  “Master,” he said, reluctant yet resolute; “would you like to borrow this pendant?  It has a great moonstone in it, which aids in sleep you know; and as I have not been tormented by nightmares, Master, perhaps it is protecting me; and I would like it to protect you, Master, so you might get some sleep, and perchance think of a way we can escape this mess.”

Legolas took the pendant upon his palm and looked at it.  It glimmered snowy-white in the firelight, and the little stones around it caught at the fire and cast it back.  The silver binding the stones together was intricate and cunningly wrought, and he as Tamin ran his thumb over the cold smooth moonstone.  “Perchance I am too skeptical,” he said with a smile; “but I do not believe in the efficacy of stones.  It is a pretty pendant, Tamin; but Hísimë gave it to you, and you ought to wear it.”

“But, but,” stammered Tamin, gazing up earnestly at his lord.  “She would not mind, Master; I am certain she would not mind; for she loves you, even more than she loves me, Master, and if she had any notion it would protect you from these horrible dreams, I am sure she would want you to wear it.  O do wear it, Master, so that you might dream not, and sleep well!”

“Dear Tamin!” said Legolas gently, tucking the pendant back into the boy’s tunic.  “If I dreamt not, we should not be here; we should be ignorant in Dol Galenehtar, unaware of the turmoil of my Lord Father’s and Gimli’s father’s demesnes.  We should not have sent Kaimelas unto Erebor, nor found Dúrfinwen or Belias or Melima.  And I hope yet, my Tamin, to find Belegtilion, alive perchance, but if dead he be, at least then my uncertainties shall be put to rest there, for I shall know his fate.  Let me sleep, and perhaps dream again; I hope that in my dreams shall further elucidation be visited upon me.”

“But the dreams are so horrible, Master!” protested Tamin, his grey eyes brimming with tears.  “And you are sick when you awaken; I do not like for you to dream thus!”

“Dear heart,” said Legolas with a smile, ruffling the boy’s hair.  “What care I if I suffer the pangs of illness in order to gain knowledge effectual in this dilemma?  Discomfort I might suffer, for in truth, I deem my suffering to be far less than my poor peoples’, Belegtilion notwithstanding; what is my illness, compared to the torments they endured?  Wear your pendant, if you believe it protects you, believe then and believe hard, for Hísimë gave it you in full confidence it should work some especial benefit upon you, and the pretty daughter of Éowyn shall not be gainsaid, not by me nor by you.”

“O very well, Master,” said Tamin, though he was disappointed.  He burrowed down into Legolas’ arms again, and taking out the pendant he studied it soberly.  “It is a pretty trinket,” he admitted, “and you are right; Hísimë is pretty too, and I would not want to do anything to upset her.  So I will wear it, Master, and believe in it as hard as I can; perchance if I believe hard enough, some of its benefit will be visited upon you, to relieve you of your affliction.”

“’Tis no gem but your sunny presence accomplishes that, my Tamin,” smiled Legolas, and well content Tamin curled his hands in his Master’s long hair, and drowsed ‘til Bandobras bid him seek his pallet.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Dúrfinwen cooed and kicked her fat little legs, waving dimpled arms.  Clutched in one pudgy hand was a pale ring, gleaming in the firelight; her brown curls shone like polished chestnut and her eyes were black as night.  She chortled and put the ring in her mouth.

“No, no,” chided Legolas, reaching for it to pry it from the infant’s grasp.  “That is not for babes, Dúrfinwen.”

“Let her eat it,” said the nightingale carelessly, preening its chest.  “It matters not.  She is doomed at any rate.”

Then Legolas saw the serpent crawling toward them, mud-brown, its dead black eyes gleaming.  It flicked its tongue at him, and the cruel mouth smiled.  Before he could stop it, it looped its long slimy body round the infant.  Dúrfinwen giggled and turned to Legolas, laughing her delightful bubbling laugh, her round cheeks dimpled, her little rosebud mouth toothless and smiling at him.  He smiled back, but the snake tightened its coils and began to squeeze.  The infant’s smile faded, and in those bright eyes was a look of concern, then fear, then pain; the pink lips turned blue, and she began to strangle.

“Get the ring out of her mouth!” Legolas begged the nightingale, who watched calmly.  “She is choking on it!”

“What a fool you are!” said the nightingale, and flew away.  Legolas reached to help the child, but the snake was swallowing her, its jaws unlatched and stretching, and Dúrfinwen still struggled.  “Dúrfinwen!” he cried; and sat up.

Dúrfinwen was sitting up against a pack, her arms bound behind her back, her feet tied together, gagged; her eyes were open, and she was watching him.  Legolas was panting and fighting down the bile that threatened to rise; he swallowed hard, and ran one hand through his hair.  Still she stared, her dark eyes flickering, glimmering in the low glow of the camp fire.

Legolas looked round, taking stock of his companions.  Tamin was curled up in his blankets, sound asleep; Gimli was snoring, one meaty arm flung over his face.  Bandobras’ pallet was empty, and his sword was gone; he was on watch.  Legolas turned back to Dúrfinwen.  Her gaze did not waver, and he began to feel a strange prickling on the back of his neck.

He crawled slowly over to her; she stiffened, but made no other move.  Cautiously, remembering her bite, he removed the gag; she licked her chapped lips and watched him, but did not do anything else; she neither moved nor spoke.

“Dúrfinwen,” he said.

The eyes flickered; something sly and dangerous glinted therein, and she gave an evil smile.  Legolas shivered.  She did not seem at that moment to be his mercer at all.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Her smile widened; one lip cracked and began to bleed.  “Muck,” she rasped.

“No more muck,” said Legolas firmly.  “It is not good for you.”

She gave a low sultry chuckle.  Legolas swallowed hard, feeling very vulnerable; he took his blanket and wrapped it round his shoulders.  Her unwavering, unblinking black gaze unnerved him.  “Who are you?” he asked again.

“Muck,” she repeated, and licked up her blood.

“What are you?” he asked.

She chuckled again.  “Harlot.”

“You are no harlot,” he reproached her.  “You are Dúrfinwen; you are my mercer, and a good and lovely woman.”

“Harlot,” she repeated, and began to chew on her lower lip, making it bleed more.

“Stop that,” said Legolas, taking her chin in his hands; she threw her head back, seeking to avoid his touch.  “I will not hurt you; you know me, Dúrfinwen; you know I will not hurt you.  Please, stop hurting yourself.”

She did not reply, but only leveled that demoralizing stare at him; at a loss Legolas said, “Are you thirsty?”  When she did not reply, Legolas got up, and went to fetch a skin.  “I am sure you are thirsty,” he said; “there is no water here, and I am certain you have not had anything to drink in some time.  Come; drink; you must be thirsty.”

He turned to her with the skin, and she stared up at him; her black eyes were strangely expressionless.  “Feet,” she said at last.

“What is it?” asked Legolas.  “Do the ropes hurt your feet?”

“Feet,” she said, shifting her weight.

“Drink,” said Legolas, “and I will unbind your feet so they will not hurt.”

Still she stared.  Taking this as consent, Legolas unstoppered the skin, and kneeling by her side, he put it to her lips.  She took a few sips, eyes narrowed at him; then she pressed her lips together and the rest of the water sloshed over her chin and throat.  “T’ch!” said Legolas, putting the skin down.  “Well, a little water will certainly not harm you.”

“Feet,” she said, and with a resigned sigh Legolas knelt at her feet.  Gimli had done his work well; the knots were tight, and the rope dug into her filthy skin.  Legolas carefully untied them, holding her legs down; he had no wish for a noseful of foot, as had befell Tamin. 

“There,” he said, sitting back and holding the ropes.  “Does that feel better, Dúrfinwen?”

She moved her legs cautiously, watching him, suspicious, angry, full of hate.  Then she gave another evil smile.  “Crawl,” she said.  “Crawl to me.”

Legolas’ scalp prickled and he felt very cold.  Well he remembered the impetus to kiss Renna’s hateful feet; he thought of the wig of thick chestnut curls and was angry.  “Do not speak so to me,” he said sharply.  “I am your lord, and owe you no obeisance.” 

Her bloody mouth curled into an unpleasant smile, and her dark eyes glittered.  “Lord you may be,” she said in a low voice; “but you are not Master.  The Master eats infants, he eats children.  He is the Master.  We do what he wants.”

“You do not need to do what Malbeach wants,” said Legolas kindly.  “He is not here; none of his men are here.  You are safe, Dúrfinwen; you are safe with us.”

“Ah!” she said, her eyes sparkling; she grinned at him.  “But are you safe with me?”

Legolas was taken aback.  “Of course I am,” he said, a little stiffly.  “Bound and wounded as you are; I have naught to fear from you.”

“Fool.”  Still she smiled and stared.  After a moment she said, “I am hungry.”

“I have dried meat,” said Legolas, rising.  “I will get some for you.”

He went to the packs and fumbled around Bandobras’ pots and pans and packets; he heard movement behind him, and thinking it was his erstwhile esquire inquiring into his trespass, he turned just in time to see Dúrfinwen leap to her feet, and dash off into the darkness.

“Dúrfinwen!” he shouted, and ran after her, cursing himself for his gullibility.  “Gimli, Tamin, Bandobras!” he cried as he ran; “help me, help me!”

Dúrfinwen ran like a hunted deer; even with her hands tied behind her back she was swift and nimble, darting round boulders and corners, sliding down slopes, flying like a hare across the open spaces.  Legolas heard Tamin behind him, and the far-off shouts of Dwarf and Hobbit, swearing roundly; grimly Legolas pursued the woman back up the canyon wall.  She stumbled and lurched, for she could not use her arms to steady herself, and he began to catch her up; he saw her look wildly back at him, her eyes terrified.  “Let me go, let me go!” she screamed, and redoubling her efforts staggered to the top of the cliff.  He leapt effortlessly behind her, closing the gap, and she backed away from him, panting; then she turned again, and fled to a break in the wall, disappearing from Legolas’ sight.  He sprinted after her, and rounding the corner saw her running toward a cliff that sloped sharply down into the canyon they had just quit.  “She is trapped,” he thought, satisfied; then to his horror, she threw herself over the edge.

“Dúrfinwen!” he cried, appalled; he heard her clattering and tumbling down, heard Gimli’s and Bandobras’ voices below, following the sound of her untoward descent.  “Master!” sobbed Tamin behind him; Legolas turned to see his esquire, tousle-haired and dismayed, staring at the cliff’s edge.

Legolas and Tamin ran to the edge and looked down.  Dúrfinwen lay crumpled in a pathetic little heap, her legs splayed; Gimli and Bandobras’ foreshortened forms were running to her.  Determining he could not descend the cliff without likewise damaging himself, Legolas turned, and dragged Tamin away, back to the slope they had ascended.  They slid and stumbled down the slope, and turning, ran to where Gimli and Bandobras bent over the body.  Gimli had his fingers on Dúrfinwen’s neck; he looked up as Legolas and Tamin dashed up to them.

“She is still alive,” he growled; his hair was matted and he was shirtless, and looked very angry.  “How did she come to escape, Legolas?  What happened?”

“She deceived me,” said Legolas, heartsick; he threw himself by Dúrfinwen’s side and felt her neck and spine.  “It seems intact,” he said, relieved; “let us bring her back to the camp.”

“Master, she is bleeding,” said Tamin; he sounded very uncomfortable.  Legolas looked up at him irritably.

“Of course she is bleeding, Tamin,” he said; “she has just come down a cliff!”

“No, Master,” said Tamin, blushing to his roots.  “I mean she is bleeding – bleeding.”  He hesitated, then pointed, and turned his face away.

Legolas looked too, and saw the dark stain.  He let out his breath in a gasp as though he had been struck in the stomach.  “Get her back to the camp,” he said; his voice was thready and uneven, and he went very pale.  “Quickly.  I will meet you there.  Tamin, come with me.”

He dashed away, and Tamin followed, bewildered and frightened; when they regained the camp, Legolas threw himself at the packs and said:  “Build up the fire; make it nice and hot.  Then put some water in a cauldron and set it on the fire.”  When Tamin hesitated, Legolas insisted, “Hurry, hurry!  Now, Tamin!”

“Yes, Master,” said Tamin, and dived at the faggots; he threw them on the fire and blew it into great flames.  He took one of Bandobras’ pots and emptied a skin into it, and set it on the crane.  When he turned round again, Gimli and Bandobras had brought Dúrfinwen in; her head lolled limply upon her thin neck; she looked very like Melima then, and Tamin felt sick.  “Put her here,” Legolas said, his voice trembling; “take down the tent, and drive the stakes into the earth here and here, by her feet; tie her to the stakes.  Then she will not run from me again.”

Dúrfinwen groaned then, and her eyes flickered open; she twisted weakly in her captors’ hands and then grimaced in pain.  “Let me go,” she whispered.

“Not yet, Little One,” said Legolas.  His voice was very thin and choked, and his grey eyes were clouded with tears; Tamin stared at him.  Feeling the boy’s regard upon him, Legolas gave him a troubled look; then he turned to Bandobras and said:

“My Bandobras, please take Tamin away – some ways away, and keep him there ‘til I come to fetch you.”

Bandobras gazed soberly at the Green Knight, then looked at the pot, and at Dúrfinwen writhing and bleeding on the blanket.  “Yes, my lord,” he said simply, and taking Tamin by the hand, he led the boy away.

The night was very long.  Bandobras paced and chewed on his lip, looking anxious and distressed; Tamin was put in mind of his escape from their room in Esgaroth and wrapped himself once again into his little ball, though this time rebellion was far from his mind.  If he listened very hard, he could hear voices over the whistling, sighing wind:  Legolas giving orders, Gimli muttering, and Dúrfinwen, gagged once more, her muffled screams and cries tearing at his heart.  There were no stars, and no moon; the clouds hung low over them, oppressive and heavy; Tamin was afraid, and confused, and felt very young and ignorant and insignificant.

Just as the sky to the east paled, and the wind died down, he heard a rumble of thunder; then there was the sound of rocks being kicked aside by someone who stumbled wearily toward them.  Bandobras, who had nodded off, jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, his face pinched and apprehensive; Tamin also rose, and round the corner on unsteady feet came his Master.

Legolas was spattered in blood, and was wet and dirty; he shook as though with palsy, and did not seem able to breathe right.  Ere Tamin could ask what new ailment had befallen him, Legolas thrust a small bloody bundle at Bandobras and said in a low voice, “Bury it.”

Bandobras took it slowly in his hands, looking up at the Green Knight with sorrowful eyes; he nodded and said, “I will, my lord.”

“Do not call me that,” said Legolas, wincing and turning from them, scrubbing at his eyes.  “Not anymore.”  And without looking back, he stumbled away.

Tamin stared at his Master’s retreating back, his mind awhirl.  He was not entirely certain he knew what his Master had meant, or what he had been doing; he only knew that he did not want to know.  Then he heard scrabbling behind him, and turned; Bandobras was scraping at the dirt with his hands, digging a low, shallow grave, his kindly face streaked with tears.  Like a thunderclap it hit him, and Tamin fell to his knees and wept.

Chapter 23. The Master of Esgaroth.

The trail led them ever deeper into the bleak wilderness, through canyons and over steep tors, round boulders and cliffs and beneath sloping walls.  Ever did the dread press upon them, beckoning and repulsing them; and ever did Dúrfinwen stare, or groan, or laugh behind her gag at them, rolling her eyes and leering.  They had bound her to Isilmë’s back, for he was the only steed willing to bear her; even Hammer would not suffer her presence, and the draughts shied when she was near.  When they would stop to rest Legolas would try to get her to eat or drink; she would laugh cruelly at him, or beg him to let her go; whenever Gimli was near her she would cry out for mercy and death.

The tracks they followed soon led them to less gruesome, but far more terrible discoveries.  The marks in the earth, as though a dragged barrel had scored it, housed tiny bones; at first they thought the bones were from small animals, but then they came upon an infant’s skull, and the twisted remains of a little child’s hand.  They recalled then Dúrfinwen’s words, how the Master ate children, and full resolved in hatred for that vile man they pressed on, though Tamin, sitting upon Hammer’s back with his own dear Master, wept to think of the poor small things in desperate torment writhing.  His tender heart was wrung, and burned from within; betimes he also gazed upon Dúrfinwen, slumped and drooling on Isilmë’s back, and the pain and bewilderment in his eyes tore at everyone’s soul.

Two evenings following Dúrfinwen’s fall from the precipice, as they huddled in the cleft of a rock round their inadequate fire, Bandobras, who was keeping watch, ducked into the alcove; he crept quietly up to them, his brown eyes grave; and in a low voice he whispered:

“There’s a mort o’ torches over the next ridge, folks; I’m a-thinking it might be Malbeach and his men.”

Tamin gasped, and Legolas glanced at Dúrfinwen and asked carefully:  “Are they on the march, my Bandobras, or do they rest?”

“They’re on the move, Legolas,” said Bandobras.  “Marchin’ straight toward us from the east, as though we were in their way.  Bet they’ll be here in an hour’s time.”

“Blast!” muttered Gimli, kicking dirt over the fire to smother it.  “And the beans are nowhere near done.”

“I’ll cover ‘em,” said Bandobras; “hopefully there’s enough broth to let ‘em soak.  But if this group of men come upon us we’ll have more to worry about nor our suppers, and that’s no exaggeration, Gimli.”

“If I have to die in the wilderness, I would rather do so with a full stomach,” grumbled Gimli.  “Well, it cannot be helped, I suppose; we are hid fairly well in our cleft, and if they pass by this road of bones, retracing their foul steps, all we need do is to keep silent and let them go.”

“How many are there, do you think, Bandobras?” asked Legolas.

“Hard to say,” shrugged the Hobbit.  “I counted a hundred torches; there could be more men than lights, you know.  Leastaways I don’t see how we could fight ‘em, so we mought as well let ‘em pass us by.”

“If they leave the Master’s stronghold here in the east,” said Legolas thoughtfully, “perchance we when we gain it may find aught there to instruct and strengthen us, and so return on their heels, picking off stragglers as they go; I should rather a good score fewer return to Esgaroth than their full strength.”

“Not a bad idea,” grinned Gimli, fingering his axe blade.  “Same stakes as usual, my friend?”

“Now that is hardly fair,” chided Legolas mildly.  “We will slay from a distance, so I will have the advantage; and I have taken two barrels of wine off you already.  I shall give you a handicap of five.”

“Hmph!” said Gimli.  “Handicaps!  I need them not.  The same stakes, I say; I am anxious for retribution, and my axe cries for the blood of men.”

“If you insist, dear Gimli!” smiled Legolas.  “But I yet believe you to be at the disadvantage.”

So Bandobras sealed his pot, and they all drew back further into the cleft; the horses were unnerved by the steep walls of rock surrounding them, and shifted uneasily, setting up echoes in the twisting and cavernous canyon.  “Hush, Isilmë; hush!” Tamin begged his little white horse; Isilmë’s broad short ears swiveled, and he showed the whites of his eyes.  “Be still, O do; or you shall have that dreadful man upon us!”

At last the steeds settled, and stood though still nervous at least quietly; Dúrfinwen however became more agitated, groaning and gnashing into her gag, and thrashing about, her eyes wild and frightened.  Strangely, she would suffer only Legolas to be near her; so Bandobras, Gimli, and Tamin slipped out of the crack and left them together with the horses.  “We will scout round on the cliff above the men,” said Gimli; “we will watch their progress, and warn you if they seem to be coming too close.  But we have set up our camp right off the trail, and as men are methodical and unimaginative creatures, I will wager Aglarond’s riches they shall pass by not one hundred yards from you.”

“The fewer of us in the cleft, then, the better,” agreed Legolas, and settling Dúrfinwen upon a pallet, he let them go, smiling at Tamin encouragingly.  The boy was troubled, and looked from his lord to the erstwhile mercer with fear in his eyes; at last, at a muttered command from Bandobras, he followed the Hobbit and the Dwarf up the ridge.

Dúrfinwen was quiet, crouched upon the pallet, chewing at the gag, her dark eyes darting to and fro.  Legolas sat facing her, his back against Burnt Toast’s furry legs, watching her with pity and affection mingled.  It grew darker, and the wind whistled round them in the rocks and crags; Dúrfinwen shivered, and looked up, her eyes catching at some strange light; then she shuddered deeply and closed her eyes, twitching as though in pain.

“Are you uncomfortable, Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas kindly.  He reached forward to touch her leg, but she jerked back, shaking her head, her eyes black and burning.  The gag cut deeply into her sunken cheeks, and she had chewed at the rag so hard the edges of her mouth bled; her blood and saliva mingled leeched palely into the cloth.  Her thin arms in their borrowed tunic strained at her bonds, and Legolas’ compassionate heart was wrung; he recalled the dream he had of her, the jolly fat baby he remembered surprising upon his mother’s knee; the flossy brown curls waving round her head, and her dimpled mouth laughing and cooing.  His eyes stung with tears, and his throat tightened; no longer did her fair face echo that pretty child’s; no longer were her cheeks pink and creamy, nor her eyes sparkling and vivacious; her stubbled head wobbled on a scrawny neck, and she was filthy and drab – his fashionable mercer, who had labored with joy in his tucking-mill, choosing for herself the silks and satins and brocades best suited her skin and hair and eyes – yellow, and rich red, and the shimmering olivey green gown she had proudly displayed to her amused lord’s eyes, all trimmed in gold and plum:  “There!  Now I daresay I shall eclipse bride and groom alike!“  He, laughing at her and her lighthearted and wicked vanity; she, casting the green gown carelessly aside and pouncing upon a vibrant turquoise for “little Melima.”  “For it is her first grand ball, and I wish to have the boys all fawning round her!”  He could not stop himself; tears rolled down his cheeks at the bright happy memory, and he felt as though his heart would break.

How had they come to this?  He, thin and ill and ensorcelled by evil dreams; his friends, following grimly along; his esquire, crushed and dismayed; his vassals, dead and mad and gone.  Esgaroth, denuded and evil; Dale, suspicious and remote; Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor, hanging in the balance upon the tenuous thread stretched tight between them.  He thought then of Malbeach and Renna, of Malbeach’s black dead eyes, and Renna’s cruel beauty, and the tears evaporated in the heat of his wrath:  They should not be suffered to treat people so; they should be called to account, and given their just due of pain and torment.  But deep in his mind he heard Renna’s trembling voice:  “He came after me with a poker – he will beat me, or give me to his men – “  “Whore she may well be,” he thought, “and well deserving of justice; but I will wager equal to Aglarond’s riches if Malbeach is not at the heart of this.”

He realized that Dúrfinwen was watching him, her dark eyes intent; there seemed to be a glimmer of intelligence behind them, and she did not appear to him to be afraid.  So he leant carefully forward, and loosened the gag at her mouth; she did not bite him, or draw back; but licked her lips with a tongue swollen and chewed, and stared at him hard.

“If you are serene, Little One,” he said softly, “then you may keep the gag from your mouth; and if you are thirsty, I will get for you a skin of water.”

“Blood, an it please you, pretty man,” she whispered; her low sultry voice made Legolas’ skin prickle, and he shivered.  She gave to him a slow strange smile, her dark eyes hooded and kindled from within; she nestled down onto the pallet.  “How cozy,” she said.  “Just us two – the harlot and the hornet.”

Legolas stared at her; his battle with Ushtâk had been before her unexpected and inexplicable appearance in Mirkwood.   “How did you – “ he began; but then a noise at the entrance of the cleft alerted him, and he turned, expecting one of his companions; but silhouetted against the dimness was a man’s shape, with eyes that gleamed redly at him.  Legolas leapt to his feet, fumbling for his sword; and Dúrfinwen laughed, shrill and hysterical.

“Look!” she cried, struggling to sit.  “It is he; it is the harlot!  O how delicious!”

Legolas stared at the intruder, then to his horror he recognized him.  “Malbeach!” he hissed, drawing his weapon; behind him one of the ponies snorted.

“Ah,” said the man; Legolas could see that he was smiling, his gaze ardent and admiring; his red doublet was muddy and torn, and his dark curly hair waved wildly round his face.  But he looked happy and expectant, and smoothed the blood-colored velvet down over his chest, flicking his tongue out to taste his own lips; Legolas shuddered.  “How pleasant to see you again, O glorious Prince of Mirkwood!” he purred, and touched his hair.  Legolas was reminded of a vain coquette and he cringed, expecting the familiar roiling in his entrails; however his surprise and anger appeared to have taken the nauseous edge off of him, and standing firmly he gripped his sword, listening hard for any other interlopers.  But Malbeach was alone, and bold in his vulnerability, mocking Legolas’ strength. He let his gaze rove over Legolas’ form, then tut-tutted.  “You have got too thin, O radiant prince of the Firstborn,” he said, shaking his head mournfully.  “Yet even in your present state you are far fairer than any woman I have met.”  He glanced coolly at Dúrfinwen, who was watching him intently, her breath rapid and shallow.  “Barring your lovely little plaything, of course.”

Dúrfinwen whined, and twisted away from him, scrabbling in her binds to the back corner of the cleft; she looked frightened.  Malbeach smirked at this, and giving Legolas a sidelong sly look he stepped boldly forward.  “Stay back,” warned Legolas, putting the tip of his sword to Malbeach’s chest.  “I shall hesitate not to slay you!”

“Such impetuousness!” whispered Malbeach with a soft laugh.  He showed his palms to Legolas.  “Do you see?  I am unarmed.  I cannot hurt you.”  He leveled his gaze at Legolas; his black eyes were concerted, and seemed to bore into Legolas’ own; he smiled sweetly, and Legolas blinked and shook his head, feeling the wool gather behind his eyes.  “Will you not put your weapon aside?  I wish only to parley with you, O Prince Legolas, fairest and purest of all Elven royalty.”  His eyes flickered then; a dark shadow passed over his face.  “Though shall I question your purity?” he asked, his voice growing cold and hard.  “You did after all meet my lady wife alone and in an empty room … did you not?  And my dear Renna is not known for her reticence, as I am certain you have amply descried.”

Dúrfinwen made a strange noise behind them; Legolas did not dare take his eyes off Malbeach, though he felt hot with shame, and mortified that the man knew of his midnight assignation; his head seemed to swim, and it was as though through a thick blanket he heard Malbeach say:  “What is it, harlot?  Did you desire that prize for yourself?  Whores, the both of you; I saw you submit yourself to my men – “

“Liar,” Dúrfinwen sobbed; Legolas could hear her writhe on the pallet.  “Liar – muck, muck!  The infant-eater, the infant-eater!”

“Quiet!” Malbeach hissed; his eyes flickered with fear, and the hands he held out to Legolas in parley shook.  He fixed his gaze on the Green Knight, his expression hard; a wave of weakness swept over Legolas, and his knees trembled; his sword drooped.  A fog obscured his gaze, and his ears roared; desperately he tried to collect himself, to raise his sword and face his adversary, but a weight as though of some huge hand seemed to rest on him then, and it was from a distance he heard a woman’s voice say:  “On your knees, Legolas … that is it … crawl to us … crawl …”  He blinked hard, struggling to clear his vision; at first he thought he saw double when he from his knees descried two people and not one before him, but then he realized Renna stood by her husband, her face tender and sweet, her stolen hair tumbling round her bare shoulders and breasts.  His eyes met hers, and the compulsion to touch her nearly overwhelmed him; he even reached for her, his hands heavy and numb, and he heard Malbeach laugh. 

But then there was a sudden exclamation, and they both turned; as though light floods a windowless room his vision and hearing returned to him, and he scrambled for his sword; however they had fled, and when he crawled trembling and cold to the lip of the cleft, all he could see was their retreating backs, scrambling and lurching down the muddy, rocky track.  Malbeach had Renna by the arm, and was dragging her cruelly along; when they reached the bottom of the hill he threw her to the earth, and though she reached for him with supplication he kicked her, and left her writhing in the mud.  She looked back then, and Legolas felt the weight of her gaze upon him; he closed his eyes, not wishing to slide back into that terrible craving; then he heard men’s voices, and the clatter of boots on stone from far off, and cautiously looked; Renna was gone, and the voices were receding round the edge of the canyon; the men had inexplicably passed by.

Legolas sat back on his heels, his mind reeling; he was stunned by their audacity, and by his own weakness.  “How did they find us?” he wondered aloud.

“Crawl, hornet,” grated Dúrfinwen behind him, her voice echoic and hollow; she gave a guttural laugh.

Legolas turned and scrambled back inside; his fear made him angry.  “How did you hear of that?” he demanded, sheathing his sword; she was splayed on the pallet in a most immodest fashion, her stained breeches mocking him.  Her eyes were dull and dark, and her mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile.  He took her by the front of her tunic and shook her.  “How did you hear of that?  How did you know?  And how did Malbeach find us here?  What are you doing?  Who are you?”

She but smiled at him, and turning her head she reached her mouth to his hand which grasped her; she flicked it with her tongue, and he released her quickly; it felt as though her saliva had burnt his skin.  He stared at her; her eyes seemed much too dark, and flecked with red; they were not mad but evil:  Not Dúrfinwen’s eyes at all.

“Muck,” she rasped.

Legolas leapt to his feet with an oath, and threw himself at the packs; she started to laugh again, a low earthy cackle that raised the hair on the back of his neck.  He found a kerchief and shook it out; turning to her angrily he said:  “I know not who you are, nor how you see from her eyes; but your spying stops here!”  She fought him then, thrashing and biting at him; but he put his knee on her chest and held her down while he bound her eyes; then he put her gag back on, and rolling her away from him, he covered her with a blanket.

He stood, his hands in his hair, looking round a little wildly; he met Hammer’s eyes, large and brown and liquid, and with a groan threw his arms round his destrier’s thick, glossy neck.  “Hammer,” he whispered; his horse was warm and solid, and he could feel the beast lipping at his hair, its breath moist on the back of his neck.  “O Hammer, what shall I do?”

Hammer, like most horses, did not reply to his master’s questioning; but for a moment, with his face tucked into the fragrant mane and his body pressed to the beast’s powerful chest, Legolas felt the horror fade a little; his vision receded, and he was flooded with warmth.  He saw in his mind’s eye the hills above his demesne – cataract-split, mist-girt, wheeling with hawks and speckled with game; his stepped orchards and vineyards, heavy with fruit; the sound of the bells pealing in his campaniles, and the high, joyful chiming music echoed back from Osgiliath and Minas Tirith.  How had it come to this?  How had he, prince of Elves for ages watching the endless wheel of the stars, become so solidly steeped in mortality?  Was it, as Faramir had dreamt, his Doom?  “He dreamt of death,” said Legolas into Hammer’s soft neck; the destrier whickered, and tugged at his master’s sleeve.  “’Twas my death truly, and also the death of those undying, then.  Well, if I am going to die, I had best do so in the midst of razing evil, and take as many of the miscreants with me as I might!”

He stood for some time, his arms round his steed’s strong neck, relishing the smooth living flesh beneath his cheek, and the steady drum of the horse’s heart beat.  His mind worked backward, there in the damp cramped cave, and the cleft and its dirty rock walls faded; he drifted to Meduseld, to the wind-swept fields, Piukka’s muscles bunching and stretching in his canter, the rhythmic huff of his old destrier’s breath, the pounding of mighty hooves on the earth; Éomer laughing beside him as they raced.  “East, due east!” Éomer cried, flinging one green-clad arm to the rising sun, and the two cantered on, their horses evenly matched, grey to black, both of them filled with the ecstatic peace that only a good run can give. 

Legolas knew not how long his reverie lasted; but when he heard the soft sound of little feet outside the cleft, and Bandobras’ piping voice, he seemed to awaken; he pulled away from Hammer’s warmth as though from a downy pillow, refreshed and calm.  He turned to look, and beheld his esquire, bright face dimmed, and the Blue Knight, full of Hobbity good sense and giving the Elf prince a keen look.

“Well!” he said.  “You look better nor you’ve looked in a mort o’ weeks.  Get some rest, did you?”

“I did, Bandobras,” said Legolas smiling, and held out his arms to his esquire; Tamin flew to him, accepting his Master’s kiss and clinging a touch longer than usual during their embrace.  Legolas determined then to make sure Tamin got back to Rohan with his little white horse, so Éomer could have a good look at Isilmë, and tell Tamin what he thought; that Legolas no longer expected to regain that rich and windy land was irrelevant.  “I shall send him back with Gimli,” he thought; “though I must be sure to tell him that, ere my Doom is laid upon me.”  “And I dreamt peacefully of Rohan and wind and sun, and my heart is lighter; for now I am determined in mind and know what to do.”  He looked past them.  “Where is Gimli?”

“Still on watch,” said Bandobras.  “Wanted to make sure them troops really went away and didn’t leave no spies.  Oh, and he wanted me to be sure and tell you that you’re two behind him already; he found a couple of stragglers and relieved them of their heads – not that them silly men are using their heads, but still, awful hard to do nothing when you’re shet of it, you know.”

“Good for him,” said Legolas with a smile.  He saw Bandobras and Tamin looking curiously at Dúrfinwen’s blanketed form, and said:  “We had visitors while you were away.”

“Oh?”  Bandobras’ eyebrows rose.  “A few stragglers yourself, eh?  Catch up to Gimli, or pass him mebbe?”

“Sadly, no,” admitted Legolas.  “’Twere Malbeach and Renna, alone and unarmed; and yet the Green Knight was unable to dispatch either of them.”  He shook his head in disgust.  “I know not what it is,” he said; “I know not how their influence overtakes me.  But though I had sword in hand, they did bring me to my knees, and near took me.”

“Took you?”  Bandobras started.  “You didn’t, er – “

“No, Bandobras,” said Legolas firmly.  “Something unseen alerted them, and they withdrew ere they could work their nefarious charm against me.”  He ruffled Tamin’s sunny hair and smiled.  “And I am not ill,” he said brightly.  “For the first time in many weeks – over a month, now, is it not, Bandobras? – I am not ill; in fact, I am hungered, and desire to eat – roast mutton, I think, larded liberally with rashers and rosemary, and new green peas in butter and cream, and waxy potatoes with dripping-gravy.”

“And wine,” said Tamin innocently.  “You cannot have mutton without red wine, Master; you know you cannot; you said so yourself, and so it must be true, Master!”

“That is so!” said Legolas, and falling to his knees he took both Hobbit and Elf-child in his arms and embraced them.  “Had I one wish to be granted now, ‘twould be for mutton and wine; and I should eat ‘til I felt my stomach would burst, and drink ‘til my head nodded; and let the two of you tumble me into my bed, where I would sleep uninterrupted for eight – no, ten! – hours, and waken with a head-ache, to be soothed by the Blue Knight’s good strong milky tea, and mine esquire’s cooling hand upon my brow.”

“That’s a good plan,” grunted Bandobras, wriggling out of the Green Knight’s embrace; “but remember, you’d have Hirilcúllas there, pushing papers on you that need your signature and seal; and Galás too, funning you for drinking too much.”

“Do not mind him, Master,” said Tamin, putting his arms round Legolas’ neck and kissing the Green Knight’s cheek.  “When we get home you may eat mutton and drink wine all you like, and I will chase both Hirilcúllas and Galás away; and when you are recovered from your indisposition, we shall ride up to Westering Sun Hill and falcon and hunt and ride and we shall have such a splendid time – will we not, Master!”

Legolas’ heart twisted within him, for he had deduced that Dol Galenehtar in future would have no lord save a seneschal; he grieved to disappoint his Tamin so he said:  “We shall; we shall!  And you shall grow to be a great knight, O Little One; you shall be as Fastred has said the Black Knight of Dol Galenehtar, eclipsing even your lord with your valor and beauty!”

“I shall not,” said Tamin indignantly, drawing away and putting his hands on his hips.  “Eclipse you, Master?  I never!”  He frowned at Legolas; then his face changed, and he said thoughtfully:  “Cherry pastries … I shall feed you cherry pastries, Master, when you awaken with your head-ache.”

“Thank you, my Tamin,” said Legolas gravely, giving to Bandobras a surreptitious wink.

There was the sound of a tread on stone from outside, and they turned; Gimli came in, wiping his axe, a look of satisfaction on his face.  “They have left,” he said.  “Leaving three behind – three, Legolas; ha ha!  You will have to work quick to catch me up!”

“I am irretrievably in your insolvency, O Gimli son of Glóin,” said Legolas politely.  “Did you see the Master and his little whore?”

Gimli made a face, and glancing cautiously at Tamin said:  “Yes – yes, I did.  They were, erm … rewarding the troops.”

Legolas paled.  “Willingly?”

Gimli grimaced.  “Not from what I could see,” he muttered.

“Were the troops stealing from them?” asked Tamin innocently.

“Only from Renna,” said Gimli, throwing a rather panicked look at Legolas and Bandobras, who both were appalled.  “Malbeach appears to have a – a more firm grip on them.”

“I see,” said Legolas, his face very white. 

“Well,” said Bandobras loudly, glancing shrewdly at the oblivious Tamin, “we can’t do naught about that now – so – erm, you were about to say, Legolas, why’ve you got Dúrfinwen all trundled up like a dumpling?  Don’t look too happy, she don’t; she’s all a-thrashing about and grunting, and no blame to her.”

“Not to Dúrfinwen, certainly, but to another,” said Legolas, and he strode to where his struggling mercer lay.  He threw back the blanket, and looked down upon her with the others.  “I know not how,” he said; “but I am certain Malbeach sees what she sees.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Bandobras.  “That would explain how he found you, then.”

“WHAT?” roared Gimli, turning on Legolas with hands fisted.  “How did he – did he – did they – “

“They have, as my Bandobras would say, run off,” said Legolas with a sigh.  “And no, dear Gimli, they laid not a hand on me.”

Gimli’s shoulders slumped.  “Well, that is something, at any rate,” he growled, and casting down his axe, he squatted by Dúrfinwen’s thrashing form.  “Sees through her eyes, does he?” he muttered.  “Well, yes, that would explain how he found you … but still … why did he let you go?”

“Why indeed?” shrugged Legolas.  “Dúrfinwen heard we pressed east; perchance he wishes to leave us to the horrors of this land, thinking we shall not escape, and our danger to him put to naught.  After all, we do not know whether he has left men behind to guard his stronghold.”

“Or even if there is a stronghold,” said Gimli.  “Why we press east I do not know, save for the dreams that lead you there.  But east you say and east we shall go, for we have not determined Belegtilion’s fate yet.”

“I am not sanguine about what we might find,” said Legolas sadly.  “Well, let us see to those beans, my Bandobras!  I am hungry, and we have a ways yet to go.”

The beans were, as Bandobras had promised, tender enough sealed in their little pot; to the Hobbit’s satisfaction Legolas had two helpings, and drank a quantity of water; the Green Knight’s cheeks were yet sunken and pale but he seemed in better spirits than he had in many weeks.  Then they drew lots for the first watch, and Gimli took the first; they rolled in their blankets, and slept. Even Legolas slept, deeply and dreamlessly; though in the pale chill hours before sunrise he must have dreamt of something pleasing, for he awoke with a smile on his face.

The next day dawned dark and dim, murky and misty with a dispiriting drizzle.  Lashing Dúrfinwen once more to Isilmë’s back they pressed east, following the meandering trail through cliff and canyon.  The day grew ever darker not lighter, as though the sun would fain pierce the gloom; and ever before them they felt the press of some lurking malevolence.  At last Legolas and Tamin smelled Man, and dismounting they crept carefully through the twisting canyon, down a steep decline, leaving Gimli and Bandobras with the horses; peering carefully round a looming rock wall, they saw, black and steaming, a great crack in the earth, the height of ten men and as wide as a great house; on either side of the crack were stationed two guards, both drinking from jars and throwing rubbish at each other, and laughing and cursing.  The little vale before the cleft was filled with waste – discarded food gone rotten; old clothes; bones still with flesh upon them – and stank of decay and death.  The two Elves withdrew silently, and crept back to their companions.

“Only two?” Gimli said, puzzled, when they related what they had seen.  “That seems strange, especially since Malbeach knew we were out here.  It is most likely a trap.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me none,” agreed Bandobras.  “Probably a bunch of men hiding in that there hole.  Well, the trail leads right to it, don’t it?  Seems to me the only way to find out what Malbeach gets up to out here is to go in.  Think you and Tamin can pick the men off quiet-like with your bows?”

“Of a certainty,” said Legolas.  “Come up to the corner and wait; Tamin and I will dispatch the guards, and then we will leave the horses and go within.”  He patted Hammer’s thick glossy neck.  “I would not compel the beasts to go inside that cave!  If aught happens to us, at least they might escape.”

So they drew closer to the vale and the cleft, and let the horses stand; their steeds were very nervous, and shifted to and fro uneasily, showing the whites of their eyes; but Legolas soothed them and said:  “Wait here for us, my children!  And if danger approach you, O Hammer, lead them to Erebor; there the Dwarves will succor you.”  Hammer nuzzled his master, and patting the destrier’s nose, Legolas took Tamin round the corner.

Dispatching the guards was the work of a moment; with pull and nod and twang Legolas’ and his esquire’s arrows sank into the guards’ throats, and the men fell gurgling to the earth.  Tamin flitted back to fetch Gimli and Bandobras, and Legolas stood cautiously before the cleft in the earth.

All the malevolence, the stench of death, the heaviness and stupor seemed to emanate from that dark crack.  It steamed and stank; it pressed upon him all the horror and loathing his nightmares had conveyed.  Yet when he peered into its depths Legolas descried light as though from a low fire; he strained to listen, but heard naught except the soughing of air around the rocks and debris.  He heard footsteps behind him and turned; Tamin had brought Gimli and Bandobras, and Gimli had unbound Dúrfinwen’s legs and was leading her stumbling beside him.  She whimpered and struggled, her hands tied behind her back and her mouth and eyes wrapped tight; but she strained away from the cleft, as though she too could feel its evil.  Legolas took a deep breath, and smiled at his companions.

“Well,” he said, surprised to find his voice so strong and cheerful.  “Let us go in.”

They nodded soberly, and hugging one damp and slimy wall, they descended into the cleft.

To their surprise it did not narrow as they pressed downward; but it grew warmer and brighter, and the foul stench thickened like smoke until even Gimli pulled his cloak over his face to try to stifle the smell.  In the dimness they could descry further filth:  decaying bodies, clothing, bones; and over everything, beneath their feet, seeping from the walls, the oily, stinking ooze, steaming and slick.

They paused at a sharp right turning; they could see that the light and warmth and fetid stench emanated from round the corner, and they were all filled with dread; the stinking air moaned and sighed about them.  Legolas collected them with his eyes, bidding them stay back, and they nodded; slowly, cautiously, Legolas pressed his cheek to the slimy wall, and peered round the corner.

The cavern was lit by a huge smoking fire in the middle, stoked with wet rubbish and glowing with bones; bones littered the floor, big thigh-bones and tiny finger-bones, skulls from men and children and beasts; there were even the remains of a lion, torn to pieces and rotting.  But wound round the warmth of the flames, gleaming wetly and undulating, muscles roping and twisting, covered in oily sludge, was a huge, grey dragon, its black eyes fixed upon Legolas’ face.  It lifted its head; it was legless and serpentine, an ancient and repugnant worm, steaming in the heat of the flames; its dull scales dripped with slime, and venom flowed from its fanged mouth, which was fixed into a snakelike smile.  Its long, thick, forked tongue flicked out twice, tasting them on the air.  Steam issued from its nostrils as it chuckled.

“Good evening, Little Yellow Hornet,” it said, and its voice was low and silky and amused.  “Do not skulk in the shadows!  Come, pay obeisance to the Master of Esgaroth!”

Chapter 24. Vé

The dragon’s breath was deep and sonorous, like the bellows of a huge furnace, and its heartbeat a vile kettle-drum.  Its eyes twinkled and shone like jet glimmering with rubies, and it cocked its head endearingly at him, though Legolas mistrusted it, and remembering Malbeach’s black eyes invoking his compliance, he ducked back round the corner, though already he felt its compulsion drawing him, and the hot bile rise.

“Who was that?” asked Gimli, startled by his friend’s pale and fearful face.

“Dragon!” groaned Legolas; his hands were trembling.  “A great cold-drake – and it knows me!”

Tamin went white, and Bandobras stamped his foot and cursed under his breath.  Then the dragon spoke from its stinking abode; its voice was smooth and oily, like its skin; there was an edge of good humor there, as though a benevolent uncle had caught his shy nephews peering round corners at him.

“Come; come!  We might all be friends here.  The change in regime will not be without its difficulties, but I am confident that you and I might see it through smoothly, O Yellow Hornet.”

Legolas said nothing; his heart pounded in his chest and his head felt very light.  Had he thought Malbeach and Renna powerful enough to subdue him?  Nay; the worm’s mind pressed upon him, demanding compliance and subjugation, and Legolas trembled from head to foot with the pressure to obey.  His stomach roiled and knotted, and the looming rock walls reeled around him.  As the darkness obscured his eyes he felt a tug on his hand; he blinked, and there gazing up at him was Gimli:  Impatient, gruff, good-humored, good-hearted Gimli, his brown eyes concerned and adamant; the light in his gaze burned through the film of the dragon’s will, and Legolas’ head cleared once more.

“Gimli,” he whispered; he felt very sick.  “What shall I do?  What shall I do?”

“You shall do nothing,” Gimli growled, hefting his axe.  “Dragons!  Bandobras, Tamin; keep hold of your silly master, will you?  I’ll see what this beastie is about!”  And setting his chin firmly into his beard he rounded the corner.

The dragon’s slick and steaming head swiveled round on the bodiless neck, craning around the smoke-choked bonfire to fix its black and gleaming eyes on the Dwarf.  The long slimed tongue flicked out again, and the head twitched back.

“Bastard of Durin!” it hissed.  “I thought I smelt your vile stench, you thieving little mud-digger.”

“Contemptible worm of Morgoth!” Gimli snarled, shaking his axe at the beast.  “I’m surprised you can smell me over your own rotten stink.  Thief, yourself!  I know why you dragons sniff round our hoards.  Where have you come from?  Go back to the Grey Mountains where you belong!”

“Ah, but it is so cold up there,” the dragon rasped, looping its great slimy coils closer to the stuttering flames.  It seemed to hug itself, basking in the heat of the fire; its terrible face smiled round the grey fangs dripping slime, and steam coiled upward from its ragged, weeping nostrils.  It was disgusting; a creature of grease and decay and foul smell; its very scales oozed.   “And it is warm down here, much warmer; it warms my bones nicely.  And I grew weary of goat and wolf; they are stringy and under-fed.  Man is a sweeter meat, and Dwarf and Elf too, of course.”

“You do not belong here, drake,” said Gimli.  “Go back, and corrupt this land no longer!”

“Corrupt?”  The dragon gave a low, grating laugh.  “Corrupt?  I am not corrupting the land, O Short One; I am correcting it … correcting it whence it has deteriorated.”  The great slimy body stretched and bunched, gleaming wetly in the low flickering fire; it convulsed, stretching its mouth wide, and to Gimli’s disgust the worm retched up some dark, stinking filth onto the bone-littered earth; it was black and glutinous, and choked with bones.  Slime dribbled down the dragon’s chin, and it continued as if nothing had happened:  “I find the myriad administrations far too diversified.  Elf, Dwarf, two of men, village elders … too confusion-making; how can one keep them apart?  In order to improve this place, it must be collected beneath the protective order of one – one who will see to its proper government.”

“You, of course,” said Gimli.  The dragon laughed again, a quantity of steam issuing forth from its nostrils.

“I?” he hissed, flicking his long slimy tongue again.  “I, rule Rhovanion?  Hardly!  Dragons do not rule, O Short and Stumpy One; we have no interest in power.”  The black slimy tongue flicked out again, and it fixed its glittering eyes on Gimli’s face; he shuddered in loathing.  “Power,” it purred.  “A man’s biggest lure.  But it holds no sway for me.”

“No?” smiled Gimli.  “No, I do not suppose a worm would be interested in governing so large a demesne – too much to think about; you would soon grow bored with it.”  The dragon hissed dangerously, and Gimli said quickly:  “So where is your hoard?  All dragons want gold – gold and gems and cups and armor, swords and helms and crowns and bracelets.  Where is it?  Do not try to tell me you came all the way to Rhovanion and missed plundering the great halls of Thorin Stonehelm, of Thranduil Oropherion, of the store-houses of Dale!  What; a worm with no hoard?  It is unthinkable – all you have is bones.”  He held his breath, not sure the dragon would take the bait; to his disappointment the drake merely chuckled and said:

“O yes – you would like to know where I keep it, would you not, groveling mole?  Do you think I would keep it out here, in my parlor, where any greedy insect might drool over it, or pluck from its store a single jewel?  Nay!  I am no fool, bastard of idiot Durin; it is safe, safe from you, safe from Men and Elves too.”

“Well, it is not doing you much good, now, is it?” said Gimli.  “Why have it at all?  If you do not display it, how can anyone know how much you are worth?”

“O I am worth much,” purred the dragon, squelching its slimy coils together in a satisfied manner.  “I am not like my hot-blooded cousins – I do not put all my goods in the shop window.”

“Then I shall withhold belief in the splendor of your hoard entirely,” said Gimli offhandedly.  To his dismay the dragon merely laughed, a terrible gurgling sound.

“Withhold belief if you like,” it hissed.  “It matters not to me.  You have little about you, runt of the dirt, that interests me at all; I now possess sufficient wealth for my purposes.”

“Then what is it you want?” demanded Gimli angrily.  “Why come here at all?  What do you want of us, that when satisfied shall coerce you to leave us in peace with our new ruler, whoever that may be?  What lures you hither?”

“Hunger,” hissed the dragon, its eyes gleaming red-hot; it lowered its head, and the body began to uncurl from round the bonfire; Gimli took a step back.  “Hunger … and warmth.  Feed me, and keep me warm, and I will be very, very happy.”

“Hm!” said Gimli, eyeing the great undulating body; it looked uneven and lumpy, as though the serpent had recently fed.  “Well, there is not much round here for you to eat, now, is there?  The men have all left, and you have by your stinking emissions chased off all the game.  What is there now for you to eat?”

“There is always aught to eat here,” hissed the dragon.  “Malbeach will bring me more meat.”  The smiling mouth seemed to curl even further upward.  “He brought me you, did he not?”

“Ah, but we are hardly satisfying,” scoffed Gimli.  “Underfed and bony; not much to us at all – particularly Elves; they are rather lean and stringy, you know.”

“True,” conceded the dragon cheerfully.  “But their meat is very sweet – sweeter than Men’s, and far sweeter than you stinking Dwarves; you leave such a foul taste on my tongue.”  The black organ flicked out again twice, sampling the heavy air.  “I like Elves,” it purred, and Gimli’s skin crawled.  “Elves, and babies – so tender, so sweet!  O yes, I like it here in Rhovanion, O talkative midget; and when I have feasted on you and your little friends will I see to your steeds.  Horse,” it said thoughtfully, “is rather tough; but the bones crack so satisfactorily, especially that big back-bone, when they twitch and squeal in my jaws.”  It clacked its huge mouth together, and flecks of venom dripped from its fangs.  “Delicious,” it hissed.

“But we are bound to run out eventually,” said Gimli, shaking his head.  “I mean, there are few of us, and we are not so easy to corner, especially us Dwarves; it would take quite a bit to sneak your snakey self into the Lonely Mountain, as you have no wings or legs or fire to aid you.”  The dragon growled a bit, its eyes flashing; and Gimli added, “Well, at any rate, when the food disappears round here, it seems to me you have but to return to the Grey Mountains and feed on your fire-drake cousins – I’ve heard you worms are really not that particular about what you eat, now, are you?  That is, if you can get a bite in; I will wager one good puff from a fire-drake would cook you in your stinking skin - ”

The dragon gave a rasping roar then, and with terrible suddenness struck at Gimli; he dodged aside, anticipating the lunge, and ducking back round the corner he shouted:  “Run!”  Together they all pelted up the tunnel, Legolas dragging Dúrfinwen along by her arm; behind them squelching like some huge, oozing grub came the worm, its coils sliding effortlessly over the slimy floor, hissing and spitting like an enormous pot of gruel.  “Hurry, hurry!” sobbed Tamin, grasping Bandobras by the collar and pulling.  “O Bandy, hurry, run, run!”

“I’m running, I’m running!” gasped Bandobras.  “Don’t wait for me!  My legs are too short for this kind o’ thing!  Damn you, Gimli! Why’d you go of cheesing it off so?”

“More running, less talking!” gasped Gimli.  “Run, run!”

They burst through the entrance of the cave with the dragon’s head at their heels.  It was sizzling and gurgling and spitting; the stench was tremendous, for it vomited as it came, and snapped its bony fanged mouth at them.  “Up, up, quick!” cried Gimli.  “Separate!  Get above it!”

“Oh, I see!” panted Bandobras, his face clearing, and he and Tamin scrambled up the north face of the hill.  Throwing Dúrfinwen’s writhing form upon his shoulder Legolas darted up the other side, and faster than one would have expected, Gimli climbed behind him, using his axe as a cane to aid him.  “Up, up!” Gimli cried, turning and swinging wildly at the weaving serpentine head snapping at him.  “Higher, higher!”

There was a twang and a thunk, and one of Tamin’s arrows grazed the dragon’s head; it gurgled and turned, furiously lunging at the Hobbit and the esquire perched upon the rocks.  Then more twangs, and with a zth, zth! two of Legolas’ arrows struck true, one impaled into the soft fleshy throat, the other embedding itself in one nostril.  The dragon roared and turned; the arrows had merely stung it, like a bee stings a bull; it bellowed:

“Little Yellow Hornet!  You will not cut off my head and put it on a pike!”  And the dragon lunged at Legolas.  Tamin and Bandobras shot again, but though their arrows pierced the worm’s scales they did not harm his flesh.  “Now I shall find out what Elf-prince tastes like!” said the dragon with a terrible laugh, and looping its coils beneath itself it stretched its distended body up to reach for Legolas and Gimli.  But as it struck, Gimli heaved his axe, and the great blade cut off one of the dragon’s scales; it cried out and twitched back, and Legolas grasped Dúrfinwen and fled up into the rocky face of the hill.

Gimli cried:  “Run, run!  I’ll hold it back!” and stood, feet planted firmly on the stone, hefting his great blade.  He looked at the writhing form of the dragon and laughed:  “You odorous abomination!” he cried.  “Steal the Arkenstone, will you?  Well, here is one Dwarf you shall choke on!”

“Not today!” said Legolas, and grasping him by the collar jerked him down with sick suddenness into a dark hole.  He stumbled and rolled, sliding on a slick slope covered in mud and pebbles and stone; he dropped his axe and flailed about, trying to catch hold of something to stop his descent.  He was surrounded by sound – the roaring of the dragon, voices, the rattle and bang of moving rock, all echoing and blending together; then he rolled, knocked his head, and fetched up against a stone wall, though he landed on something soft that grunted beneath him.  He blinked in the darkness, groping for his axe, and felt hands push him aside. 

“Ouf!” said Tamin’s voice under the racket.  “I do not mean to complain, Gimli, or to be insulting in any way, but you are much heavier than you look!”

“Up you go!” said a strange voice, and a hand grasped his and pulled him upright.  “Quick, now!  He hasn’t managed to stick his nose in here yet, but you’ve made him awfully shirty, and I won’t wager any of my treasure he’s not mad enough to dig us out.  Hurry, all of you; hurry!”

“My axe!” said Gimli, very disoriented, but the voice chuckled warmly and said:  “Now, now; don’t you worry about that!  Got plenty more to replace it, and you’ll find it hard to argue when you see what I’ve got to offer you!”

“Come, Gimli,” said Legolas; blinking, Gimli found his friend, leaning panting against a low crooked wall in the dark, clasping Dúrfinwen’s struggling form close.  His nose was bleeding and his hair in terrible disarray was matted to his face.  Beside him trembled Tamin, his tunic twisted wrong way round, and Bandobras, shaking his head in disgust, glared up at him.

“Making a dragon all cheesed off,” said the Hobbit, his voice heavy with comtempt.  “Of all the tom-fool things to do, Gimli – “

“You do like to argue, don’t you?” said the stranger, and Gimli turned round, and to his shock beheld a young Dwarf, gleaming a little in the dimness.  There was another bellow from the passage above them, and they all looked up; the dragon’s huge head smashed against the stone, and a great smut of dirt and rock came crashing down the passage.  “That’s torn it!” said the strange Dwarf.  “Hoof it now, double-quick!”

They followed him down into the darkness, dodging bouncing stones and sliding on the pebbles and mud; at last the dragon’s roaring faded, and they still went down, down, down, and back into the hill.  The young Dwarf led them silently, winding through the passageways, ducking beneath ledges and climbing upon great stair-steps, dodging stalagmites and pressing ever further east; they scrambled behind him, silent except for their panting breath, and Dúrfinwen’s groans.  At last the Dwarf led them round a corner, and they could see firelight; he pushed a heavy curtain aside, and led them through with a wry smile.

“Welcome!” he said; “welcome!  Welcome, you crazy lot, to the House of Vé son of Búri!”

They stepped through the entryway and stared in amazement.  It was a high vaulted chamber, much like the dragon’s had been, but cozier; instead of bones piled round the great fire in the middle gleamed treasure – a great hoard of gold and gems, jewelry and crowns, gowns and goblets, plates and silver, velvet curtains and fur rugs, statues and crystal lamps and golden sconces and jeweled belts and ornate weapons, all luminous and glinting in the firelight, dazzling them.  The Dwarf sauntered up to the flames, and taking up a bedizened scepter poked at the fire.  Its smoke meandered lazily up into the darkness of the ceiling, but there was the softest sigh of air, telling them the fissure far above them drew the choking smoke away, and let in sweet breathable air.  Then the Dwarf cast his sparkling poker carelessly aside, and pulling up a woven wool rug of marvelous beauty, gestured to them.

“Have a seat, do,” he said politely.  “I’d offer you food and drink, but I have none; all I can give you is a portion of this treasure, so that you as I shall die rich and not poor.”

Legolas was the first to stir.  He approached cautiously, the firelight shimmering on his fair disorderly hair; the blood on his face caught the light and glistened back.  He gently lowered Dúrfinwen upon the rug; she twisted and squirmed, wrapped in her blanket-cocoon, much like a snake herself.  The young Dwarf looked up at him, head cocked; his short bristly beard was red and curly, and his green eyes twinkled. 

“Vé son of Búri, at your service,” he said politely, and bowed.

Legolas hesitated, then bowed back; when he straightened he was smiling wryly.  “And you have been that ,O son of Búri!” he said.  “I am very grateful to you, else my friend Gimli would be supper for a serpent.  Legolas son of Thranduil, at yours and your family’s.”

Vé whistled.  “Son of Thranduil, eh?” he said, hooking his thumbs in a splendid gold belt and rocking back on his raggedy boots.  “Elf-prince, eh?  Thought you lived away down south – “ he waved his arm vaguely behind himself “ – and wouldn’t have much truck with the doings up here.”  He looked Gimli over, his mouth twisting into a sardonic grin.  “That means you must be Gimli of Aglarond, Glóin’s son.”

“You are well-informed,” grunted Gimli.  He approached the young Dwarf, then winced in pain and rubbed his hip.  He glanced back at Tamin.  “I might be heavy, Tamin, but you’re too bony to be a good cushion.”

Tamin’s face changed; he had looked bewildered before, but he took Gimli’s lighthearted censure to heart and said earnestly:  “O I am so sorry, Gimli; I did not realize you would need me to be fatter to cushion your fall better – “ Then he started back and frowned.  “Hold,” he said slowly.  “You – are teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Goodness!  So he can be taught,” grinned Bandobras.  He stumped up to the Dwarf.  “Bandobras son of Reginard, Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar,” he said, shaking Vé’s hand.  He looked round.  “Nice place you have.  Décor’s a bit flash, though, and I can’t say I care much for your neighbor.”

“Me neither,” laughed the Dwarf.  “Noisy, stinks, and keeps wanting to eat me.  Not my idea of a cooperative compatriot at all.  I’d lodge a complaint with the management, but I’m not certain at this point who that might be.”

Gimli approached the young Dwarf slowly, limping a little.  “You have been greatly at our service, Vé son of Búri,” he said.  “I would reward you in kind if I could, but I fear we have little to offer you.”

“I expect very little from you,” said Vé.  “No one so far has been able to do a single thing about this ridiculous situation; you shall likely fail, as all others have.  Sit down, do!  You all look very well-traveled and hungry; I can do nothing about your hunger, but these rugs are quite comfortable.”  He cast his eye over Dúrfinwen, who had settled a bit and lay very still.  “A prisoner?” he asked politely.

“A refugee, like ourselves,” said Legolas.  He sat cross-legged beside her.  “How safe are we here, O Vé?”

“Safe enough,” shrugged the Dwarf, casting himself carelessly upon a gorgeously embroidered cushion.  “Malbeach doesn’t know I’m here, and the dragon can’t fit through that crack.  There’s water – not terribly clean, but I boil it in that nice pewter cauldron – I don’t think that’s what the cauldron was meant for, since I’m scorching it, but really, who cares?  It’s not as though any of this stuff will get back to its original owners, anyway.  But yes, you’re safe; take off your shoes, look around!  There’s loads of stuff to admire.”  He watched Gimli shrewdly as he limped round, pushing things aside with the toe of his boot or turning it carefully over with his hands.  “You might recognize some of it,” he added, and jumping up he climbed over one of the piles furthest from the fissure.  He dug round a minute, casting aside silver cups and carven urns; then he lifted a great globe of light out of a box, and with a reverent smile turned to Gimli.  “Look!” he said, holding it out.

The gem gathered light into itself and cast it back, brighter and lovelier than firelight had ever been; it glimmered and glittered like moonlight on a tumbling cataract, like starlight in a lover’s eyes, like silver in the sun.  Tamin and Bandobras gasped, and Legolas leapt to his feet; Gimli’s face was a study of wonder and awe, and he was struck dumb at the sight.

“The Arkenstone!” Legolas exclaimed.  “The Heart of the Mountain!”

“Indeed!” said Vé, clambering back over the treasure and plunking it carelessly in Legolas’ hand.  “Pretty, isn’t it?  I’ve heard tell of it, of course; we still sing songs about the Lonely Mountain in Ered Luin.”

“Ered Luin!” exclaimed Bandobras.  “You’re a ways from home, ain’t you?”

“And so are you, good Hobbit!” laughed Vé.  “Yes; we got tired eking out a living in the Blue Mountains after the kings had gone, and decided to try our luck with our relatives in Erebor.  Not very lucky after all,” he added, grimacing.  “Got our share of treasure, but it didn’t help much, did it?”

Legolas looked into the Arkenstone.  He had never seen it before, though his father had told him of its perfection and beauty.  Cradling it in his slim hands he gazed into its depths, entranced by the mirrored and rainbowed facets.  He laughed.  “Tamin, come look!” he said merrily.  “It is better than staring at the stars.  Look, Bandobras!  Look, Gimli!”

“I have seen it,” said Gimli; his voice was choked.  He stared at the stone in his friend’s hand, watching Bandobras and Tamin crowd round it and gawk at its light, touching it lightly with wondering fingers.  His hands trembled, and he turned on Vé, who was putting a splendid crown on his own head, fitting it with his filthy fingers, a look of satisfaction on his face.  “Why is it here?” he demanded.  “Why is it not in Thorin Oakenshield’s tomb?  How did you come by it?”

“No idea,” said Vé, balancing the crown carefully.  “Here, hand me that polished brass mirror, will you?  I like the way this crown fits – the other three are too heavy.  Ah!  Looks well on me, don’t you think?  Rubies are nicer than garnets.  I found it in the dragon’s store-room, and decided it might as well live here with me as in that filthy place.  All mud and filth and bones; that creature has no sense of propriety.”

“You mean there is more of this?” demanded Gimli, gesturing to the piles of treasure all round them.  “More gold, more gems, more precious things?”

“Oh!  Heaps,” said Vé dismissively.  “Malbeach stole it from the Dwarves, and the dragon stole it from Malbeach, so I stole it from the dragon.  Makes a nice circle that way, I think.  Poetic justice, so to speak.  Not that I can do much with it, because whenever I set foot outside the old worm tries to eat me, but it’s fun having it round.  Gives me that wealthy and opulent feeling, which I never got from coal-mining, I must confess.”

“But, but,” stammered Gimli, at last surrendering to his curiosity and reverently lifting the Arkenstone from Legolas’ hands.  He cradled it gently in his palm, staring hard into it, as though in its depths he might like some augur see the future.  “But why would the dragon steal from Malbeach?  He claimed he had no use for wealth.”

“Ha!” scoffed Vé.  “Have a sit-down, friends; I can tell you’ve got a lot to learn about that worm out there.”  He nestled down into a pile of fur rugs, steadied his crown, and grinned up at them as they clustered round.  Tamin sat pressed close to his Master’s side, and Bandobras cast himself upon a great cushion with a sigh; Gimli lowered himself carefully upon the rug, wincing, for his hip pained him; and he clutched the Arkenstone close, though its light flickered forth through his fingers.  “You’re newcomers, I can tell,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back comfortably.  “Now, I’ve been here two months, I have, and can put you straight concerning the goings-on out here.  Though I warn you, there’s not much good in my tale, barring the accumulation of my filthy lucre, of course.”

“Two months!” exclaimed Bandobras.  “Why, what’ve you been living off of?”

“It didn’t start getting so bad ‘til last week,” said Vé.  “I could sneak out, get some game.  But about eight or nine days ago, all that slime just started popping out of the soil – rotten stuff; chased all the game off; couldn’t even find any birds barring that silly thing.”  He gestured behind and above them; they turned, and beheld a nightingale perched on a low stone, its creamy feathers ruffled against the smoke, cocking its little head at them.  Its black eyes glinted a little in the firelight.  Legolas rose, his mouth open in astonishment; the nightingale fluttered toward him, and when he held out his hand it alighted upon his thumb.  “Watch out,” began Vé, but then the nightingale gave a little trill, and loosed its bowels in Legolas’ palm; then with a noncommittal squawk shot up into the ceiling and out the upper fissure.  “Yes, it does that to me too,” said Vé, grinning as Legolas grimaced, and Tamin scrambled to find a cloth to wipe his Master’s hand.  “Doesn’t even sing, just waits ‘til I’m not looking, and shits on my head.”  He glanced at Tamin, who looked shocked.  “Sorry,” he said contritely.  “But it does.  No idea what it eats, but it keeps hanging round, as though it’s waiting for something.  Or perhaps it simply doesn’t know where else to go.”

“Perhaps,” said Legolas thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling whence the bird had gone.  “Perhaps.”

“So you’ve been out here for weeks, all alone?” asked Bandobras suspiciously.  “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“I volunteered, believe it or not,” grinned Vé.  “Newcomer and all that, wanting to make a good impression on King Stonehelm.  He never believed the Elves stole from us, you know, your highness,” he added to Legolas who, having satisfied his esquire’s desire for cleanliness, lowered himself gracefully to the rug, tucking his long legs beneath him.  “Figured either Girion or Malbeach were behind it, and sent fifty of us to investigate.”

“Fifty!” said Bandobras.  “Where are the rest of you?”

Vé’s smile faded, and his eyes clouded over.  “Well,” he began, and coughed, wiping his eyes.  “Well,” he said again, his voice very rough; he cleared his throat and tried once more.  “Well,” he said, and heaving a great shaking sigh, pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms round them, resting his chin on his knees.   Twin tracks of tears disappeared into his short curly beard.  “I’m – the last one left,” he said; his voice trembled.  “We – were harried into the east by Malbeach – his men picked us off one by one.”  He closed his eyes.  “Kálfar was first,” he said.  “Two men stabbed him to death.  When his brother Álfar tried to stop him, they set his beard on fire, and burned his face off; they left him screaming on the side of the path.  Ten of us – led by Skír – tried to rescue him – a hundred men came at us, hollering for our blood.  Skír fell, then Bláin and Wáin … “  His voice faded, and he opened his eyes, which were streaming with tears.  “Out of fifty Dwarves, only I remain,” he said; his voice was choked and thick.  “We – hid amongst the rocks – thinking to evade the Men.  But then the dragon came … “  He shuddered and closed his eyes again.  “That was worse,” he whispered.  “He really does like eating us, you know.  He is hungry – Oh!  So hungry.  But the filth, he wants to eat us alive – limb by limb – ugh!  Horrible creature!”

“I am sorry,” said Legolas gently, putting a sympathetic hand on Vé’s shoulder.  “We have also seen the detritus of what the dragon and Malbeach’s men might do to our people.”  He gestured at Dúrfinwen’s still form.  “Here is one of my folk,” he said sadly.  “The poor mad broken thing; I do not know what to do with her!”

“Eh?  Her?”  Vé blinked his tears away and leaned in, frowning.  “Hm … take off her blindfold and gag, will you?  I want to see if I know her.”

“Are you certain, O Vé?” asked Legolas.  “I suspect either Malbeach or the dragon see through her eyes.”

“Quite likely,” agreed Vé.  “Well, he knows I’m here, and knows you’re here; what’s there for him to learn?  Besides which, if he sees through her eyes it’s odds-on he hears through her ears – what are you going to do; cork them up?  Let her eyes and mouth free; she can’t do any further harm in here.”

“Very well,” said Legolas, and gently unwrapped Dúrfinwen’s head.  She blinked and stared up at Vé, her dark eyes panicked and afraid, cringing back from him and whimpering.  Vé studied her face carefully, his brows knotted; then with a sad sigh he drew back.

“Ooooh,” he said.  “Yes … I remember her.”  He shook his head.  “Brave lassie, aren’t you, Dúrfinwen?” he said regretfully.  “You tried your hardest, but it came to naught in the end, didn’t it?”

Dúrfinwen’s thin bloodied lips worked soundlessly a moment, then her voice came out in a breathless whisper:  “Kill me … son of Durin … kill me!”  She looked wildly round, fixing her eyes upon Gimli; she drew in her breath in a hysterical sob.  “Kill me – please, please, kill me, kill me!”  She glanced at Legolas, and her eyes hardened and darkened; she gnashed her teeth together and shouted:  “Hornet, I shall send my slave after you – beg for death before he finds you; beg for death, for death!”  Her body twisted horribly on the rug, and Bandobras and Legolas tried to restrain her; she began to sob and retch.  “Harlot, harlot!” she cried.  “Liar, you promised, you promised!  Melima!  Melima!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Vé.  “No, I’ve changed my mind; go ahead and put the gag back on her … phew!” he said, when she had been bound and confined once more.  “Well, can’t say I’m too surprised, poor thing!”  He shook his head.  “Malbeach and his men have a lot to answer for – quite a lot,” he said.  “Destroyed my folk one at a time, and what he did to yours – well, I just hope poor Belias is good and dead, after what they did to him.”

“You saw?” asked Legolas, turning white.  “You saw what happened to my people?”

“I did,” said Vé grimly.  “And I’m sorry, your highness, but it’s not a nice tale.  Brím and Rór and I were the only ones left – we were hiding in a cleft and watched what the Master and his little whore called their ‘sport.’”  He grimaced.  “Horrible,” he added in a low voice, and shuddered.

“Wait,” said Bandobras, glowering.  “Renna was there too?”

“Oh yes!” said Vé, making a face.  “Disgusting creature – seemed to have it in for Dúrfinwen here.  ‘Twas she had all that pretty hair cut off and made into a wig for herself.  Stood there laughing she did, while the men went at her and Melima, and when Dúrfinwen fought back they brought out Belegtilion.  Skinned him alive to make Dúrfinwen behave – kept promising her they’d stop if she did what they said; but then they’d take more of him away – started at his feet,” said Vé unhappily.  “I still wake up hearing him scream.”

“Oh, no,” whispered Tamin, burying his face in Legolas’ breast.  His Master sat frozen in horror, hands trembling and face pale.  Vé looked at them apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“Well,” said Bandobras shakily, “we did want to know what happened to Belegtilion.  Oh, heavens; that’s horrible – horrible.  Them evil men!  I’ll skin ‘em myself, I will, the filthy pigs!”

“I’ll help, given the opportunity,” said Vé.  “Well, you can pretty much guess what happened next.  When Belegtilion died they knew they’d have to work on the others to get Dúrfinwen to do what they wanted.  Carved up Melima then – made Belias watch.  Nearly went mad with it, he did.  Not sure where he ended up – I hope he’s dead, poor chap; he certainly begged for death when they were through with him.”  Vé looked round at them, his green eyes owlish.  “Go ahead and call me a coward,” he said gruffly.  “I know I deserve it.  I ought to have died myself, trying to help them.  But there were a hundred of them – and three of us left.  We had watched all our boys die horribly, too.  We didn’t know what to do – and so we did naught – and I don’t mind admitting I hate myself for it.”  He looked round the room, glittering with wealth.  “About the only thing I can do now is steal this stuff from the dragon,” he said, his voice heavy with loathing.  “That, and starve to death.  But he won’t be able to get to his swag – that’s my only consolation – that, and Brím finding the Arkenstone and stealing it.  Should’ve heard the worm yell when he found it missing!  Why, he was so angry he ate Brím in one bite – lucky bastard, going quick like that.”  He gestured to the fire.  “Rór wasn’t so lucky.  Had his legs bitten off.  I couldn’t keep him from bleeding to death, even after I dragged him down here.  He died last week, about the time the game dried up.  So here I sit,” said Vé, smiling grimly, “stealing gold from a dragon, and waiting to die.”

They were silent then, Vé sunk in gloom, and the others ruminating over his sad and horrible news.  Tamin was weeping, but in a distracted way, as though he had done it so much he could cry without thinking much about it.  Legolas wept too, thinking of his friends’ fates, and Bandobras watched them, torn between grief and pity.  At last Gimli spoke.

“I do not understand,” he said at last.  “Why a dragon?  Whence came he, and why?  It cannot be simply for hunger; it must be for treasure.  But why dally with the sons of Men?  What do Malbeach and Renna gain from this, and why does he use them?”

“Well, that’s not so difficult,” said Vé.  “Heard him myself, and heard the men talking when they didn’t know I was hanging round.  Malbeach gets his power from him – Malbeach and Renna both, though Malbeach is stronger.  See, this is how it happened, from what I overheard:  Renna started the whole thing – did divining, or auguries, or something like that, and knew that a cold-drake had come down from the Grey Mountains, and she actually came out here and met him herself.  The men say that’s where he got his taste for children – she offered her children to the worm in exchange for what she wanted – beauty, influence, love.  Of course Malbeach didn’t care much for his wife letting a dragon eat his sons, but once he realized what he could have – money, power, lust’s fulfillment – he went along with it too.  Thick as thieves and like two ticks, sucking each other dry, are Malbeach and Renna – though Renna’s gotten the worst of it, I think; not that I’m terribly inclined to feel that sorry for her.”  Vé looked sadly down at Dúrfinwen, lying groaning beside him.  “Everything they did to her,” he said.  “Renna just stood there and laughed.  Just … laughed.”

“So the dragon does want treasure,” said Gimli heavily.  “Malbeach was stealing from Erebor to gain the worm’s good graces, and the worm is using Malbeach to get more gold, and more meat.”

“That’s about the strength of it,” agreed Vé.  “The dragon doesn’t want Stonehelm or the Elvenking around, either – hates Elves and Dwarves.  Hates Elves, because he can’t offer you anything,” he said to Legolas and Tamin.  “You don’t want treasure.  You don’t want to gratify yourselves at the expense of others.  You don’t want to kill people just to gain power.  He’s got no purchase with your folk, see.”  Vé’s mouth twitched into a reluctant grin.  “Never thought much of Elves before,” he admitted.  “Thought they were all hoity-toity … like they were walking round with their noses in the air, thought they were better than us.  Always sort of resented that.”  He studied Legolas and Tamin, their golden flossy hair and fair faces, the starry grey eyes and slim strong forms.  “I know better now,” said Vé.  “He’s right to hate you.  All he can do is eat you – he can’t corrupt you.  And us, of course,” he added, grinning at Gimli.  “All the drake’s got to do is look a Man or an Elf in the eye, and he’s got ‘em – poor saps’ll do anything he says.  But us?  Not at all.  He’s got no control over us.  Not sure why, but I’m not complaining.”

“The cold-drakes are not as powerful as their hot cousins,” said Gimli.  “I am actually surprised that we have encountered one of their ilk at all.  Tharkûn said there were few cold-drakes left.”

“You knew Tharkûn?” asked Vé, startled.

“Yes,” said Gimli, smiling.  “Legolas and I traveled with him for some years.”

“Fortunate,” Vé sighed enviously.  “I would dearly love to meet a wizard!”

“That is not something I can readily promise you,” said Legolas; “I do not think me the Istari remain here in Middle-earth.”  He fetched a sigh, his eyes sad.  “What a terrible tale!” he said to Vé.  “I begrudge you not this though, for you give it willingly to us, and I thank you; your kind sympathy in the telling thereof is of great value, and I do not disparage your great heart.  Be well, O Vé son of Búri; you are alone no longer, and though great this danger to us, perhaps we might together descry a way around it.”

“I can’t see how that could happen,” said Vé.  “And I hate to get attached to you fellows – seems like everyone I’ve gotten to know out here in Rhovanion has died in pretty awful ways, and I’d rather none of you got skinned or chopped up or – or worse,” he added hastily, glancing at Tamin, as though for the first time realizing how young the boy was.  “But I’ll pitch in if you’ve got any ideas; I’d rather get Muhk angry and die suddenly than starve to death.”

“Muck?” said Gimli, puzzled.

“Muhk,” said Vé.  “That’s the dragon’s name.  Muhk.”  He grinned.  “Fits him, doesn’t it, the slimy thing?”

“It does,” said Legolas, glancing at Dúrfinwen.  “Also, it explains quite a bit to me.”

“So,” said Vé, leaning back on his hands.  “What next?  Gimli’s discovered that Muhk’s a bit too quick to divide and conquer – “

“Yes,” said Bandobras, throwing Gimli an evil look.  “You could’ve warned us, you know, before you went and got him of chasing after us like that!”

“Of course I could have,” growled Gimli.  “I would have just said to the dragon, ‘Pardon me, sir, whilst I confer with my friends,’ and nipped round the corner to tell you – in his hearing, mind! – that I wanted to get him angry enough to come out of the cave, so we might circle round behind him and attack from both sides!  Just so you know, Bandobras, if I ever goad a dragon again, that is my plan!”

“Thank you!” said Bandobras dryly.  “It’s nice to be informed.”

“Well, at least we know now that it won’t work,” said Vé.  “Did you fellows walk out here alone?”

“No,” said Gimli.  “We rode.”

“Good!” said Vé, rubbing his hands.  “That’s a fair treat!  Muhk’s sleepy after he’s eaten – which he has, and which is why you’re not a meat pie right now, Gimli! – so while he’s digesting those ten young men Malbeach fed him today, we can slip out and find your horses and get out of here.  Let’s make tracks to Erebor – at least that can be sealed up against a cold-drake; and anyway I want to bring the Arkenstone back to Stonehelm.”

Legolas shook his head.  “No,” he said firmly.  “That is not why I have come.  I know that now.”

“What?” said Bandobras.  “What do you mean?  We came out here to find out what happened to your folks.  Well, we’ve found out.  Three dead, and one mad; ain’t that bad enough?  And now we know who the Master of Esgaroth is, and what he wants, and I’m with Vé – let’s hoof it home!  Your dad can lock himself up in Eryn Lasgalen, and Gimli’s dad can lock up the Lonely Mountain, and – “

“And we leave a dragon to devour every last Man in Rhovanion?” said Legolas.  “Nay, my Bandobras!  I was driven east for a reason, and finding the nightingale here reassures me.  I am the hornet; the hornet stings the worm.”  He looked round at his friends, who were staring at him in horror.  “It is time to kill a dragon,” he said, and smiled.

(A/N:  Many, many thanks and kudos to my beta, Nieriel Raina, for overseeing this most difficult chapter.  I appreciate your reviews and comments, and will respond accordingly; for now, my muse is horribly awakened, and I am ready to write again.  -- Le Rouret)

25. Baiting a Worm

“My point is,” said Vé irritably, digging through a brass-bound oak chest and casting vambraces and faulds everywhere, “you can’t just say, ‘I think I’ll kill a dragon,’ and then kill a dragon.  It takes a tad more work than that, though I must say I admire your confidence.”

“Confidence has very little to do with it,” said Legolas mildly, holding up a cuirass to see if it would fit.  “It is distractingly ironic, Gimli, that we brought my armor all this way, and yet are unable to get to it when I need it.” 

“If by ‘ironic’ you mean ‘maddening,’ then I would be compelled to agree,” said Gimli.  He banged and clattered around for a moment, then said, “Wait, Legolas; I think this will fit you.”  He turned and held up a silvery mail coat, studded with precious gems; it glimmered and sparkled in the firelight.

“O how pretty!” exclaimed Tamin, clapping his hands with delight.  “O put it on, do, Master; I want to see how it looks on you!”

“Pretty!” snorted Vé.  “It’ll be more to the point if it’s effective – which it won’t be, Legolas; Muhk’s jaws are mighty powerful.”

“’Twill be better than naught,” said Legolas, struggling into the mail.  “And should a fang graze me, at least the mail shirt will stop it.”

“Are all Elves this optimistic?” Vé complained to Bandobras, who was likewise rooting through a pile of armaments.

“Not all of ‘em,” said Bandobras; his voice was muffled, for his head was obscured in a deep trunk.  “Meivel’s all about the gloom and doom, he is.  And Elrohir, well, I just wanted to smack the fellow.”  He straightened, holding a narrow cuirass.  He frowned at it a moment, turning it round about, then he brightened and said:  “Ho, Tamin!  Come along here a moment, will you, me dear?  Think this’ll fit you proper-like.”

Legolas turned quickly, his face like a thundercloud.  “What!” he exclaimed.  “No, Bandobras!  My Tamin will not have any need to wear armor; he will not be going anywhere near that dragon!  I forbid it!”

Tamin, who had rushed to Bandobras’ side and was fingering the cuirass appreciatively, looked at his Master in dismay.  “But – “ he said, and Bandobras, said, “Now, look here – “, and Gimli said, “Legolas – “  But it was Vé who stood glaring at him, his hands on his hips, and said sternly:

“Forbid it!  I like that!  We’re few enough against a dragon, and you propose to cut our strength by a fifth?  A fifth?  Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got a proper general in Dol Galenehtar, Legolas, because it’s obvious you haven’t got the sense to conduct your own campaigns.”

“I have enough sense to recognize when a child is in over his head,” Legolas said angrily.  “Send my little esquire out to fight a dragon?  My Tamin, my Little One?  Never!”

Both Tamin and Bandobras began to expostulate, but Vé shouted them down.  “Never?” he exclaimed.  “Never?  And what about Melima?  How old was she?  Wasn’t she little more than a child herself?  And Renna’s children – from what I hear tell, the eldest was little more than nine years old.  Was he over his head?  Or any of the other kiddies?  Or what about all the old folks, the one Malbeach lined up and forced down the dragon’s passageway to be eaten?  You think they were old enough?  Or you think they hadn’t loved ones who would’ve done anything to keep them from being eaten?  Look!”  He strode over to where Dúrfinwen lay bundled, and pulled the blindfold from round her head; she stared round, terrified.  “What about her?” Vé demanded, pointing down at her.  “Think she was in over her head when those men tortured her?  How old is she?  Was she old enough to be over her head then?”

“Enough,” said Legolas weakly, holding out his hands in protest.  “Enough, enough!  No; I do not think the children Muhk ate were old enough – no one is ready; no one is capable of this – “

“Least of all you,” snapped Vé, covering Dúrfinwen’s face again.  “Look at you!  Scrawny, pale, can’t hardly think straight.  And you propose – “ He marched up to Legolas and poked him, hard, in the stomach with his finger, emphasizing his points “ – to cut our strength by a fifth – a fifth, mind you – never mind attacking a dragon is madness to start! – just because you don’t think your esquire is either ready or willing or able to risk his life to prevent that – “ he pointed back at Dúrfinwen – “happening again?  Is that what you’re saying?”  He put both fists on his hips and glared up at the Green Knight, his eyes blazing and his jaw set.  There was an awkward silence then, broken only by the crackling of the fire, and the faint soughing of air high above them.  Legolas looked helplessly down at Vé; then he turned to Tamin, who stood gazing beseechingly at his Master, holding the pretty burnished cuirass in his hands.  Legolas swallowed hard, moved his lips soundlessly a moment, then whispered:

“Tamin – are you – can you – will you do this?”

“I will, Master,” said Tamin stoutly.  “I want to, truly I do.  O let me do this, Master; please; I do not want what happened to Dúrfinwen – “ he cast a pitying look at the woman, and shivered  “ – or Melima or the girl in the stables to happen to anyone else, I don’t, truly, Master, and if by my life I might aid in taking down this vile beast and so prevent further mischance upon the innocent, well then, Master, what other aim in life shall I have?  Otherwise I might as well abjure my spurs and take up crocheting.”

Legolas choked on a sob, and with a cry Tamin flew to his Master’s arms; as Legolas embraced him Tamin said with a muffled voice:  “You must allow me to be the Black Knight eventually, you know, Master.”

“Yes,” said Legolas, weeping.  “I know.  But why now – why now?”

“I have no answer for that, Master,” said Tamin honestly.

“I did not expect you to, Little One,” said Legolas, kissing the crown of his head and releasing him.  He wiped away his tears and said with forced cheer:  “Well, then, O Vé!  Since I am apparently incapable of running mine own campaign, what do you suggest?  What is the lay of the land like hereabouts, and how might we best creep up on this dragon unknown?”

“Don’t ask much, do you?” grumbled Vé.  “You don’t ‘creep up’ on dragons, you know, Legolas.”

“You must have,” said Gimli.  He gestured to Vé’s treasure.  “How did you come by this?”

“Oh!  That’s different,” said Vé, surprised. “Well – stop up the lassie’s ears, will you?  If Muhk’s listening through her, I don’t want him knowing what I’m about to tell you.”  He waited until Legolas had put thick padding round Dúrfinwen’s ears, and bound her head again, and removed her a ways away; then satisfied he continued:  “It’s a small crack, and you must crawl, crawl, crawl through there – “ he pointed to a dark fault against the far wall, scarcely two feet high.  “It’s all covered in mud, and you can’t even crawl when you get to the end of it – you’ve got to pull yourself along on your belly.  You come out east of Muhk’s cavern, in a little dark hole; then you crawl through another passage, and climb up a ways, and crawl some more; then pop!  You’re in his store room.  Heaps of treasure he’s got, lads; it’d make your head spin, really it would – well, maybe not;” he amended, scratching his head thoughtfully.  “Likely you’ve already seen Stonehelm’s goods.  But if you go out the store room, and round a corner, and up a bit, you’re practically right on top of Muhk.  And let me tell you, he’s got mighty good hearing, he has.”  Vé grinned.  “I was lucky – first time I tried it, Muhk wasn’t at home.  That was how I started pilfering his goods – thought I could get away with a couple of things; then, you know, once you start … “ He shrugged.  “I thought, why not? Why not take back for a Dwarf what belonged to the Dwarves?  Made him mad as the devil, when he started noticing the pile shrank.  But I didn’t care.  Served him right, the nasty creature.”

“How did you get the larger pieces back?” asked Bandobras curiously, picking up a shield.  “From what you’ve said, something this size wouldn’t fit through that there tunnel.”

“I took my chances, and came round the other way,” shrugged Vé, straightening his crown.  “Out the big entrance way, up the side of the cavern wall, and down my chimney-chute.  I’d have brought some furniture for myself, but I can’t fit a bedstead down the way you came in, and he’s eaten all the bolsters anyway.”

“Is he always hungry, Vé?” asked Tamin, wide-eyed, standing still while Bandobras fussed with his cuirass.

“Always,” said Vé grimly.  “If he can’t get game, he eats kine; if he can’t get kine, he eats people; and if he can’t get people, he eats whatever he can get his jaws round.  Saw him swallow a divan whole, and spit out the feather-cushions.”

“Bandobras!” said Gimli suddenly.  “Look!”

The Hobbit turned from where he was tying the points of Tamin’s cuirass, and when he saw what Gimli held aloft he laughed.  “A blue set of armor, Gimli?” he asked gaily.  “It must’ve been made for a child – I’ll bet you anything that’ll fit me fine.  Now, that’s a sign from above and no mistake!  I’m the Blue Knight for certain-sure!”

“If you fellows are planning to use the crawl-way, you’re likely not going to be able to wear much of that,” Vé cautioned.  “You, maybe, Bandy; but Tamin, if you want to wear that cuirass, and you’re coming through the narrow channel, you’ll have to push it before you, and put it on when you get to the back chamber, hoping like the dickens Muhk doesn’t find you first.  You should be all right, Legolas,” he added, looking the Elf up and down.  “Worn down to a minute, you are; I don’t suppose you’ve had a square meal in a month.”

“There are many worse off than I,” smiled Legolas.  “Very well, then; I shall attempt to reconcile my mind in your eyes, and propose a plan:  Most of us shall traverse the narrow crawl-way, coming upon Muhk in secret; one shall come round the other way, and challenge the dragon from the entrance, so distracting him, so that the others might surprise him from behind.”  He paused, and watched the others ruminate upon this; he added apologetically:  “I know it is not much of a plan; but it seems to be all the plan this poor stupid Elf-prince can concoct at such short notice, especially since he is without his general at the moment.  A good thing too,” he added, “since I strongly suspect Meivel would have my head for getting us into this mess.”

“Well, it’s not a bad plan,” admitted Vé thoughtfully.  “And it might work; but we’ll have to break up our little party the right way, so as to break up Muhk’s on a permanent basis.”

“What do you mean, Vé?” growled Gimli.

“Well, just this,” said Vé.  “We need to send the folks most likely to kill Muhk up the crawl-way, and the folks most likely to rile him up round the front entrance.  That way, see, he’ll have his attention fixed on the big threat, and ignore the small.”

“Makes sense,” said Bandobras.  “I propose then that me, Gimli, Tamin, and Vé go up the crawl-way, and you, Legolas, get him from in front.  He seems to know you, see; he’ll smell you coming, or something; and mebbe it’s his dreams you’ve been having anyway; so he’ll be all het-up about you, and not notice us a-creepin’ up behind him with our nice, sharp, pointy things.”

“Ah!” said Gimli with a grin.  “That will not set well with you, will it, my friend?  For now I have a greater chance to slay a dragon than you; and that, I fear, shall place you several barrels of wine in my debt!”

“I am so far in your debt that all the wine in Gondor could not pay it,” said Legolas with a faint smile.  “But I concede your logic, my Bandobras; certes it is the worm seems most focused upon me, so that if I come to him as challenge he shall set his energies upon destroying me; in that way you might come at him unknown and so slay him.”

“That was the general idea,” said Vé.  He looked around and rubbed his hands together.  “Well!” he said with a smile.  “Looks like my skulking days are over, and if I’m going to die, I might as well die trying to revenge my friends than starve to death on a gold bed.  But on the off-chance this works, I guess I’d better find something to protect myself, eh?  Come along, friend Gimli; you’re stouter than me, and there’s a mighty fine scale-shirt somewhere in this pile over here.”

“And you and me mought as well not get dressed quite yet, Tamin me dear,” said Bandobras, removing the boy’s cuirass.  “If it’s as tight as Vé says in that there tunnel, there’s no sense putting it on and then taking it off again, only to put it on when we get there!”

“I’ll go find the greaves and pauldrons, Bandy!” said Tamin eagerly, and flitted over to the trunk whence Bandobras had found the cuirass.  The Hobbit smiled after him, his hands in his pockets; then with a sigh he went to Legolas, looking up at him with pity.

“You had to let me grow up, too, you know, Legolas,” he said.

“I know,” said Legolas softly.  “But you were never so innocent.”

“P’raps not,” Bandobras admitted with a grin.  “Caused a bit o’ trouble in my time, haven’t I?”  He sobered and then said under his breath:  “Don’t go a-worrying over Tamin, now, Legolas.  I’ll be sure to keep my eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t go of doing something stupid.”

“Make sure of that for yourself, too, my Bandobras,” said Legolas soberly.  “I am not so overrun with friends that I can afford to lose one as dear as you.”

“Pah!” said Bandobras.  “I’m a Took, I am, and don’t you go of forgetting it, now!  I’ve got the blood of Peregrin Took of the Tower in my veins; and you know, if old Mad Baggins could get on the other side of a dragon, why, so might I!”

Legolas laughed.  “Why, so you might!” he said gaily.  “And I thank you, my dear Bandobras, for your most timely reminder!  Now,” he said, lowering his voice:  “Do you shadow him, my dear Little One; Tamin shall be your responsibility whilst I am about my task of baiting the worm.”

“You can count on a Took!” said Bandobras with a wink, and sauntered off to help Tamin pick out his greaves.  Legolas watched him go; watched him stand by his esquire, and point out gravely to the boy the especial benefits and detractions of this or that piece of armor; Tamin listened with sober interest, his bright winsome face grave.  Tamin was so dirty, thought Legolas; so dirty, and bedraggled, and afraid, and tired, and hungry; but still the daffodil-child glowed with cheer and hopefulness, his tangled golden hair brighter than Vé’s treasure, his eyes lit within like the lights of the Arkenstone itself.  Legolas thought of returning him to his mother and father, of delivering him safely back to Dol Galenehtar and its shining towers and white walls, its leaping cataracts and lush vineyards.  “But not me,” he thought; he heard the whisper of wings, and looking up beheld the nightingale fluttering weightless above him; it regarded him with expressionless black eyes.  “The Hornet stings the Worm. But the bird eats both.  I will not return to Dol Galenehtar, or to Eryn Lasgalen.”  Then his thoughts were arrested by Gimli’s voice, and blinking he beheld his friend stumping up to him, holding a beautiful helm with a camail shimmering behind it; he was grinning.

“Let us get this on you, Legolas!” he said cheerily.  “A pretty trinket, is it not?  See the rivets, the reinforcing plate!  The inlay on the cheekpiece!  The gems along the nose guard!  And the camail is very fine too; very tough and flexible.  It should turn arrow and blade and spear, and perchance fang; but Vé is right I fear:  Should Muhk fix his jaws upon you he shall crush you; a hauberk and camail are little help to you then.”

“If Muhk fix his jaws about me, ‘twill be his fangs I dread the most,” said Legolas, smiling.  He let Gimli affix the mail shirt to him; and then casually, as though he thought nothing of saying it, Legolas spoke:  “O Gimli – should I fail to return from this mission, would you please do me the favor of bringing Tamin and his little white horse to Éomer?  I think the King of Rohan would be interested in the steed.”

Gimli’s hands froze on the camail,  and he glared up at Legolas through his brows.  “O no you don’t,” he growled.  “There will be no histrionics or heroics here!  We are here to kill a dragon, and go home.  We will deal with Malbeach and Éomer and our fathers later.  But there shall be no talk of should you fail.  You will not fail!  You cannot; I expressly forbid it.”  And he struck the helm angrily with his palm; it clattered against Legolas’ forehead.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Legolas, raising his eyebrows.  “You expressly forbid it?  I am not allowed then?  Very well!  I shall succeed simply to please you, my friend!”

“See that you do!” muttered Gimli, turning away and wiping at his eyes.  “The alternative is … unacceptable.”  And he stomped away, shouting at Bandobras to find him some armor.  Legolas watched him go with a fond smile.

“Dear Gimli!” he thought.  “What should I do without you?”  He sobered then and thought, “And what shall you do without me?  Ah, no!  I shall not think of it, ere my sad errand o’erwhelm me, and I displease him in my failure to slay a dragon.”  The enormity of his task visited him then, and he saw in his mind’s eye his small weak form menacing Muhk’s mighty mouth and coils; far from fearing though he laughed at the thought.  “How presumptuous I am!” he thought merrily to himself.  “Me, slay a dragon!  It is well I have my friends to do it for me.  I just hope they remember to kill him after I am eaten!”  And whistling he went hunting for some greaves to protect his legs.

It took all of Legolas’ soothing words, and Bandobras’ terse commands, and Gimli’s and Vé’s assurances the mountain would not eat him, to impel Tamin into the hole.  It was low and triangular, and had a thick ridge running down the bottom of it where Vé’s elbows and knees had dragged in the slimy stinking mud; it was horribly dark, and smelled awful.  Tamin trembled from the top of his shining golden head to the tips of his shoes, and the tears stood out in his bright gray eyes; but with a last injunction from his Master that “I will be waiting with the dragon for you when you come out,” Tamin swallowed heavily, and with a sob darted into the crack after Vé.

Bandobras followed, grumbling about Elves and their prejudices; Gimli paused ere clambering after, and taking Legolas firmly by the elbow he said:  “Now, Legolas, remember what I told you:  Do not be foolish!  Go round carefully, for Muhk may lay in wait for you; creep down as best you can, and keep him occupied – speak to him if you must, and give us time to come round behind him.  But do not do anything he says!  Fight his compulsions and wishes!”

“I hope that I can!” said Legolas heavily.  “But his will is far stronger than Malbeach’s; I fear if he let the full weight of his mind upon me I shall not be able to resist him.  Hurry then, O my friend!  I will watch for you in the shadows behind Muhk’s vile back!”  He embraced Gimli, and Gimli roughly returned the caress; then without another word the Dwarf slid into the narrow crack, and vanished.

Legolas wished to stand and collect his thoughts, for the son of Glóin was dear to him, and he wished to bring to mind all the fond remembrances of their friendship. But time pressed upon him, so he ran to Dúrfinwen then, and lightly loosened her bonds.  “In this way,” he thought, gazing with pity upon her spare form, “she might in an hour or two loose herself, and be able to escape; if we all perish, I would fain have her die slowly here.  But if we are successful, it may take her long enough that we may restrain her ere she finds her way out of these ropes.”  When he had finished, he lay his hand upon her stubbled head in benediction, though she twitched away from his touch; then sadly he hurried back up the cleft.

Vé’s trail was fresh, and Legolas had a better feel for moving underground than most Elves, for he had been raised in the caverns of his sire’s home.  He clambered round rocks and up shelves and down cracks, ever pressing upward; and when he gained the steep chimney-slope to the opening above him he paused, and listened for the dragon’s breath, or for any other sound that might alert him the way was watched.  But though he peered through the crack above him as hard as he might, he saw naught but stars speckling a dark sky; and though he listened, and smelled, and cast about anxiously, he perceived naught but the dark, dank sounds and scents of a barren night.  So cautiously he crept up the chimney, wishing the chain mail didn’t jingle so; and slowly peered out of the cleft.

The night air would have been fresh had it smelt clean; but though the air was clear and cool it held within it ever the pervading stench of decay; and upon Legolas’ head he felt Muhk’s evil pressing down upon him.  But he clambered out of the hole, and as silently as he could he stole down the side of the hill to the entryway of the dragon’s lair.  He saw that the guards’ bodies had been devoured, and shuddered; “But at least,” he thought, “these men were dead when Muhk ate them.” 

It was terribly quiet.  Nor bird nor beast nor chuck of water disturbed the awful silence, and from within the cavern breathed the heavy oppressive weight of Muhk’s will.  Clinging to the slimy walls with his back, Legolas slid the length of the main passageway, descending down, down, down into the darkness; the flickering firelight was his only guide – that, and the sense of the worm’s presence, mocking him, drawing him ever closer to his doom.  When he reached the final turning he groped for his sword and drew it as quietly as he could; it gleamed bright in the darkness.  Legolas studied it soberly.  “Irmatenagar!” he thought, running his finger along the blood groove.  “What blood shall you taste tonight, blade of my grandsire?  O that he would see your work upon the dragon, if I am allowed a blow; O that he would know his sword tasted the blood of Morgoth’s foul brood!  How pleased he would be, to think his grandson labored to protect his son’s kingdom!”  He thought then of his father’s ring, taken from Renna’s hand; with a sigh he fetched it from his inner pocket, and placed it upon his own finger.  “My Lord Father!” he thought, looking down upon the pale white stone, like a small moon in a devilish darkness.  “Whatever weaknesses they preyed upon, know that your son shall answer them, as best he can; not that he is stronger than you, Ada, but that he is simply better prepared.”  So he took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders; and wishing mightily he knew where Gimli and the others were at that moment, he rounded the corner.

Muhk was coiled round his fire, glistening with slime, and his black eyes were fixed upon the Green Knight.  The long black tongue flicked in and out, in and out; drops of dark spittle sprayed from it as it went.  Legolas had planned to stand firmly before the vile beast, to raise his sword; to speak commandingly, authoritatively.  But a wave of nausea struck him and he nearly buckled over; the filthy tatters of Muhk’s will crept over him, winding round his head, whispering in his ears, surrounding him like the thickest and most stifling fog.  Through this dimness Legolas heard the dragon speak.

“Ah,” he hissed; his voice was deep and sonorous, and Legolas could hear his breath steaming from his nostrils.  “The Little Yellow Hornet.”

“Muhk,” he gasped, scarce able to draw in breath; he wondered how long he could hold off ere his friends arrived.  

The dragon laughed.  It was a terrible sound.  “So why have you come?” he asked silkily.  “Not to remonstrate me for trying to eat your stunted little friend, I hope!  How insulting he was!  It is every dragon’s bounden duty to seek revenge on those who offend us.”

“Is it?”  There were half a hundred clever things Legolas could have said, but he could not seem to force any of them up his throat or out of his mouth; he felt his gorge rise and swallowed it as best he could.  “I – apologize – for my friend’s behavior – you know Dwarves, O Muhk – they are – rather indignant where treasure is involved.”

“So they are,” the worm purred, flicking its tongue out again; its great black eyes were fixed on Legolas, and he realized the dragon’s head was advancing – the dragon was approaching him, sliding on his slimy belly round the fire, his great muscular coils rippling and dripping with ooze.  The stench nearly overwhelmed him, and Legolas had to touch the wall to brace himself; his fingers cringed from the sludge that coated it.  He stared at the dragon’s eyes, his legs like pillars of stone; his feet seemed to have frozen to the earth:  he could not move.  Still Muhk approached, undulating, his gleaming wet head weaving back and forth; in his eyes burned a contemptible fire that pierced Legolas through, like a pin affixes a moth to a board.  “What a pretty shirt,” the dragon said; Legolas struggled to clear his head, but Muhk’s will overwhelmed him.  “Wherever did you get it?  Not from my storehouse, surely!”

“I – “ Legolas stammered; his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and the hand holding Irmatenagar loosened.  “I – “

“Now, now,” chuckled the dragon; he could smell its breath now, heavy and disgusting, like an open grave.  “What is it, Little Yellow Hornet?  Ushtâk said you liked to talk.  Do you not still like to talk?  Talk to me, Little Yellow Hornet; you owe me this at least, for you took my servant Ushtâk from me ere he could penetrate your father’s defenses.”

The implications of this would have staggered Legolas, had he been capable of coherent thought; however he was entranced by the dragon’s eyes, and could not move or even blink as the huge head lowered itself to him.  Slack-mouthed he stared into the deep black eyes, the dark fire flickering within, calling him, repelling him.

“But I got what I wanted eventually,” Muhk said; his voice sounded hollow, as though it echoed in Legolas’ skull.  “Belias only broke so far – only told us of the password through the river into your father’s keep.  It took Malbeach quite a while to wrest the password itself from Belias’ beloved … Belias’ beloved, in whom he confided all his secrets … his beloved, whom Renna hated, for she could never be as lovely as she … his beloved, your mercer.”

His words were awful; Legolas needed to speak, to cry out, but he could not.  Muhk saw him struggling and seemed to find it amusing, for he gave his awful gurgling laugh again, spraying slime all over Legolas as he did so.  “O yes!” he said.  “And Malbeach’s men shall go in, claiming to be from Dale and therefore allies – and they shall put all the warriors to the sword, and defile all the women – and when they have done, they shall empty the coffers, and drive your people out, and your father shall at last be at Malbeach’s mercy, as my servant has so long desired, the miserable wretch.  And then they shall burn – burn – burn the forest! Burn the trees, right down to the ground!  I have no need of fire-drakes, you see, O Little Yellow Hornet; I have men, and men can set things aflame as well as my cousins, you know.”  He chuckled, watching the dismay and fear grow on Legolas’ face, watching the prince battle his coercion.  “Fight all you like!” he hissed, and drew his face ever closer; the reek nearly overwhelmed Legolas, and his legs trembled; his arms were like lead.  “The forest shall burn – and when all has been driven from the flames to me – Elves and men, children and maidens, stags and rabbits and bears – I shall eat them – O yes, I shall eat – and eat – and eat!  I shall eat until I vomit their bones, and then I shall eat some more – I shall never go hungry – never!”  He roared with laughter then, and Legolas’ vision dimmed; he saw the mouth open round him and thought:  “This is it then.  This is the end of me.”  But then Muhk’s head jerked back, and he howled in pain; Legolas heard a familiar voice, and with it all the fog burned away; though his legs were still weak, and his knees felt like aspic.

“Gimli!” he cried in relief, shakily raising his sword and looking round.  Sure enough dancing round the fire were his friends, Vé and Gimli wielding great war-axes, and striking at Muhk’s slippery scales, chipping them away and laughing when the dragon recoiled; then Bandobras bounded in, clad in a brilliant blue cuirass, his eyes shining; his little sword pierced Muhk’s skin and drew blood, and the dragon twisted and roared.  Then Tamin darted forward; he saw the worm’s soft underbelly, and more quickly than Legolas thought the boy could move Tamin dashed right in to the beast’s coils, and with a mighty thrust he drove his sword into Muhk’s side.

This hurt the dragon far more than either axes or Bandobras’ small sword; and Muhk rose his full height, black blood dripping from the wound and bellowing furiously.  But Tamin still held his hilt, and was pulled upward, startled and afraid; then Muhk turned heavily, and threw himself upon his side, with Tamin beneath him.

Legolas heard his esquire cry in pain, and was certain he could hear the bones break.  Horrified he stumbled forward, his legs numb and unfeeling, swinging his sword desperately, and he cried:  “Tamin, Tamin!”  The dragon rolled over and turned its head, and there Legolas saw crushed in the detritus and debris of Muhk’s domain his poor Little One, twisted and writhing, his leg bent and broken beneath him.  His sword had been wrested from his hands, for Muhk bore it yet in his skin; the dragon hissed and gnashed its jaws, and lunged down to snap the boy up.

Legolas staggered desperately, but he was too far away; he could not get there in time.  But then he saw something blue flash into his vision:  Bandobras, face white and set, swinging and slashing and crying:  “Dol Galenehtar, Dol Galenehtar!  The Blue Knight for the Green!”  And Muhk started back, nonplussed.

But then Bandobras looked up, and beheld the dragon’s face; the black eyes held his, and he went suddenly still.  “Bandobras!  No!  Do not look at him!” cried Legolas, his heart turning to stone.  “Bandobras!  No!”

“Yes,” hissed Muhk.  Bandobras dropped his sword, his face very blank.  Muhk smiled then, and drew his head back, his tongue flicking out.

“Bandy!” cried Legolas in a terrible voice.

Muhk’s great jaws snapped down.  Gimli screamed, and Tamin screamed, and even Vé screamed; but Bandobras Took made not a sound as he died.

26. Nightingale

It felt as though a century had passed.  The seconds crawled by, each one lasting for hours.  Ever filling his senses were the scents of decay, of blood and flesh; the sounds of cries and screams, the crackle of the fire, the slick squashing sound of the dragon’s slimy scales; the vision of the bloody ground, Bandobras’ sword lying alone, covered in black blood.

There was a roaring, something pressing on his ears, on the edges of his vision.  It was like a vise on his forehead, and the relentless crash of a cataract.  His eyes were cloudy, as though filled with oil; he couldn’t even blink to clear them.

There was something in his hand – heavy and cold.  So, so heavy.  His fingers clasped it loosely; he was not strong enough to lift it.

Black eyes, filled with fire.  Fire, burning his home.  Home, gone forever.  Forever, stretching before him; bleak, empty, meaningless.  Meaningless.

Crawl, hornet.  Crawl.

What had Ushtâk meant?  Did he truly mean for him to fall to his hands and knees, creep through the mud like a worm?  Or had the Orc wanted him to bow to him – admit his ascendancy, deliver his sword and ring, vow subservience?

Crawl to me, hornet.  Crawl.  Eat Muhk.  Muhk.  Crawl.

“What is he doing?” cried Gimli, dismayed.

“He is taken,” said Vé heavily, stepping back as the dragon lowered his horrible head to the prince.  “He has lost.  Muhk has him.  It’s no good now.”  He dropped his head in despair.  “It’s over,” he said; his green eyes filled with tears.

“No!” cried Gimli.  “No, no; it wasn’t supposed to end like this!  Bandy! Legolas! Legolas!”

“We’ve failed, Gimli,” said Vé harshly, throwing his axe aside.  “All we can do is run – run!  And starve to death in that damned cave!”

“No!” said Gimli, setting his jaw and lifting his axe.  “We have not failed – it is not over – Legolas!”

Vé shook his head.  “And I thought the Elf was optimistic,” he grumbled.  “He has him, Gimli – look at his face – he’s gone.  He’s gone.”

The bones felt hard and unyielding under his palms and knees.  A skull with flesh and hair yet clinging to it rolled beneath the heel of his hand, throwing him off balance.  He blinked, struggling to push the cloying pressure away.

“If you are truly an orphan, little Hobbit,” Legolas said gravely, “if you have no family, no mother nor father to succor you, then you may seek a home elsewhere; however if you leave behind someone who loves you, would you not rather return to them, ere they pine for your company?”

“Mother is fine,” said the tiny child, gazing with adoration up at him.  “O please, please, sir; she don’t need me; she’s got my grandfather and my uncle and all them, and enough sisters to choke a mule; she won’t miss me none – she won’t, truly, sir.  O please, sir, let me go to your father’s with you!  For it’ll be such an adventure, it really will, sir, and I never seen Elves before, leastaways not more’n a couple at a time; O please, sir!”

Nestled down into his arms, brown eyes drowsing, a thumb in his mouth; the rock and sway of the horse’s withers between his knees, the squeak of his leather trousers against his hilt.  Brown curls, a bony little body, half-starved and cold, gathered in his embrace, limp and trusting.  “Hobbits should be fat and jolly,” he whispered to himself, and snuggled the little child up against his chest to warm him.

“Crawl to me, Hornet,” hissed Muhk, his great slimy head weaving back and forth, his burning black eyes fixed upon Legolas’ face.  “Crawl.  Crawl.”

“Back, back, you filthy beast!” cried Gimli desperately, hewing at Muhk’s flank and chipping off a scale; the flesh beneath was grey and oozing.  The dragon flinched, and flicked his head back; Gimli hefted his axe and shouted:  “Back off him!  You want to fight someone who hates you?  Fight me, fight me!”

“You are a fool,” grunted Vé, and when Muhk lunged at them he pushed Gimli aside just in time, and heaved his axe at Muhk’s face.  The blade caught the dragon’s nostril, and the drake howled in pain, and snapped at the young Dwarf; but now it was Gimli’s turn, and he caught Muhk’s jaw, slicing a good-sized gash in it; the black blood flowed.  Muhk hissed, his eyes furious; then he reared up, twenty yards over their heads; twisting his glistening body round he dived at Tamin, who was trying weakly to crawl away, his leg limp and lifeless behind him.

“Tamin, look out!” called Gimli, striking desperately at the worm’s stomach; the scales and skin were like tough boiled leather though, and his axe made but a scratch.  Gimli saw Tamin turn and look up; his pale eyes were terrified, and he was white with pain and fear. 

The voices pierced through the fog; Legolas shook his head violently to clear it.  He looked down between his hands, at the bones and detritus there; he saw gleaming on his finger his father’s ring, mocking his weakness with memories of his father’s adamant strength.  “What am I doing?” he thought, confused; he groped for his sword, and found the hilt warm and ready in his hand.  “That’s better,” he thought, and staggered to his feet.  His head spun; he could hardly focus on the battle before him, and he felt nauseous.

“I told you I’d come back, Master!” laughed the Hobbit; it was strange to Legolas to think that Bandobras had got taller, but he had; he was tall enough to reach his arms round his  Master’s belt-buckle without stretching.  He still took two strides to Legolas’ one, but they walked together through the tower’s hallways, Legolas’ hand on his little esquire’s head.  All they passed laughed with relief:  the black mood had lifted; their prince was returned to them with the arrival of the Halfling.  “And O what a trip it was, Master; and wait ‘til you see Mother!  She’s ever so happy to be here, she really is, Master; she said she wanted to see the kitchens right away!”

Legolas laughed out of sheer relief.  He could not be unhappy with Bandobras by his side.  Bless Gimli!

“Gimli,” he whispered; he blinked, and saw his friend running after Muhk, calling Tamin’s name.  Startled, Legolas saw his esquire, scrambling weakly back from the dragon as it advanced; like a shock of cold water he came to himself, and with a shout raised his sword and advanced through the bones.

Muhk lunged, and Tamin instinctively covered his face with his arm; but then Vé struck off the tip of the dragon’s tail, and with a bellow Muhk writhed round, lashing with his body; Vé tried to scramble out of the way, but he was caught in the chest by the swinging tail, and was flung away with a crash.

“Vé!” cried Legolas, and rushed forward, Irmatenagar aloft.  He saw Gimli dart behind Muhk’s body, saw the numerous picks and scrapes in the dragon’s scales, but no wound sufficient to cripple him.  “We might exhaust ourselves, chipping away at him like beavers at a great oak,” he thought; “and get naught for our trouble but eaten!  He must be soft somewhere!”  He stumbled over something then; thinking it was but a thigh-bone he kicked it aside; but Muhk had heard him, and swung round, his blazing black eyes upon Legolas.

Legolas looked away, frustrated and afraid; he could not look at Muhk lest the worm ensorcel him; but he could not look away lest Muhk eat him.  He heard the dragon speak; the words were incomprehensible and vile, and the clouds descended upon his head again.

“I cannot get my lord to help me with my embroidery,” Dúrfinwen complained, and Mistress Pearl laughed.  Round and round his splayed fingers the brightly colored yarn was wound; he rocked his arms back and forth, back and forth as she rolled.  Bandobras stood by the cremiére, boiling up a pot of tea; it smelled sweet and pungent.  “How about some buttered toast with our tea?” the Hobbit asked, turning and grinning; his round cheeks were flushed with the heat of the fire, and his brass buttons gleamed.  “Come now, Mother; what would you say to some nice hot buttered toast?” 

“Do say yes,” urged Seimiel with a laugh; she sat upon the floor by Dúrfinwen’s chair, her arm resting in her friend’s lap.  “I declare that Hobbits make the best toast and tea in all Middle Earth, without exception.” 

“Mind you don’t go embrangling that there yarn, now, Master,” the Hobbit warned, solemnly affixing a piece of day-old bread upon the toasting-fork.  “You don’t want to go getting Mother off-put, do you?” 

“I shall avoid such happenstance with all assiduousness, my Bandobras,” Legolas laughed, and Mistress Pearl smiled.  The toothsome smell of hot toast and butter soon filled the little sitting room, and his ears were filled with the light and melodious voices of his maids, their hoops set aside in preference for Bandobras’ strong milky tea, and crisp buttery toast.

“Fight it, Legolas; fight it!” begged Gimli, panting; he was hot and exhausted, and his hip felt as though someone had stuck an awl in the joint; it was burning and painful.  He saw Vé from across the chamber; the young Dwarf had reached Tamin, and was helping him struggle to the edge of the wall; they both looked terrified.  And Muhk towered above them, stretched upon his body like a striking serpent, flat narrow head curled down, the terrible mouth smiling at the Green Knight.  Legolas stood, his sword raised but his head turned away; he looked very pale and thin.  Muhk’s shadow fell across him, and his head drooped.

“Legolas!” cried Gimli, limping forward and brandishing his axe; he saw Muhk’s tail swing round toward him and tried to dodge it, but he was too slow; it struck him like a hammer, and he clattered to the side, gasping for breath; his ribs had broken.  “Legolas!” he gasped, blinking and looking round; he saw Legolas’ face turn toward him, eyes clouded with tears and lip trembling.  “Gimli,” he mouthed; then Muhk spoke, the deep vile voice echoing through the chamber.

“Little Yellow Hornet!” he hissed; the fire crackled and spit, and Muhk’s coils squelched and squashed together; twin jets of steam issued from the worm’s nostrils, and he vomited up bone and bits of blue armor in black bile.  Legolas retched and staggered back; but he swung his sword at Muhk’s face when the dragon advanced.  Muhk twitched back, black tongue flicking out.

“On your knees, Hornet!” the dragon ordered, and Legolas’ legs trembled and weakened.  The pressure on his head and back were tremendous, too much for him to bear; he buckled beneath it, his head spinning, his eyes clouded.

“Legolas!” cried Gimli in despair.

The fresh damp dirt soaked through the knees of his fine hose, and the edge of his doublet was soiled.  He wept, and held Bandobras tight.  The Hobbit sobbed desperately, small hands clinging to his Master’s hair and shoulders, collapsed in his grief.  “Mother, Mother!” he cried, and Legolas opened his eyes.  There the monument stood, gracefully carven from stone, with Pearl Took’s name upon it.  It was strewn with flowers and reeds, and someone – Seimiel, perhaps – had placed upon it an offering of toast and porridge, long cold, and an empty tea-cup.  The sorrow tore at him anew and he wept as well, he and his esquire both as the sun insouciantly shone and the birds so inconsiderately sang.  “I am so sorry, Little One,” he whispered into Bandobras’ curls.  “I am so, so sorry.”

“At last,” Muhk hissed.  Legolas could smell his foul breath; through his crooked camail he saw the gleam of the dragon’s fangs.  The long black tongue flicked out, brushed his cheek, leaving a gobbet of slime running down his neck and beneath the collar of his mail shirt.  The great mouth opened.  Legolas gasped, his fingers flexing; he could feel his mind slip away.

A voice reached him then, terrified; a dear voice, harsh and deep, calling him back:  “Legolas!”

He blinked, his heart shocked into life as though he had fallen into icy water.  His fingers flexed: His right hand felt Irmatenagar’s hilt, his left, the counterguard of another sword.  He groped for it; it felt hot and alive beneath his fingers, flooding his arm with sudden strength.  Irmatenagar answered the surge, and the swords trembled in his grip; but he could not seem to command his back to unbend, and Muhk’s horrible mind pressed so upon him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fluttering movement; glancing at it he descried the nightingale, fixing him with a stern eye.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” it demanded irritably.  “Stand up, you fool!  Or you’ll get a tooth in your back.”

“I am sorry, Gimli,” said Legolas sadly, and staggered to his feet, arms and swords extended as the dragon struck.  The shock of the double blow drove him nearly to his knees again, but he could see, as though through a mist, Irmatenagar piercing up through Muhk’s mouth so far the tip extruded from the eye; the strange sword lurched in Legolas’ left hand, and cut off the coiling black tongue.  Muhk roared in agony and the huge body writhed and roiled, dragging Legolas up with it; he kicked the air, and twisted with his right hand so that the black eyeball exploded in blood, and struck anew with his left, driving sword and hand and arm as far down the dragon’s throat as he could.

He scarcely felt the fang slice through the hauberk, and when his helm clattered off he only thought, there, that’s better before being flung to the ground.  Something very heavy landed on him, and something wet covered him; then he was hot, too hot; his skin burned, and he was screaming, though his voice sounded very far away.  There was the flutter of wings, and the cacophony of death, drowning out the tumult in his head; then it stopped hurting, and his very being seemed to lift lightly away, and drift like a feather on the wind.

And far to the south, in fair Ithilien, Faramir woke with tears in his eyes, crying aloud the name of the Green Knight.

(A/N:  Many, many thanks to those of you who have been following this convoluted tale!  Thanks to my beta, the remarkable Nieriel Raina, this chapter is now ready for your consumption.  Be sure to thank her!  Without her help, my writing would be nearly incomprehensible.

--Le Rouret)

Chapter 27.  The Sun-Daughter

Dúrfinwen scrambled up the rocky slope in the dark, sobbing as she went.  “No – no,” she moaned, scrabbling in the rock and dirt; the palm of her left hand was bloodied, and the knuckles of her right battered; the sword she had stolen from Vé’s cache was clutched tight in her fist, and she in her trembling panic would at times accidentally cut her left arm as she lurched and staggered along.  “Eat … Muhk … crawl, crawl – “  The loose shingle slid beneath her feet and she fell, striking her head on the rock wall; it stunned her slightly, and she lay weeping for a time, curled up as tight as she could, her left hand covering her stubbled head.

It was dark; so, so dark, and she was so afraid; the eyes were everywhere, the hands cruel and grasping, and echoing through her head were the voices – raucous, harsh, laughing, and the screams of her friends.  And ever, piercing her and driving her thoughts away, the red-gleaming, jet-glittering eyes, and the stench, O the stench!  Death, and mud, and pain; it filled her skull to bursting, ‘til she felt like clawing out her eyes.

Her fear filled her wasted bones with new strength, and she lurched to her feet, blindly groping upward, out of the harsh light and glittering gold behind her, echoing yet with the voices of her captors.  She looked up, and beheld the twinkle of stars; they were beautiful, and strange, yet in their strangeness she knew she ought to recognize them.  She cringed back, clasping ever tighter the stolen sword in her torn and wasted hands; the tip of the blade trembled with the force of her grip.  She looked down at it, its shining knuckle-bow embossed and etched, the elaborate frill of the counterguard.  She saw also her hands, strong in fear despite her trials, still torn from her struggle with the ropes that had bound her on that golden bed.

What good was it, escaping the gold and fire and rope, to die beneath the cold regard of those sparkling and remote stars?  Sword or no, she knew she was weak and alone, and her enemies were many.  The weight of the rock pressed down upon her soul, trapping and smothering her; but outside the confines of the tunnel she would be stripped bare and defenseless, vulnerable and isolated.  She gave a frustrated sob, clutching at her forehead, unable to make up her mind – the press of the earth over her, or the shivering elements; she was doomed either way.

Give up, said the voices in her head, soothing and reasonable.  Release yourself; end the pain.  End it – end it –  And it would have been so easy, so easy to wedge the hilt in one of those jagged stone cracks and pierce herself through, releasing her tormented mind at last.  But deep in Dúrfinwen’s soul there remained yet a tough, hardened core, a fierce and illogical stubbornness that despite her madness rose up in protest – Not yet, she answered, and gathering the tattered remains of her courage, she turned from the tempting clefts in the rock to brave the starlight after all.

But somewhere beneath her feet rumbled a bellow – like a curse from the deepest bowels of Mandos, evil and filled with despair – and overcome in her terror she collapsed, casting the blade down, and covering her head with her arms and groaning, “No, no … you promised … you promised!”  Another bellow, like the alarm of a necromancer, and the dread of it filled her and set her bones to trembling; it seemed to seep within her very skin, soaking into her so that she couldn’t escape it.

Then – the clouds broke; the noise faded; the eyes disappeared – and Dúrfinwen remembered her name.

She sat still, marveling at her empty mind, the clean thoughts and memories; then the enormity of her past rose up in front of her, and it was far more terrible than her madness had been.  She sprang to her feet with a harsh curse, snatched up her sword, and burst out of the tunnel into the starlight, unsure where she would go, or what she would do; she desired only to escape the awful images in her head.

She ran, her breath shrill in the back of her throat, her heart hammering like a drum.  She slid down rocky slopes, falling to her knees only to leap up and run some more; she cared not for her destination, but wished only to run, run, run – away from the memories, now sharp and clear and horribly close, of her friends’ torment, and her own disgrace.  She wept as she ran, her eyes swimming with tears, sobbing harshly; at last she could run no more, and casting the sword aside, she collapsed upon the moist earth, panting and crying. 

When she had caught her breath, she lay on the ground, curling her legs up into her belly and staring at the sword by her hand gleaming dully in the starlight.  Despair followed dismay all too easily; she lay in blue and silver shadows, breathing in dust and dirt and the strange, homey smell of grass, of shrub and kine.  End it, whispered the voices again; the starlight glinted on the blade, tempting her.  But then she heard the heavy shuffling movement of a large animal, and rolled over wearily, hoping it were a lion come to devour her, and so end her misery.

But she sat up in surprise, for looking down at her was a little white horse!  “I know you,” she said, amazed; the small stallion glowed like snow in the dimness, his black eyes curious and unafraid.  “You are Tormal’s cart-horse … I would know your stout neck and funny face anywhere.”

The little white horse shuffled up to her, head lowered, sniffing.  He was chewing comfortably, long stalks of grass with dirt still on the roots sticking from his mouth like wriggling whiskers.  She put out her hand, and he snuffed at it; his lips were wet and warm.  Then he nosed about around her, finding more grass, and twitched it with his upper lip, and ate it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, greatly puzzled.  “You ought to be in Eryn Vorn – not – not here …”   She trailed off, and got to her feet, dusting off her breeches.  “Here … where am I, anyway?”  She looked around.  She had ended up somehow in a little green vale, speckled with scrubby bushes and small stunted trees; but there was the sound and smell of fresh water trickling nearby, and the low comforting hoot of an owl.  A dark mass to her left she readily identified as a wood; she could hear the trees, calling to her, pitying her, welcoming her.  She took a deep breath; the air was clean – no smell of decay, or smoke, or death.  The little white horse thrust his nose into her hand, and drooled on her.  She gave a breathy laugh.

“The same as always, Snowy, are you not?” she asked, caressing the broad short ears; they were velvety to the touch.  “Ever you would leave some smut of half-chewed greenery upon my skirts and sleeves … but I begrudge you not; Tormal is not a loving master, is he?”  The little horse let her rub his nose, whickering a little and nibbling on the tunic sleeve.  Absently Dúrfinwen looked down at her clothing; she did not recognize it.  “I am dressed like a boy,” she said to the horse, amused despite her pain and fear.  “Well, it is not as though anyone is around to see me …”   She trailed off, her heart sinking when she thought of her beautiful wardrobe, filled with dress after dress in glorious embroidery hanging; of her pin-tucked petticoats, elaborate sleeves and shining ribbons.  And gone was the pretty riding-dress she had worn when striking out with Belias, Belegtilion, and Melima to the East – the pretty dress Edlothiel had given her, its very beading worked upon the collar by her beautiful queen’s hand.  How she had ever envied Edlothiel her hair – her long, glorious, silvery-white hair, like a cataract of mithril!  And how as a child she had despised her own chestnut curls!  She touched her head, and felt the scarred and stubbled scalp; and then she remembered Belias’ breaking grief, when he was forced to see her so violently lose her status as a maid in a prince’s household.  She felt ill when the images of those terrible men returned to her; but she fought them back, and buried her face in the horse’s fragrant mane.  “I will not think on it,” she said into the warm soft neck.  “It is … it is too much … O, Melima, poor Melima!”  She wept anew then, more comfortable with pity than shame; then the voices of the trees called her again, and she heard, warbling in some hidden brake, the voice of a nightingale.

She smelled fir and pine and loam, and the lure of the fresh green overtook her.  It would do Melima’s memory no good for her to waste away in this sparse wilderness; she might as well seek to determine the fate of her people and lands, in spite of her handicaps.  She picked up the sword and hefted it.  It was a light blade, almost a rapier; not a weapon with which she was terribly familiar, beyond the standard combat training any member of the prince’s household followed.  But it felt solid and comforting in her grip, and she reflected that it was better than nothing.  Following the nightingale’s voice, she walked toward the dark wood, Tormal’s cart-horse following at her elbow, head down, ears pricked forward.  Together they trudged beneath the eaves and boughs of the wood, and Dúrfinwen’s Laiquenda soul rejoiced to touch the green and living things; she leant against the bole of a fir tree, inhaling the sharp fragrance, and sighed.

Then the trees spoke to her in soft cautioning tones, telling her of a walker nearby; trembling, she sank behind a low shrub, resisting the urge to cry angrily to the heavens that she had had quite enough by now, thank you!  But then the trees relented, and the warning faded into reassurance; crawling cautiously out from the shelter of the shrub, Dúrfinwen looked around, sniffing, her sword held low.  She smelled something burning … something fragrant and familiar.  “Pipe-smoke!” she thought, surprised; she knew the men of Dale and Esgaroth did not indulge.  “Is it a Dwarf, I wonder?”  And she rose shakily to her feet.

Something fluttered by her head, and she started; it was however but a nightingale, clicking and chirping earnestly.  She looked back at the white horse.  “Well?” she asked him.   “Do I follow?”  The horse merely stood and chewed at her, and with a wry smile, Dúrfinwen turned to the nightingale.  “Well, lead then!” she said, and the bird disappeared around the trunk of a large oak.

She went round it, but the bird had vanished; greatly puzzled, she pushed forward through the thickening wood ‘til she came upon a clearing.  Then she stopped and stared, her heart in her throat.

The old man was knocking his pipe on a branch; ashes and burnt weed tumbled out of it and misted onto his dirty brown cloak.  He merely grunted and shook out the sleeves, tucked the pipe into a soft leather pouch at his waist, and removed his hat, scratching at his grizzled hair.  He did not seem to notice Dúrfinwen at all, but was muttering to himself, frowning into his tangled, dirty brown beard and glaring at the plants by his feet.  “Comfrey, star-weed, butterbur,” he growled, kicking at the unoffending flowers with one dusty boot.  “Toadflax … lemon balm … marjoram … elecampane … not hyssop, damn it!  And too cold for aloe.”

The horse nickered, and Dúrfinwen jumped in alarm; the old man but looked irritably at her and said:  “Well, Anóriel, don’t just stand and stare!  Help me find these herbs!  You are the Laiquenda, after all.”

Dúrfinwen was stunned; the old man simply glared at her, his brown eyes glittering dangerously beneath lowered brows.  Not quite knowing what else to say, and her senses numbed by repeated bludgeoning, she said:  “Toadflax, sir?”

“Toadflax will do,” he growled, shifting his dirty brown cloak.  “Comfrey is best.  But I must – must! – have star-weed, or the burns inside will never heal.”

“No?”  Dúrfinwen stepped back cautiously, sword at ready; the white cart-horse whickered and blew, nosing at her feet incuriously.  “Star-weed … grows hereabouts.”

“I know it does, Anóriel!” snapped the old man.  “That is why I brought you here to find it.  So, find it already!”

He is madder than I, she thought, only vaguely alarmed; she reflected that very little besides death would rival what she had already experienced – and even then, death might be preferable.  So sniffing and casting about, she sensed the star-weed, and a patch of butterbur too; she drifted through the thick holly brakes toward it, the prickly branches lifting for her as she passed.  The cart-horse followed, lipping casually at the leaves; the old man stumped along behind them, grumbling under his breath.

Dúrfinwen found the star-weed, and watched bemusedly as the old man harvested it, root to leaf-tip.  Then, still calling her “Anóriel” and berating her relentlessly, he harried her to help him find comfrey, and butterbur, and lemon-balm and elecampane.  When his sack was full he shoved the plants into her arms; she held them as a maid newly presented in court displays her bouquets, and the little white horse nibbled on them; her sword stuck awkwardly out until she decided the old man posed little threat to her, and she slipped it carefully into the tunic belt.  “Enough of that,” the old man growled.  “Is that the only horse you’ve brought us, Anóriel?  That’s very short-sighted of you! We will have to walk.”

“I have walked all this way already, and I perceive you are as I mountless,” said Dúrfinwen, weary of supporting his grumbling; she felt she had done quite well to lead him to his plants, and not cut off his beard.  “And this is not my horse.  He belongs to Tormal, though what he is doing here is beyond my ken.”

“You could have thought to collect the others as you went,” said the old man discontentedly, stumping to the edge of a clearing and glaring at her.  “They’re out there wandering around; we might as well put them to good use.”

“Why do you not catch them yourself?” asked Dúrfinwen; her arm was starting to ache from holding the herbs.

“Have I not done enough?” the old man demanded.  “Well, get moving!  We’ve got a ways to go still.”

“You are too aggravating,” said Dúrfinwen primly, setting the bouquet of plants down on the ground despite his protests.  “I am going nowhere.”

“How am I aggravating?” demanded the old man, frowning fiercely at her.  “At least I’m trying to get something accomplished, and not pining in the wilderness!  Do you not be impertinent with me, little Laiquenda!”

“What right have you to say thus to me?” asked Dúrfinwen, growing angry.  “Little Laiquenda!  Telling me to find you herbs, and ordering me about, and not even calling me by my proper name.”

“Piffle!” said the old man, rudely, picking up the bouquet of herbs she had dropped and going to the little white horse.  “Laiquenda I called you, and Laiquenda I aver is your race.  I know I am not mistaken.”

“You are not,” said Dúrfinwen.  “However, I question your right to tell me what to do, and to call me by a name that is not my own.”

“Piffle again!” said the old man.  He crammed the herbs into his sack and they bulged and strained, sticking out at all angles; the white horse nosed them curiously, and snorted.  The man straightened and tucked his hands in his sleeves, and regarded Dúrfinwen with a shrewd and very sharp eye; she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, for he seemed to look into the very heart of her, and she was not very happy with the current state of her soul.  So much had happened; so much pain and horror!  But it was actually easier to maintain her brittle civility to this strange man, than to process the terror of her past days.  “I tell you what to do because you don’t know what to do,” said the old man, smiling; Dúrfinwen felt suddenly very young and inexperienced, and this sensation around a mortal man surprised her.  “And also, why should I not call you Anóriel?  It is what your father named you, after all.”

Dúrfinwen stared.  “My father!” she exclaimed, shocked past grief and anger.  “The only man I can closely identify as my father is Thranduil Oropherion, and he named me not; ‘twas Edlothiel of Cardolan named me thus:  Dúrfinwen.”

“A hard name,” said the old man, shaking his head.  “Your father would not like that.  Your mother either.”  He gave her a shrewd look, his eyes tracking over her shorn head; she blushed and turned away, ashamed of her ill looks.  “Don’t like what you’ve done with your hair,” he said curtly, folding his arms across his chest.  “Doesn’t suit you.  What would your mother say?  And you with her chestnut curls!”

Dúrfinwen staggered back, stunned.  “How – how do you know what my hair looks like?” she whispered, her heart going very cold.  “How – who are you?”

But the old man did not answer her question; he was regarding her with an astute and cunning eye, his mouth though hidden in the dirty brown beard smiling nonetheless.  “Chestnut curls!” he repeated, nodding.  “Cascaded down her back like new coiling vines in the spring – and her eyes, brown and shining like fresh-husked chestnuts!  It’s no wonder your father fell for her, coming across her in Dale, singing in a clearing and gathering everlastings.”  A shadow crossed his face, and he looked sad.  “Everlastings,” he murmured, and sighed.  Dúrfinwen stared, unsure; after a few moments he raised his head and winked.  “Look just like her,” he said.  “Except for the dimples – those you get from your father – the handsome devil he was!  Swept off her feet, was Vandalia; Fércast had but to press her with his sweet ways, and she was his.  A very good-looking couple they were, though as I recall, there were few who praised the pairing.”  Dúrfinwen, unsure what if anything she should say, was silent, wondering who this old man was, and whether his information were true; the old man studied her carefully, then smiled again.  “You’re too thin,” he said.  “Well, nothing a few months of butter and cream won’t cure!”

Dúrfinwen watched him, eyes narrowing; she said slowly:  “How do you know these things?  No one I have spoken to has ever said they knew my mother and father.”

“Not something the queen wanted to talk about,” shrugged the old man.  He whistled to the little horse, who came to him willingly, and suffered the man to put the sack on his withers.  “Truth be told she was rather ashamed of how you came about, and when your mother died, and your father didn’t return from the battle, it was best in her eyes to pretend nothing had happened.”

Dúrfinwen was offended.  “Edlothiel would never have done that,” she said firmly.  “Never!  My queen is good as she is lovely, and knows how I have longed to know mine ancestry!”

“Edlothiel!” exclaimed the old man, staring at her.  “Who said anything about Edlothiel?  Good woman, that; some questioned her choice of mate, but what I say is, you fall in love with whom you fall in love, and if it’s a good match, who’s to say a few differences here and there won’t add a bit of punch to the mixture?  Look at Melian and Thingol, after all. No, I leave that sort of thing alone; ‘tis none of my business, really, and I’m none too comfortable with all this love-making.  But no, Anóriel; Edlothiel’s got no notion who you are.  I was speaking of Renna, Queen of Dale.”

The name set icicles of fear shivering through her, and she put her hand on the hilt of her blade.  “Renna!” she whispered; her voice trembled.

“Not that Renna,” said the old man disgustedly.  “Pull yourself together!  Honestly!  The Renna we know and loathe has only been tormenting the very ground upon which she walks for thirty-three years.  No!  Renna, Queen of Dale, who ruled with her husband Brand many, many, many years ago … two centuries, at least; my memory for time’s passing is not what it used to be. Vandalia was her daughter, and when she ran off with Fércast and got married – and they did marry, by the way; don’t let anyone bastardize you! – Renna was terribly offended by the match, and preferred to pretend nothing had ever happened.”

Dúrfinwen’s legs gave out beneath her, and she sank to the damp loam, her breath escaping in a long sigh.  Her head felt very light.  “Dale – “ she said, pressing one trembling hand to her forehead.  “My mother – “

“Died when you were barely ten days old,” said the old man gruffly.  He squatted in front of Dúrfinwen and gave her a keen look.  His eyes were amber-colored, and very bright and clear; they belied the wrinkles and hoar and were young and wise.  He took her hand in his own; his grip was very strong, and she shivered beneath it, suddenly very afraid of him in spite of her mind reeling with his revelation.  “Your father gave you in hand to a village matron, for the folk of Dale were forbidden by Brand and Renna to succor you – there are a couple of compassionate grand-parents for you, eh? – but he never came back from that battle at Rhosgobel, and the matron got ill and died; so her husband, not wanting another mouth to feed, and knowing you had Elvish blood in you, sent you to the Elvenking, knowing you would be well cared for there.”  He watched her as she struggled with his news, and his golden eyes deepened.  “There is no shame in being half-Elven,” he added, a little gruffly.  “Look at Elrond, now – nice enough fellow.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Boys were twin devils, though!”

“I – “ Dúrfinwen could not speak; her head reeled.  She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he held it more tightly, and taking her chin in his other hand, he forced her to look into his eyes.

“Anóriel,” he said firmly.  “You are the daughter of Fércast, last king of the Laiquendi, and of Vandalia, princess of the house of Dale.  Bent and battered are you, but not broken; bloodied and bewildered are you, but not bowed.  You are better than your circumstances.  Now, get up!  There is little time, if you wish to preserve the life of a prince who nearly died to save your life, and the lives of your companions.”

“What?” cried Dúrfinwen, startled; she let him pull her to her feet and stood swaying, resting her hand upon Snowy’s broad soft back.  “Legolas?  Here?”

“Here, or close enough to here,” said the old man, and turning, he struck west out of the wood.  “I had need for herbs, and thanks to that stinking drake, there are few places hereabouts to find them.  Come, Anóriel!  This tale is not over yet, certainly not for you!”

Dúrfinwen stood and watched him go; the little white horse walked alongside him.  They reached the edge of the wood, and the old man stepped over the brakes and into the wilderness, but the horse paused and turned back to her, his black eyes curious.  Though it frightened her to leave the security of the forest behind, Dúrfinwen took a deep breath, grasped the hilt of her rapier firmly, and setting her shoulders said:

“My name is Dúrfinwen.”  And shoulders high she strode out of the wood and into the starlight once more.

(A/N:  Many thanks again to Nieriel Raina, who fixed some rather embarrassing errors in this chapter!  She is a beta without equal.)

Chapter 28. The Old Man

“Scrape it off of him,” panted Gimli; he folded the cloth over his hand again, and ran it down Legolas’ neck.  “Get it off his skin.  It is burning him.”

Tamin sobbed under his breath as he worked, his bright eyes blinded by tears; his hastily splinted leg stuck out straight and awkward, and his bare foot was purple and swollen; but he took the clean cloths and scraped and scraped, the black blood smoking on his Master’s battered flesh.  Vé was scrambling around their little fire, muttering to himself; he tried to put the little pot on the rocks but his hands trembled so much he nearly spilled it.

“Careful, there, Vé!” said Gimli.

“Oh, careful yourself,” snapped Vé; his voice shook.  “I’ve broke my elbow, and that damned drake knocked some of my teeth out.”

“Well, Tamin has a leg broken, and he is not complaining,” said Gimli.  “And I am fairly certain my ribs are currently in places where they were not meant to be.”  He tossed a filthy blackened rag aside, and groped for another.  “Where’s that hot water?” he asked, and pried Legolas’ hand open; the skin on the back of the Elf’s hand was blistered, but the palm where it had clasped the hilt of the sword was pink and clean.  “This stuff is like oil!”

“Gimli,” said Tamin, and Gimli glanced up at the boy; Tamin’s face was twisted with pain and fear, and he was holding Legolas’ chin in his fingers.  Gimli looked at the Green Knight’s face, now clean of the dragon’s blood, and his heart sank.  The sunken cheeks were grey, and the lips blue and slack; bloody foam oozed out of his nostrils and mouth, and his eyes were closed.

Gimli tore the rest of the stained tunic aside, and laid his ear on Legolas’ chest.  The heart beat still, but was slow and erratic, and he could hardly hear any breath in the lungs.  “Damn!” he said, and started to undress the Elf completely.  “Get this stuff off of him – it is soaked in that vile blood, and burns him even as he wears it!”

He and Tamin stripped Legolas, and Vé brought them rags wet with hot water; they scraped all the blood they could from the Elf’s face and hair and neck and hands.  At one point Tamin got a gobbet of blood on the back of his hand, and he hissed in pain; when he scraped the glutinous stuff off it had blistered.  But he applied himself earnestly to getting the horrible stuff off his Master’s skin, and at last satisfied Gimli said:  “All right, lads – let us turn him over.”  And putting their hands beneath Legolas’ limp body, they flipped him.

The long gash from the top of Legolas’ left shoulder to his right hip oozed blood and green slime, and the skin around it was swollen horribly, and a terrible grey color.  Tamin cried aloud in dismay, and Vé sat down heavily.

“Of all the rotten, stinking, foul, disgusting luck,” said the young Dwarf, covering his face with his hands.  “The tip of that fang must’ve got in one of the chain links and pierced him anyway.”

“What do we do now, Gimli?” asked Tamin, looking up at the Dwarf.

Gimli simply sat and stared at the wound, his face drained of color, his heart bled dry of hope.  Even as he watched, Legolas’ breathing slowed; the long pale hair, dirty and tangled, seemed to lose its gleam, and his friend’s skin was grey.  “That explains the convulsions,” said Vé.  “I’m sorry, chaps.  Horrible way for him to go.  I guess the only thing that can comfort us now is that he took that awful worm with him.”

“What?  No!” exclaimed Tamin, horrified.  “Do not give up on him – do not you give up on him, Gimli!”  he pleaded, grasping Gimli by the sleeve.  “It is not over – he is not gone – he is not.”  He glared at Gimli, who stared numbly at the wound, and shook the Dwarf’s sleeve hard.  “What do we do, Gimli?  Tell us!  How do we counteract this venom?”

“I, I do not know,” confessed Gimli, wiping his eyes; they were streaming with tears.  “I – I suppose some herb – or, or a spell … “  He trailed off, then fetched his breath in a sob.  “Do not do this, Legolas,” he whispered, putting his broad hands on either side of the awful wound.  “I feared I lost you once, and it near broke me.  Do not go like this – not like this – not before me!  Do not leave me here!”

“There must be something – “ said Tamin desperately, looking round; but the little rocky dell they had carried his Master to was empty of all life, muddy and bare; Vé’s small fire flickered weakly in the gloom.  A breeze soughed about them; at first it carried upon it the reek of the dragon, but then it freshened; Tamin sniffed at the air; he could smell clean water and cold stone; it reminded him of the old keep of Osgiliath.  “Hísimë!” he said suddenly, and groped for his pendant; he unlatched the chain, and put it round his Master’s neck.  “It has moonstones,” he said hopefully; “they are supposed to protect you.”

“It is a little too late to protect him,” said Vé dryly.  Gimli shot him an evil look, and Tamin’s face fell.

“I tried to get him to wear it,” he insisted.  “I tried – I did, I did! I wanted it to stop his dreams.  But he would not take it of me – he said Hísimë gave it me, and I ought to wear it.”

“Well, you’re alive, and against great odds, so that is something,” Vé admitted, touching it lightly; the moonstone glimmered faint and soft in the firelight.  “Pretty trinket,” he added, frowning and looking more closely at it.  “Moonstone, citrine, jet … and … peridot?”  He looked up at Tamin, smiling crookedly.  “Pretty girl, is she, this Hísimë?”

“What?”  Tamin’s eyebrows puckered in confusion.  “Pretty?  Well yes, she is pretty, Vé, but I don’t see – “

“Citrine’s a healing stone,” broke in Gimli, glowering at Vé, “and moonstone protects one as one travels – or so they say.”

“Worked for Tamin, didn’t it?” grinned Vé.  “Though I suppose time will tell if the peridot is as lucky as the girl hopes.”

“I want the moonstone and citrine to work,” said Tamin firmly, sitting clumsily again by his Master’s side, and lightly dabbing the gash with a clean wet rag.  “Come, you two! Gimli, Vé; let us not give up yet!  We ought to clean it at least; it looks terribly dirty.”

Exchanging somber glances, the Dwarves joined him, and blotted the blood and venom away; but still Legolas lay motionless, his breath shallow and slow; still did his skin darken, and his nose began to bleed more heavily.  Shaking his head, Gimli wrapped his friend in a blanket and rolled him upon his back.  The ashen skin and blue lips on his quiet face belied the faint breath; already he looked as though he had gone, though the expression on the fair, pallid face was tranquil, the sunken eyes in dark repose, shuttered by heavy lids like a house abandoned and boarded up.  Gimli put Legolas’ head in his lap, and stroked the filthy golden hair, tears unbidden streaming down his face.  Tamin and Vé sat quietly by, each holding one of the Green Knight’s cold, limp hands; together the three kept vigil, listening to the thready breath and watching the skin leech of all color.  After a time, Gimli whispered:

“It was not supposed to end like this.”

Vé sighed.  “Well,” he said heavily.  “None of us woke up one morning last winter, thinking things’d come to this.  But they have, and all we can do is get through it, I guess.”  He shook his head and looked down at Legolas.  “Good-bye, prince of Elves!” he said, laying one broad hand on the Green Knight’s cold cheek.  “I regret not getting to know you better.  You seem like you would’ve made a jolly friend.”

Tamin cast his Master’s hand aside with an oath that puzzled Vé, but made Gimli, more used to Elvish vernacular, flinch a little. The boy staggered to his feet, but his leg gave beneath him and he fell gracelessly to the ground.  He struck the earth with his fist and exclaimed angrily:

“It is not over - it is NOT!  It cannot be over – I will not, I cannot bear it!”  He turned from them and dragged himself with surprising haste to the lip of the dell.

“Tamin – “ said Gimli, his voice breaking; but then Tamin stopped, and raised one hand; he lifted his face to the wind to sample it.

“What is it?” asked Vé, groping for his axe.

“Hush!” commanded Tamin, glaring at them; the two Dwarves fell silent and watched the lad look to and fro, his crouched form dark against the night sky.  The clouds rolled and roiled over them; but then the wind changed; the foul odor of decay soughed away, and the lowering clouds tattered and sighed to the west; stars twinkled in the purply dome, and Tamin’s golden head shone in their light. Then there was the sound of footsteps on stone, and they all jumped; the Dwarves hefted their axes, but Tamin clapped his hands with a glad cry.  “Isilmë!” he exclaimed.  “I can hear him – Isilmë; Isilmë!”  And he crawled down the far edge of the crest, and disappeared.

“Tamin!” cried Vé, jumping up and hefting his axe.  “Elves!” he exclaimed.  “Why must they be so impetuous!”

“Wait!” said Gimli.  “Give him a moment.  If it is truly Isilmë, then the other horses may be with him – we will not have to walk back to Erebor at least!”

They waited, listening intently; then they heard the whinny of a horse, and then a voice; and cresting the edge of the dell came Tamin’s little white stallion, with Tamin astride him; and to their amazement, there walking by his side were Dúrfinwen and an old man in tattered brown robes.  Gimli and Vé started in surprise as the odd grouping approached; Isilmë’s appearance was not so strange, considering his affinity for his little master; but the old man was a stranger to them, and Dúrfinwen, though thin and bald and disheveled, regarded them with clarity and intelligence in her dark eyes.  Tamin clung to his little horse, his hands round Isilmë’s stout short neck; he was gazing at Dúrfinwen with an expression of apprehension and approbation mingled.

“Dúrfinwen!” cried Gimli in surprise.

The old man gave her an irritable look.  “I do not like that name,” he grumbled to her, and took a sack off Isilmë’s back.  “Is that water boiling?” he demanded, stumping towards it.  “Good!  Step back, please; I’ve got work to do!”

“Who are you?” demanded Vé, jumping between the old man and Legolas’ body.  “Stay back!  We want no more evildoers here!”

“O let him through, do, Vé,” begged Tamin, sliding awkwardly off Isilmë’s back; his leg gave out beneath him again, and he sat in a little heap on the earth; Isilmë lipped at the boy’s hair, and blew on him, and Tamin absently stroked the horse’s nose.  “He says he can cure my Master!  Let him through!”

Tamin’s plea was superfluous, for the old man brushed past Vé as though the Dwarf was not even there; he said imperiously:  “Anóriel! The herbs!” and snapped his fingers at her.  Gimli saw a flicker of annoyance on Dúrfinwen’s face; but he noticed that she collected the sack of herbs and plants without comment, and handed them to the old man.

The old man busied himself at the pot of water over the fire.  Each plant was removed from the sack and carefully disassembled; he muttered under his breath as he worked, and taking a stick began to add the herbs to the pot and stir them round.  Gimli, Vé, and Tamin watched him, wordless and bemused; Dúrfinwen though kept her eyes upon her lord’s face, staring down at him, drooping.  After a moment Gimli noticed her, the bright brown eyes dim and the sweet dimpled mouth downturned; he gestured to her, and she raised her eyes to his.

“Come, Dúrfinwen,” he said kindly.  “Sit beside me, and take one of Legolas’ hands.”

She frowned, and plucked at the sleeve of her tunic; then dropping her gaze she made her way to Gimli’s side.  She lowered herself slowly to the earth, and gathered one of her lord’s limp pale hands in her own; she cradled it to her breast, and looked down with pity and anger mingled upon her scarred and lovely face.   Gimli, Vé, and Tamin were silent, dividing their attention between Dúrfinwen, her fair face a brown study, and the old man, grumbling over his stewing herbs.  At last he peevishly demanded a thin piece of cloth of Dúrfinwen, calling her “Anóriel” and telling her to “hop to it;” Tamin and Vé looked offended for her sake, but Gimli watched the old man narrowly, tucking a small smile secretly into his beard.

Dúrfinwen strained the herbs out of the pot, and the old man stirred the broth and ordered:  “Rub the herbs over his skin, Anóriel, starting with his face and all the front of him; then flip him over and rub it over the parts of him where the dragon’s blood touched him.  Then roll the sack into a long poultice, and lay it upon the wound, pressing the juices into it.”

“I’ll do it,” said Vé, seeing the slightly shocked look on both Dúrfinwen’s and Tamin’s faces at the old man’s presumption.  “Erm, you can, um, look away now, missy.” 

Dúrfinwen nodded, throwing Vé a grateful look; she walked a little ways away, turned her back to them, and sat upon the earth, pulling her limbs in around herself and tucking her head down into the cleft of her knees.  Vé grimaced and shot Gimli a look; Tamin bit his lip, and crawled over to where she sat as Vé unwound the Green Knight from his cocoon and began to wash him with the poultice.

Tamin sat painfully on the ground, wincing when his leg twitched beneath him; Dúrfinwen did not acknowledge his presence, but hid her face from him.  The boy racked his brain a moment for aught to say to her; then recalling the pride she took in her vestments he said shyly, “Dúrfinwen, um, my tunic looks very nice on you.”

She made a strange soft snuffling sound, and her shoulders shook; at first he thought she wept, and he was suffused in remorse; but then she raised her head, and he saw she smiled weakly, and her brown eyes sparkled.

“Tamin,” she said, her voice rough and trembling.  “You will make some maid, some day, a very fine husband.”

Tamin blushed to the roots of his golden hair, unable to reply; she but chuckled softly, and rested her chin on her knees.  Behind them they heard the old man say, “That’s right – clean it out with the juices.  Lay the whole thing over the wound – the whole thing, damn you!  Cover every inch of it with the poultice.  It must leech the poison out or all my work will be for naught!  Idiots!”

Tamin glanced over his shoulder; Vé was laboring over Legolas’ back, and Gimli was carefully turning the Elf’s body so that it would rest upon the poultice.  The old man had poured the herb water into a cup, and was adding something to it from a little bottle from his satchel; the water steamed and hissed and smelled very vile.  “Who is he, Dúrfinwen?” he asked curiously.

She smiled crookedly.  “Can you not guess, Rúmilion?”

“I think I might,” he said, unsure; “but if I am wrong, you will mock me.”

“I will do no such thing,” she said.  “You know who he is.”

“Yes,” said Tamin.  “I suppose Vé got his wish after all.”

Dúrfinwen was silent for a moment, her dark eyes abstract and her face very sober.  Then she said, “Tell me what happened.”

Tamin paused.  “Must I?” he said, a little plaintively.  “If I do not think of it, Dúrfinwen, then it does not hurt.  The hurt is in my heart like a kicked dog ready to bite, and talking of it will kick the dog again.”

“Kick the stuffing out of it then,” she said tiredly.  “I must know, and the dog will stop biting you eventually.”

So Tamin sighed, and in a broken voice told her of the battle with Muhk; when he got to the part where Bandobras was eaten, he stopped, and pressed his face into her shoulder.  She put her arm round him and he wept and wept, and she wept too; then without raising his head he related in a muffled voice how his Master had slain the worm.

“I do not know where the second sword came from,” he sobbed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  “I looked over, and he was holding Irmatenagar; then I looked away, and when I looked back he was holding his sword and another strange sword, very long and bright and sharp.  He cut off Muhk’s tongue and gouged out his eyes, and stuck both blades deep into Muhk’s head through is mouth, and the dragon started thrashing round and round, his body and tail going – Oh!  Everywhere – even as he was dying we had to keep dodging him, for he thrashed ever so much – and at last he twisted and coiled and went stiff and the mouth hung open, and there was blood everywhere – steaming and smoking, and Vé and Gimli went over, and there was my Master lying in it.  Gimli said we must get the blood off him immediately so we picked him up and left the cave, and Vé built a fire and got some water – there is water now; it has started springing up out of the ground in spots, washing all the slime away – and we started cleaning him and we saw where the dragon’s fang had slashed him and then you showed up, Dúrfinwen.”  He paused while she absorbed this, then added, “Why does he call you ‘Anóriel’?  It is a pretty name, but it is not yours.”

“Apparently it is mine,” said Dúrfinwen.  “I will tell you of it later, though, Tamin.”  She rose and turned, and helped him to his feet.  “Take my arm,” she said.  “Let us see how your Master is.”

Vé and Gimli had wrapped Legolas once again in the wool blanket; the skin on his face was blotched and burned, but no longer grey; but still he lay in swoon.  The old man knelt over him with the cup, and Gimli held the Elf’s head still.  “Prop open his mouth,” the old man ordered Vé, and Vé did so. 

The old man poured his concoction into Legolas’ mouth.  It steamed and bubbled and hissed, and it dribbled from between the slack lips; but the old man rubbed Legolas’ throat, and the Green Knight convulsively swallowed, then coughed.  Again the old man poured the drink into Legolas’ mouth, and though his eyes were shut, Legolas drank it; then with a sigh settled back upon Gimli’s lap.  The old man set the cup down, and leant over the Elf; he took Legolas’ face in his hands, and closed his eyes, and went very still.

They waited and watched as the old man muttered under his breath, beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead; the gnarled hands trembled round Legolas’ sunken pale cheeks, the knobby thumbs gently stroking the darkened skin beneath the Elf’s eyes.  Then they descried amongst the strange words that the old man was saying softly:

“Wake up.  Wake up.  Do not go yet.  Wake up, little prince.”

“Just a few more minutes,” whispered Legolas in a thin, thready voice, his eyes shut tight.

“No,” said the old man.  “You must wake up now.  Come back, little prince.”

“But I am so tired, Radagast,” Legolas complained.  “And it hurts me so much.  Let me go.”

“No,” said the old man.  “You are too close to it already.  Come back.  Wake up.  You have much to do.”

Legolas’ eyes opened slowly; they were dull and incurious.  “Have I not suffered enough?” he asked; his voice was low and uneven.  “Let me go, Radagast.  You have no authority to impede me.”

“I have,” said the old man angrily.  “And I tell you, you are not finished.  Ushtâk and Muhk are gone, but there are some small things to see to yet.  It is not your time, little prince.”

“My father.”

“Yes, and your friends.  Wake up.  Do not go there.  There is too much to do.”

“Oh,” sighed Legolas, and took a deep breath, and stretched his long arms out, eyes closed and smiling like a cat in the sunshine.  He looked up and espied Gimli staring anxiously down at him; his smile broadened.

“I slew Muhk, did I not, Gimli?” he asked.

“You did, my friend!” said Gimli, relieved; he kissed Legolas’ brow.  “Slew him well and good.  Very impressive.”

“You owe me a barrel of wine then,” said Legolas, and gave a tremendous yawn.  “Oh!  I am so sleepy.”

“Sleep, then,” said Radagast, laying one hand on the prince’s head.  “Rest.  You may leave at dawn.”

“Thank you,” said Legolas simply, and tucking his arms back inside the warm blanket he closed his eyes, and fell promptly asleep.  Radagast sighed, rose, and dusted off his robe, shaking his head.

“Here,” said Vé suddenly, scowling.  “Who are you?  And what do you mean by all this?  He’s a prince, you know; you can’t go ordering him about like that!”

“Think you not?” growled Radagast, pouring the rest of the liquor into the pot.  It gurgled and sizzled, and its sour reek filled the dell.  “I’ve ordered bigger men than Legolas here around.”

Vé looked very affronted, but Tamin said earnestly, “O do you not offend him, Vé; he certainly must have the authority for he is a wizard!”

“A wizard!” exclaimed Vé, looking with astonishment at the old man.  He made a face, and Radagast suddenly laughed.

“Disappointed?” he asked, his amber eyes twinkling beneath the lowered brows.

“Well,” admitted Vé.  “Er, yes.”  He shifted a little on his feet, regarding the old man with suspicion.  “I don’t believe it,” he said suddenly.  “Prove you’re a wizard.  Do something magic!”

Radagast’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull, and he snarled; then gestured with one gnarled hand back to Legolas.  Vé glanced at the peacefully slumbering Elf, and cleared his throat, coloring deeply.

“Oh,” he said.  “Um.”

Radagast stumped back over to where Legolas slept, his golden head pillowed upon Gimli’s lap.  “Little fool,” he growled.  “Trying to slip off like that!  Never thought he’d be one to give up that easily.”

“Grief will make an Elf do strange things,” said Dúrfinwen; her voice was harsh and she looked angry.  But Radagast quirked her a smile, and went to her; he took one of her hands in his own, and laid the other upon her cheek.

“Grief is like eating a rich and heavy meal,” he said gently, looking deep into her eyes, his gaze sharp and adamant.  “It takes a while to digest, but if you give it time, soon you’ll be hungry again.”  Dúrfinwen said nothing, but looked up at him curiously, her brows knit; then Radagast said lightly:  “You know, Anóriel, there is more to your future than you might guess.  Middle-earth is only a part of this world, and there are glories unnamed in the domains of the Valar.  My tasks are accomplished, and I return at last to my home.  Follow me when your labors have been brought to fruition, and meet me there; I did not speak lightly of Thingol and Melian.”

Dúrfinwen opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged; Gimli and Tamin were so shocked they were speechless.  Radagast released her, and gathered up his sacks; he said gruffly:  “Make him drink the rest of it when he gets up, and at the earliest opportunity make him bathe in clean water.  He’ll look a bit piebald for a few days, but he should be well.”  He looked round the dell, checking to make sure he left nothing behind; he scratched little Isilmë on the nose, looked with satisfaction upon the slumbering form of the prince, and turned one last time to Dúrfinwen.  “Remember me, Anóriel!” he said, and walked away, up out over the lip of the dell and into the darkness; then he was gone.

There was silence, broken only by the crackle of the flames, and Isilmë poking around at the leftover herbs and snuffling into the earth.  Then Gimli said carefully, “How many is that, now, Dúrfinwen?”

“Seventeen,” she said, dazed; “though this is the first suit I have heard from an Istar!”

“And her name is Anóriel,” supplied Tamin, looking with admiration at her.  But she turned to him with a frown.

“My name is Dúrfinwen,” she said, and rolling up her sleeves, she set about ordering their little camp.

(A/N:  Dear Ones, I am so sorry for the delay!  My life is such a seething cauldron of high emotions right now that I find it difficult to deal with Legolas’ angst … I would rather write some light and frothy thing, like “Malbeach Goes A-Courting.”  Sadly, I have already done that … and romance is the last thing I want to think about.

That said, please send humongous kudos to my brilliant – and patient! – beta, Nieriel Raina, who, like many of us in the Southeast, is suffering from a surfeit of Tree Sex and its aftermath.  Send tissues and antihistamines.

-- Le Rouret)

29. Justice and Mercy In Like Measure

“Have mercy!” cried Morbel supplicatingly, writhing in the mud and filth.  Behind him stood Nwalmä, his face grim and his black eyes flashing; his halberd was long and sharp, and dripping with blood.  “O Prince of Mirkwood, have mercy!”

Legolas raised his arm to pronounce judgment; but then Morbel twisted and shrank, becoming limbless and flaccid and slimy:  a grey worm, squirming in its own filth.  All round it waited a flock of starlings, looking at it with hungry expressions in their yellow eyes.

“Have mercy, have mercy!” it squeaked, terrified; and Legolas’ heart was wrung, for it was so pitiful.  He made to reach for it, to pluck it from its refuse and put it in a safe place.  But the nightingale pecked at his hand and said:

“Is it yours, O royally allocated judge, to dispense mercy and not justice?  Should not the two be winnowed evenly through the sifter of wisdom that ever expands in the dark threshing-floor of time?”

“But he is so helpless,” Legolas argued; “and is it not an honorable judge’s prerogative to dispense clemency as well as condemnation?”

“When the villain’s clemency toward others more helpless than he is disdained, then in my opinion, no,” said the nightingale; “but I leave it to you, who are so wise and ancient.”

The nightingale’s caustic tone made Legolas doubt himself, and he hesitated, but the starlings did not; in moments they had descended and torn the worm to pieces.  “Justice is best served neat, without a side-helping of either vengeance or naïveté,” said the nightingale, and flew away amidst the speckled feathers.

Legolas opened his eyes; they were dry and sandy.  “Are you not yet finished with me, Aiwendil?” he asked wearily, half-expecting the wizard to be crouched by his side; however he looked up into the worried brown eyes of his friend Gimli.  He managed a smile, though it was lop-sided; Gimli shook his head at this and said:

“Nightmares still, Legolas?”

“No,” said Legolas; “only strange dreams.”  He allowed Gimli to help him to sit up; his back ached and burned, and his skin felt hot.  “Is there aught to eat?” he said, a little plaintively.  “I am so hungered I can feel the front of my stomach flapping flag-like against my spine!”

“There is nothing except a little of that squirrel-broth,” said Gimli apologetically, “that is left over from last night.  There may be water, but it shall be a while ere game returns to this blighted land.”

He called to Tamin, who brought over a cup of broth to his Master; Legolas drank the cold greasy liquid hungrily.  “And you need to have the last of that wizard’s brew, Legolas,” said Gimli, handing the cup back to Tamin to wash up.  “You look like a pink-and-white piebald!”

“O for a mirror!  I would like to laugh,” said Legolas with a smile.  “That is foul stuff, but I must admit it makes me feel much better.”

“I will get it, Master,” said Tamin, and limped away to the fire where sat Vé and Dúrfinwen.  The woman’s back was turned to them, her stubbled head sunk between her shoulders; Vé spoke to her softly, his green eyes gentle and sad.  Legolas looked around absently a moment, then with a horrible sinking heart realized he was trying to find Bandobras.  He closed his eyes and felt the awful tight lump swell in his throat; he tried to swallow it away, but it stuck.  He felt Gimli’s hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” the Dwarf murmured; his voice broke.  “I keep looking for him, too.”

“It was so futile, Gimli,” said Legolas, his voice snagging on a sob.  “He did not have to look.  He knew to look away.  Why did he look?”

“I know not,” said Gimli, roughly ruffling Legolas’ hair.  “I know not.  But he died not in vain, Legolas; you know that.”

“I know.”  Legolas took a deep breath and opened his eyes; they were clouded with tears.  He brushed them away impatiently.  He saw Vé smile at Dúrfinwen, and say something that sounded like a joke; she laughed, her thin shoulders shaking, and Vé looked as pleased as a cat with a vole in its teeth.  “How is she this morn?” he asked under his breath.

“Quiet,” said Gimli.  “The same as she was yesterday and the day before.”

“Damn,” muttered Legolas.

“Indeed,” agreed his friend.  “The sun stops in its tracks when Dúrfinwen does not chatter.”

The two sat together in silence for a moment.  The sun had not risen, but only pinked the eastern sky, which was as mottled as Legolas’ burned skin, with tattered wisps of cloud twining round great clotted lumps of grey, rushed and pushed along by the high freshening wind.  The earth was yet brown and lifeless, but water sprung from the cracks, washing the filth away; there was no more reek, no more slime or grease; and betimes even a bird would be seen fluttering by, careening crazily in the wild zephyr.  Looming to their left was the cold dark mouth of Muhk’s cave, as dead and lifeless as that serpent himself; nor smoke nor reek nor menace of danger emanated from that opening, but it was dismal nonetheless.  Its gloom was enhanced by the sad little pile of stones in front of it, surmounted by a small spear topped with a blue pennant:  Bandobras’ resting-place, a fitting cairn for so valiant a warrior, for Legolas had placed upon the torn and rotting body one of Muhk’s fangs, wrested from the great cold mouth after they had gutted the worm to retrieve the Hobbit’s remains.  Tamin had taken the other fang for himself, wrapping it carefully in rags, and putting it in his bag.

“Théodred has a tooth collection,” he had said.  “I want this for him, to give him a birthday present fitting his pocket-knife.”

“He will like that very much,” Legolas had concurred, and then they piled the Blue Knight’s body high with gold and gems, and then with stones.  Legolas had sung a dirge, tears streaming down his burned face and his form trembling with pain and weariness and grief; then to everyone’s surprise Dúrfinwen had joined in, her low voice soft and sad, her wasted hands lifted to the starry sky.  Neither Tamin nor the Dwarves dared interrupt them; the two eternal voices twisted and wound round each other, trading point and counterpoint like canters; it seemed to Gimli then that Legolas’ voice was like himself, flowing gold and ivory, and Dúrfinwen’s like herself also, hard and dark and glossy like polished wood.  When the song had ended Legolas reached his hand to her, but she dropped her head and walked away.

Tamin brought Legolas his brew, and Isilmë plodded after the boy, lipping at his golden hair and blowing grassy breath in his ear, making him laugh.  But when Legolas had given Tamin the emptied cup and risen with Gimli’s help to his feet, Isilmë’s head lifted, stretched upon the thick stumpy white neck; his ears pricked forward, and his nostrils flared.  “What is it, Isilmë?” asked Tamin anxiously, looking round the brown wet hills for danger; then Isilmë called, and to their delight they heard from far-off an answering bellow.

“Hammer!” cried Legolas happily.   There was then a chorus of high whinnies, and the thunder of hooves; then cresting a low hill, their manes and tails tossing in the wind, came Hammer and his herd.  Hammer espied them across the little vale, and reared up, tossing his mighty head and calling again, deep and brassy like a great trump; then he was down, nipping at one of the pack horse’s flanks, harrying the herd down the vale.  Vé and Dúrfinwen sprang to their feet, and Vé shrank back worriedly, but he needn’t have feared, for Hammer and his herd swept round them in a great curving arc, their hooves churning up the moist earth with a noise like a chorus of deep kettle-drums.  Nostrils flared and ears forward Hammer bore down on his master, crow-hopping in delight; his huge feathered hooves struck the earth until it shook, and he tossed his thick black mane and gave a triumphant whinny.  Then as suddenly as he had begun, Hammer quieted his herd with a snort, and lowering his head upon the muscular neck he stretched out to Legolas’ hand, licking and blowing.

“My dear one!” said Legolas, laughing in relief.  “My dear Hammer!”  He flung his arms round the stallion’s neck, and Hammer snorted into the tangled flossy hair.  “O Hammer,” Legolas whispered, and Hammer’s ear swiveled to hear the prince’s low voice.  “O Hammer, bring you Spark hither; he has lost his small Master, and I fear he might pine.”

Hammer turned to find the pony, but Isilmë had been the swifter; he and Spark stood by the dismal little pile of stones, with Burnt Toast and one of the older pack horses, a big hook-nosed dun, poking round the rocks nearby.  Spark nosed at the pennant, then pawed a little at some of the smaller stones; he whickered unhappily, and stood gazing down at the cairn, head drooping disconsolately.  Isilmë nibbled the pony’s shoulder, and Burnt Toast gave a series of sympathetic grunts.

“O dear!” said Tamin, his voice trembling, and he wrung his hands.  “O dear!  O poor Spark!  O poor, poor Spark!”

“Was that Bandy’s pony?” asked Vé, looking up cautiously at Hammer, who seemed as big as a mountain to him; Vé had heretofore been acquainted only with little hill-ponies, or the light palfreys common round the villages of Men in Eriador.

“It was,” sighed Legolas, hooking one arm round Hammer’s big neck; the stallion whuffed into his hair, then rested his chin on the Elf’s shoulder, his big brown eyes rolling thoughtfully over to Spark.  “I gave Spark to Bandobras when he won his spurs – when he became the Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar – was that merely five months ago, my Tamin?  Dear me!  How slowly time has dragged by for me!”

“It is on account of all these things happening at once,” said Gimli practically.  “Time passes the slower when naught is going on.”

“I … I remember Spark,” said Dúrfinwen slowly, and they turned to her; she was watching the little clutch of equines mourning round the cairn, her head drooping, her dark eyes pensive.  “I thought perchance you would gift him to Bandy, my lord – I am sorry – “ her voice caught, and she took a deep breath, her eyes glassing over with tears.  “I am sorry I missed his accolades.  I wanted to see them – wanted to see him – Oh!”  She fell to her knees, covering her face with her long thin hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.  Gimli, Vé, and Tamin stood awkwardly looking down at her, but Legolas dropped down beside her, his arm round her shoulder, pressing her head to his chest with his hand.  His face was wet with tears, and his grey eyes reflected the deep grief they all felt.  Tamin crept forward, his small face white.

“Are you going to fade, Dúrfinwen?” he asked plaintively.

Legolas looked shocked, but Dúrfinwen actually laughed through her tears.  “Tamin,” she said, twisting in her lord’s arms to look up at the boy, “you have a talent for putting into question-form the worries that cloud everyone’s minds.”

“If we are worried, why should we not ask?” he argued.  “Are you?”

“I have not yet decided,” said Dúrfinwen tiredly, tucking her face back into Legolas’ shoulder.  “It would be easy – too easy.  I am not sure.  I will have to think on it.”

“Well, take your time, Dúrfinwen,” said Tamin, looking relieved.  “For then perhaps the longer you wait, the less you will want to.”

“Let us speak no more of fading,” said Legolas firmly, taking Dúrfinwen by her shoulders and looking down into her sunken pale face.  “Is there not enough unhappiness engendered by our enemies, that we must manage in our broken hearts?  Should we add sorrow upon sorrow, taking our final refuge in despair and not hope?”

“Despair is easier to believe in,” said Dúrfinwen, and hid her face in his shoulder again.  Legolas’ eyes overflowed with tears, and he put his arms round her and held her tight, as though he feared she would take to flight at any moment.

“My dear one!” he said; his voice trembled.  “Of all the griefs visited upon this sorry band of travelers, yours are the deepest and most profound, and my heart, already moved to piteous sorrow, bows beneath the weight of your burden.  That I had aught to comfort you, who are so comfortless!  Tell me, Dúrfinwen, what possess I that would assuage the weight of misery you bear?  I shall give you all I can, up to half of my possessions; nay, three quarters; anything you want, I shall grant to you, if it give you living hope in any way at all!”

“Anything?” sobbed Dúrfinwen, her voice muffled in his tunic.  “You will give me anything?”

“Yes, anything, Little One,” said Legolas earnestly.

She drew back then, and pushed away from him, her face angry.  “I want my purity back,” she said harshly, and leaping to her feet she fled a ways from them, dropping into a disconsolate heap at the edge of the ridge, her back turned to them, her head sunk into her hands.  Legolas knelt staring after her, his shoulders slumped; there was a shadow of fear on his face.

“Legolas – “ began Gimli, but Legolas shook his head and waved his hand, and the Dwarf fell silent.  The Green Knight rose to his feet, regarded Dúrfinwen’s huddled form contemplatively; there was growing in his eyes a dark anger, and he bit his lip in frustration so hard that they thought he might draw blood.  But he lifted his chin and set his jaw, and said:

“I do not think me we ought to stay in this desolate place any longer.  We are well enough. Let us break camp, and head north-west, to Erebor.”

“At last,” muttered Vé, and he and Tamin went to catch the pack horses.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

The hills fell gently north and east of them, and the ground grew softer and wetter; betimes they descried bits of vine or grass springing from the renewed earth, which the horses eagerly lipped up.  Fresh water flowed in the little dells, sparkling and clean, and they all drank deeply; the second night away from Muhk’s cavern they bathed, letting Dúrfinwen alone in a small dingle away from them, waiting anxiously for her return; none spoke of their apprehension, for the woman had been so quiet and they so fearful on her behalf; they all breathed a sigh of relief when they saw her come back, damp and clean, with the dried blood and dirt washed away, wearing the freshest tunic Tamin could find.  Her hair was growing back and covered her scalp in a fine dark fuzz; when the sun slanted through it, it seemed to reflect a reddish hue.  Her torn ear Vé patched up rather handily with some strips of cloth and wetted meal, and the bruises round her cheeks and eyes were fading green and yellow.  But her collar bones stuck out like clothes bars beneath her thin neck, and her dark eyes were sad and empty.  They watched her carefully, wondering at what point the load of self-loathing takes one’s life; Legolas especially turned his gaze to her, her anguish mirrored the more clearly in her lord’s eyes, for he was so helpless to arrest her descent, and could only watch ineffectively as she weakened beneath her struggles.

The third day dawned bright and cool.  The azure dome of the sky was freckled all over with starlings, chipping and calling out to each other, rising and whirling as a school of fish swimming as one entity; sometimes they descended upon a budding tree, chattering in cheerful cacophony.  The horses found ample fodder in the newly sprouting grasses and shrubs, stripping the greenery bare, and even Spark kicked up his heels in delight when the breeze brought upon them the scent of sun-warmed loam.  Vé and Gimli sang together, Gimli upon Burnt Toast and Vé perched precariously on the dun draft, which he had named Wuóri.  Tamin’s heart was lifted, and he hummed along; even Legolas felt cheerful, but when he looked upon Dúrfinwen slumped on her mare’s back his heart sank anew, and descended into the grip of fear.

They rested beneath the noonday sun on a small tor covered in new grass, and let the horses wander and eat while they compiled a meager meal of leftover goose and boiled grain.  Dúrfinwen ate little, though her lord pressed her, even giving to her surreptitiously his own portion, much to Gimli’s dismay; she ate, and Gimli said naught, knowing that for Legolas her health and safety far outweighed his own.

Vé was nodding as he sat, and the horses drowsed sleepily in the heat of the day, when with a start Hammer’s head flew up, nostrils flared and eyes alert.  The rest of the herd answered their leader’s misgiving, and whickered nervously; Hammer blew, and turned his head round, his eyes rolling.  Legolas rose and went to him.

“What is it, Dear One?” he asked, turning to look where his stallion gazed.  “What do you smell?”  Tamin limped to his Master’s side, and they both sampled the air, straining to hear; Gimli and Vé took out their axes, and Dúrfinwen wearily dropped her head in her hand.

“There,” said Legolas at last, pointing down to the broken and rocky side of the tor; boulders were jumbled round the bottom, and a quantity of shrubs grew crookedly from the edges.  “Did you see it?”

“No,” said Gimli, frowning, but Tamin gasped.

“Yes!” he whispered.  “There – do you see it, Gimli, Vé?  It is moving – “

“Hush!” said Legolas, and drew his sword.  “Tamin, go to Dúrfinwen.”

Tamin nodded and went back to her, drawing his sword; they heard him whisper:  “O take out your rapier, do, Dúrfinwen; I am still not right in my leg, and will not be able to protect you sufficiently if it gives beneath me.  Yes – your rapier – thank you, Dúrfinwen!”

Legolas, Gimli, and Vé crouched upon the upper curve of the tor, staring down at the rocks in shadow below.  There was the flicker of movement, and Vé drew in his breath in a hiss.

“I see him,” he whispered, hefting his axe.

“Carefully,” grunted Gimli.  “It mightn’t be an enemy at all, but some poor soul running away from all the chaos in Esgaroth.”

“It may be,” murmured Vé discontentedly.  “And I might just as easily be an Elf-lord from Gondolin.”

“Shh!” hissed Legolas, and they were silent.

The figure in the shadow of the rock seemed to lurch awkwardly; a limb flailed a bit, and it staggered.  There was the flash of scarlet, and the gleam of silver and black; then the man stumbled into view, and stood gazing up at them.

“Malbeach!” exclaimed Gimli, raising his axe; Legolas however put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm.

“I do not think he has a weapon,” he whispered.

“No matter that,” said Gimli grimly.  “Let us strike him down while we may!”

“O yes; let’s do!” said Vé with fierce eagerness.  “I should like to pay him back for my friends’ deaths – especially Álfar’s.”

“Let us not be precipitate,” said Legolas.  “But let him come to us if he will; he is at great disadvantage, for I perceive he is quite alone.”

Then the Dwarves looked, and saw past Malbeach’s vile face to the bruises and blood, the torn red doublet and tattered cloak.  His belt was devoid of sword or dagger, and he walked barefoot; his feet were filthy and bleeding, and his face pale and streaked with mud and tears.  He stared up at them as though blinded and unseeing; then Hammer behind them snorted, and he started, and blinked; his black eyes cleared, and he recognized them.  But far from affixing upon them his habitual smooth gaze, or speaking in his silky and persuasive voice, he fell to his knees, his face twisted in mortification and misery.

“O Prince of Mirkwood!” he called in a hoarse and broken voice, reaching with twisted and dirty hands to them.  “Legolas son of Thranduil, the fates have brought me to you for just this purpose: strike me down!”

“Strike you!” exclaimed Gimli in surprise.  “Why, I have been waiting for just such a moment!  Legolas, I will gladly do this for you; listen; he asks for just that!  Fates be damned; O let me kill him, my friend; you know that he deserves it!”

“Hold!” said Legolas, though he looked uneasy.  He frowned down at Malbeach and said carefully, “Malbeach, erstwhile Master of Esgaroth, why come you here?  What purpose do you serve, skulking about in the wilderness?  Do you not know that Muhk, that vile worm to whom you swore your servitude, has been slain?  For I perceive it has broken your power; your eyes and voice do not to me seem to have any influence over my cognition.”

“Slay me; will you?” cried Malbeach, wringing his hands and weeping.  “It is just; it is the only vengeance you might give my victims!  O slay me; strike me down!  Wait not upon my trial, but be you my judge and jury and hangman all at once.  Cut me!  Dismember me!  Burn me alive!  It is all I deserve!”  And he cast himself upon the grass, writhing and groaning.  “O I am vile, vile!” he moaned.  “That I had died as an infant; nay, that I had never been conceived!  What infamy lay beneath my mother’s bosom!”

“It’s a trick,” muttered Vé.  “I don’t trust him.  He’s lost his power and his armies, and he’s trying to get us to feel sorry for him.”

“Well, Legolas?” asked Gimli.  “What do you want to do?”

Legolas was torn; many besides his loved ones had suffered greatly on this man’s behalf, and yet in his head could he see his poor Bandobras’ still stunned face ere he had died; yet the sight of the man wallowing in his own ignominy pricked at his heart.  “I hardly wish to cut down an unarmed man, no matter his misdeeds,” he said slowly, watching Malbeach repeatedly strike his head on the ground.  “Nor wish I to silence one of the only mouths that might give us some answers.”  Raising his voice he said:  “Malbeach!  Rise and come to us, if you are a man and not a worm!”

“I am a worm!” Malbeach cried, tearing at his hair.  “A worm, a worm!  O what have I done?  Why have I done these things?  Strike me, I say!  Strike me down!  I deserve not to even breathe!”

“Mahal have mercy!” muttered Gimli.  “Come on, Vé; let us drag this wretch up here before I get a crick in my neck.”

“All right then,” said Vé, discontented.  “But I’d still rather just put an axe in his head.”

“Have patience,” said Legolas mildly.  “That duty I might give to Dúrfinwen.”

Vé made a face, but he and Gimli stumped down the tor, and taking the writhing man by the arms they dragged him up to where Legolas waited.  They dumped Malbeach at the Elf’s feet, and the man lay on the grass and sobbed, pulling his hair and beating his fists upon his own head.  Legolas stood over him, a mixture of anger and pity upon his fair face; then he said firmly:  “Malbeach, get up!”

“No!” moaned Malbeach.  “What presumption had I to ever stand and look you in the eye? O that I dared to plot against you; the vile, the unspeakable thoughts that filled me!  I dursn’t look at you; I have done you such wrong!  And the Dwarves – O the Dwarves! – faithful friends of men for centuries; that I defamed you, that I mocked and slew your brothers – O slay me, slay me!”

“Not so fast!” said Vé.  “We want some answers out of you first.”

“Answers!”  Malbeach raised his head and gazed up at them.  His red-rimmed eyes were bloodshot and glazed; his dark curly hair matted and filthy, and his face torn.  He was not the handsome arrogant man they remembered.  More startling to them though was the change in his eyes:  No longer were they dead and dark, but the color seemed to have returned to them, and the life too; they were brimming with the horrors he had visited upon others, and so filled with loathing and anguish it almost hurt them to look into his face.  Legolas braced himself, and met the man’s gaze; but there was no compulsion, no light-headedness, no wool-gathering; his mind was clear and sharp:  Malbeach’s power was indeed broken, as was the man himself.  “Answers!” repeated Malbeach disbelievingly.  “You know what I have done.  You know why I have done it.  Why torment yourselves anew?  I have plotted to kill and destroy; I have colluded with a servant of Morgoth, with the deepest of evil, to torment and hurt, to burn and pillage, to torture and enslave!  And for what?”  He sobbed, and tore at the ground with his fingernails.  “Pleasure!” he moaned, striking his head on the dirt.  “My own repellent pleasure!  It was all a lie – a lie!  I am empty; I shall never be sated!  O what have I done?  What have I done?”  And he sobbed anew, writhing before them.

Gimli and Legolas exchanged puzzled glances, and Gimli said:  “So … you did not plan to plunder the wealth of the Dwarves and the Elves?  You did not seek gold, gems, coins and crowns and jewels?  You were not enriching yourself?”

“No,” sobbed Malbeach, wiping his eyes with the back of his doublet sleeve; the red dye bled upon his cheek.  “It was Renna – that horrible – O save me!  Renna – O, I loved her – I trusted her – Firar and little Rand – my sons – my sons!”  He gave a horrible groan and clutched his stomach, and retched filth upon the ground.  “For riches – it was never enough for her – I gave her gold – necklaces – rings!  But she wanted more – “

“What is it?” asked Tamin suddenly from behind them.  They turned and beheld Tamin with Dúrfinwen coming upon them curiously, their swords at ready; Tamin gasped in surprise when he saw Malbeach, but Dúrfinwen started, mouth open in panic; her eyes alighted with fear and she stumbled backwards, her whole body trembling as though with palsy.  Her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth and she gaped, pale as death; her hand clenched around the rapier’s hilt, and she gave a terrified moan.  Malbeach heard her, and looking up beheld her standing there; with renewed anguish he reached out to her, sobbing.

“You!” he cried.  “You!  O my heart!  O I cannot stand it – you did not die!  O Anóriel daughter of the kings of Dale, the core of my devilish wife’s envy and wrath!”  He stared up at her, grimacing in agony, and she stood still as stone before him, looking down wide-eyed into the horrified face.  “O forgive me, forgive me!” Malbeach cried, curling into a ball.  “Hide your face from me – do not look at me!  Your eyes, your dear brown eyes; I see them in my nightmares; they haunt me, torture me!  I deserve death – ten times over – a hundred times – a thousand – O slay me, slay me!  O what have I done!”

“Hold,” said Legolas again.  He went to Dúrfinwen, and stood so that she was partially shielded behind him; he held his blade between them and Malbeach, and could feel her shrinking and shaking at his back.  “Malbeach,” he said carefully.  “I command you to disclose to us the meaning behind this.  How did you know her name given centuries past is Anóriel?  And what grudge could your wife Renna have had against her, she whom your wife had never met?  And why did you not do as a proper man would do, and step in to rescue the innocent?”  When Malbeach answered not but sobbed with renewed vigor Legolas said angrily: “Speak!  Speak or I will give unto you a token of what you have done to your victims, the children of men, of Dwarves and Elves all alike!  Speak to the one who with his friends removed the foul influence of your snakelike master!”

“O Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood!” cried Malbeach, dragging himself up to his knees.  He hung his head and put his hands in the dirt, clutching at the earth and making furrows with his fingers; tears streamed down his cheeks and watered the ground where he knelt.  “Renna – wanted to be queen of Dale – she is your cousin – Anóriel – “  Malbeach covered his eyes with his hands and wept, and said:  “She thought – if you took your rightful place as queen – she would never recoup her status – she wanted – wealth – position – eminence – love!  Love!”  Malbeach spit upon his own lap, and dropped his head back so that he faced the sky; but he kept his eyes shut, and just wept and wept, and scraped at the earth with his hands.  “Love,” he groaned.  “I loved her – and Firar and Rand – my sons!”

Dúrfinwen was panting with the effort to control her fear, and shook from head to foot; but squaring her shoulders she stepped forward and said with trembling voice:  “And so she sought to disgrace me, to take my place?”

“Yes, O Princess of the House of Dale,” moaned Malbeach.  “And I slew Girion – for her – and paid off his seneschal Gith to remove Bard from the line – so she could assume the throne – its wealth and eminence – but they are yours now – yours, Anóriel.”  Malbeach opened his eyes and looked at her, his chest heaving with sobs.  “Take my life,” he whispered.  “O please, please, Princess, take my life!  I deserve it – a thousand times, death a thousand times is too good for me!  O my sons, my sons!  Renna!  What have I done?  What have I done?”  And he cast himself to the earth again, lost in his abasement.

The Dwarves stood in bemused silence, and Legolas turned to Dúrfinwen.  “Well, Princess?” he said gravely.  “It is upon you the judgment of the house of Dale rests, so that we are all fairly represented:  Eryn Lasgalen, Erebor, and the children of Men.  What shall we do with this poor wreck of a man?”

“Kill him,” said Gimli promptly.  “We do not know we can trust him or his tears.”

“I think Gimli is right, Master,” said Tamin shakily.  “It would be more prudent to remove him, for we do not even have enough food to last us to Erebor.”

“Well, Anóriel?” asked Legolas.  “What say you?”

Dúrfinwen did not speak, but only stared down at the man who writhed before her; her brown eyes were conflicted.  “I, I do not know,” she stammered.  “We are not the only ones who have suffered - I do not think we alone have the right to decide his fate.”  She took a deep breath.  “He must stand trial,” she said with more confidence.  “Before Dale, before Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor.  He and all who have conspired with him must stand trial, and we shall bring witnesses against them, and the kings of the three kingdoms – “ She paused, suddenly realizing her position.  “The royalty of the three kingdoms,” she began again, but then her shoulders slumped, and she was silent.

“Well,” said Gimli unhappily, “I do not like dragging him along; it seems very wasteful to me.  But if Dúr – I mean, Anóriel – thinks it prudent – “

“Prudence!” Malbeach hissed.  They started back; the man had drawn himself up angrily, and his eyes glittered with hatred.  “Prudence!  What does prudence have to do with justice?  By the heavens!  Muhk was right – what a white-livered lot you all are!”  And he suddenly leapt to his feet, and dashed round them; the horses scattered before him. 

“Get him!” bellowed Gimli, turning to take chase; but Legolas cried:  “Wait!”  For Malbeach had found Legolas’ extra sword, the one that with Irmatenagar had slain Muhk.  He held it before them menacingly, its point quivering with the intensity of his grip.  His black eyes were wild, and he bared his teeth like a cornered beast.

“Enough!” he cried.  “Leave me to my fate.  Trial!  Justice!  There shall be no justice for such a wretch as I!”  And he leapt away from them.  They tried to pursue him, but he was faster than the Dwarves, and with Tamin’s broken leg, and Legolas’ weakness, they could not keep up with him; but he ducked into a rocky alcove, and before their eyes thrust the hilt of the sword into a cleft in the rock; then with a strangled cry he impaled himself upon the blade.

His body jerked spasmodically, and he began to squeal and thrash; blood poured from his wound and mouth and nose.  Legolas staggered down to him first, pale and horrified; he tried to hold Malbeach upright, but the man spit at him, and twisted violently away from him, tearing himself anew; he cried in agony, and fell backward off the blade.  He thrashed in the bloodied dirt, froth bubbling round his lips, shrieking and groaning in pain; Legolas reached for him, but he screamed:  “No!  No!   Let me die!”  So Legolas gestured the others away, and they stood and waited. 

Tamin huddled miserably by his Master’s feet, his eyes like saucers; Vé stood smiling down upon Malbeach with grim satisfaction, and Gimli watched with hooded eyes, expressionless.  Dúrfinwen simply stared, her hands opening and closing like the swift progression of morning glories from sunrise to sunset, her pale face composed.  But Legolas stood mournfully over the man, his heart breaking; for Malbeach clutched at his chest, at the spurting wound there, gasping for breath, groaning and squirming, arcing in anguish and crying aloud with pain.  The sun westered and still they stood, and Malbeach’s struggles grew weaker, and his breath shallower; his black eyes lost their focus and he began to beg for water.  Legolas nodded to Tamin, who fetched a water skin; and Legolas took it, and knelt in the blood and dirt by Malbeach’s side.  He cradled the matted head in his hand, and poured a drink of water into the man’s foaming mouth.  Malbeach looked up at Legolas, his eyes anguished and sorrowful; he mouthed:  “I – am sorry – “  Then he coughed, and began to convulse.  Legolas held him still, and with a last shuddering gurgle, Malbeach died.

Legolas straightened the twisted body, and lay the dirty hands upon the bloody chest.  He rose slowly to his feet, and looked carefully at his companions.  Tamin stood with owlish eyes, scarcely comprehending what he had seen transpire; Vé looked satisfied, Gimli only nodded understandingly. Legolas turned to Dúrfinwen.

“Well, I am sorry to say that, for him, there will be no trial, Anóriel,” he said.

Dúrfinwen lifted her face to his, and her brown eyes flashed with anger.  “My name is Dúrfinwen,” she said firmly, and turned away.

(A/N:  Oh, my poor readers; my abject apologies for the tardiness of this update.  As you might have guessed, my personal life suffered a serious setback this year, and I’m finding it difficult to pull myself back together.  All of you who have faithfully read this story – thank you; and I’m not dead!  And to those of you who have just jumped in and are wondering what is going on, well … good luck.  But I assure you all, I have not abandoned this story!  Thanks to my intrepid – and patient! – beta, Nieriel Raina, HERE WE ARE.  Chapter 30, for your perusal.

Again, I am so sorry it’s taken me so long to get my muse going.  For some reason all she wanted to do is watch reruns of “Whose Line is it Anyway?” on YouTube.  You may rest assured, Drew Carey does not have a celebrity cameo in this chapter.

Now … on to the mayhem!

-       Le Rouret)

30. The Hundred

They left Malbeach’s body to rot on the ground.  The sword he had used was carefully cleaned and put back with their baggage.  “It is a good sword,” said Gimli, fingering the damaged hilt.  “I am not certain whence it has come.  It is not Dwarvish, certainly; but it is very ancient – possibly moreso than your Irmatenagar, Legolas.  Perhaps my father will know.”  They packed up their meager supplies and headed off again; their only two consolations in the aftermath of that horrible afternoon were Malbeach’s removal from any sphere of influence, and the comforting sight of Dúrfinwen’s lifted chin and determined gaze.

They headed north-west, hoping to meet with some friendly souls along the way, but determined to reach Erebor and its safeties “before anything else awful happens to us,” as Vé rather grimly put it.  They did not dare press their steeds, for fodder was scarce; even Hammer showed signs of hard wear, and Isilmë, though resolute to  bear his small master well, drooped as he trudged along.

Dúrfinwen had chosen to ride Kaimelas’ mare, a hook-nosed roan with three white socks, who took every chance to nuzzle her new mistress, flick her tail knowingly at the stallions in the herd, and drop her head to tear at any grass they trod upon.  Dúrfinwen did not grudge her mare this poor habit, excusing her by saying, “Food is scant, and she is hungered; besides I should rather Tyarmayél scolded me for my laxness, and fixed this aberrancy herself; it is easier that way.”  Legolas was encouraged by her offhand dismissal of Tyarmayél’s opinion, and was sufficiently hopeful of his mercer’s full recovery to tease her gently on this point; her acerbic response sparked a secret smile that only Gimli caught.

In two days’ time they had traveled a mere seven leagues, for the going was rough, and they sought to spare their horses; fresh water there now was aplenty, but the herd tore at any new greenery with a voraciousness borne of great hunger, and had they not been so injured Legolas would have demanded they walk and not ride.  Tamin insisted his leg was better, but Legolas mistrusted him; Vé continually winced when he moved his arm, and Gimli’s breath was shortened by his broken ribs.  Dúrfinwen was horribly thin; Legolas was pained to see her thus, who ought to have been dimpled and creamy-skinned; he did not notice for himself how appalling was his own countenance, sunken-cheeked and pale, with dark circles round his grey eyes.  But Tamin and Gimli saw, and conferred worriedly together in undertones about the paucity of their comestibles.

The third day dawned clouded and yellow-grey, though the high wind scattered the clouds and sent sun down upon their heads in fits and starts; they drank deeply from the fresh water pouring from a cleft in the rock by which they had camped, and ate the last of Bandobras’ beans.  Vé began to look contemplatively at the pack horses, but Gimli said:  “It is no use, Vé; you would never convince them to try it.  They would rather starve.”

“Well, I would not,” Vé grumbled, and scanned the sky gloomily.  “O for a goose!” he muttered.

“I would not turn my nose up at a sparrow,” sighed Gimli.  He glanced over at the Elves, who were sitting together by the dying embers of the morning fire, speaking in their soft sibilant tongue together.  Fair faces were etched with hunger and remembered pain; bright eyes were dimmed by grief and latent fear.  He watched as Legolas gestured to Tamin, laughing lightly; but the hand, of wont so strong, was thin and tremulous, and the tunic he wore hung on him like the skin shed from a snake.  Dúrfinwen answered her lord’s laugh, though, and ruffled Tamin’s sunny hair, but the breeze pressed the old tunic against her form, betraying the skin and bone she had become.  “Worn down to nothing,” Gimli said under his breath.  “Ill and injured and ensorcelled!  We are a fine company, are we not?”

“It could be worse,” Vé pointed out.  “We could in this sorry state, and be facing a hundred enemies.”

“Or another dragon,” said Gimli, smiling nonetheless.  “No, O Vé; you are correct; we are not starved yet.”

“Yet,” said Vé, looking again at the pack horses, at a barrel-bellied chestnut in particular.  “Horse isn’t that bad, you know.  And I’m so hungry I’d risk Legolas’ anger for a bite!”

“I shall never be that hungry,” said Gimli firmly; Vé looked at him with wide eyes but did not answer.

They broke camp, gathering their meager possessions, and mounted once more.  The ground was rising steadily, and the wind picked up; clouds careened through the pale dome of the heavens, and the thin new grass rippled beneath its rough caress.  The sun shone down upon them bravely, winking when the clouds obscured her face, and stretching their morning shadows out far to their left, where they rose and receded against the uneven earth.  They rode up a steep rocky slope, the wind at their backs; it tore through their clothes and whipped Legolas’ and Tamin’s golden hair round their faces.  Dúrfinwen gave an irritated exclamation, and brushed at her curls; they had grown long enough to tickle her torn ear, and she pulled her long fingers through them.  At that moment a shaft of sunlight fell athwart her thin form, and Legolas looked at her, and burst out laughing.

“Dúrfinwen!” he cried, delighted.  “It is red!  Your hair is growing in red!”

Dúrfinwen stared at him aghast, and put her hands to her head.  “Red!” she exclaimed, looking wildly about.  “Not red – anything but red.  A looking-glass – have none of you a looking-glass to spare?”

Vé looked too, and laughed.  “Not so much red as auburn,” he said with a grin, sidling Wuóri over and patting the woman’s knee.  “It’s not so noticeable unless you’re in the sun.”

“But it is red,” grinned Gimli.  “Heavens!  How pleased my mother shall be!  Not enough red-headed women in Middle-Earth, she always says!”

“It is not red,” said Dúrfinwen angrily, plucking at her curls and trying to see them, though they were yet too short.  “It cannot be.  I am not red-haired.  It is not red – is it?”

“It is, a little,” said Legolas with a laugh.  “Red!  My lady mother shall be delighted.  She has long loved Andunië’s copper locks; add your ringlets to the mix and you shall be hard pressed to keep her hands out of your hair.”

“I cannot have red hair,” said Dúrfinwen firmly.  “I simply cannot; it is unacceptable.  It would alter the color palate of mine entire wardrobe.  Red!  It will conflict with my claret-colored ball gown!  And my plum riding-dress! “  She shook her head disgustedly.  “You wait and see,” she said darkly.  “I will be forever compelled to wear green – green, like Andunië always does!”

“I think it is pretty,” said Tamin hesitantly, looking up at Dúrfinwen’s russet tresses with admiration.  “And perhaps it will grow darker as it gets longer, Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen,” said that woman shortly.  “And with my luck it will grow the redder.”  She touched the curls discontentedly.  “Red!” she muttered.  “What else can go wrong?”

“It could have come in grey,” said Vé.  Dúrfinwen shuddered.

“Very well,” she said.  “You have made your point!”

They stopped in a little green vale to rest and feed the horses, and Legolas took his bow and quiver, and set out to find game.  “Bring back some rabbits!” Gimli ordered him, and Legolas with a light laugh promised to try his best.  But in very little time he came hurrying back empty-handed, though his eyes were alight and he looked excited.

“Gimli!” he exclaimed.  “I am going to set you a riddle.”

“Bother riddles!” said Gimli.  “Where are my rabbits?”

“Rabbit is too stringy,” said Legolas dismissively.  “What has two hundred legs and smells like a tannery?”

“A very large centipede,” said Vé.

“He said two hundred, not one hundred, Vé,” said Tamin.

“Two centipedes, then,” said Vé.

“I have never smelled a centipede,” said Tamin.   “Do they smell like tanneries?”

“When you squash them, they do,” said Vé.  “Ugh!  Horrible stink.”

“I hardly think Legolas returned to ask me about centipedes,” said Gimli dryly.  “So I give it up, my friend; what has two hundred legs and smells like a tannery?”

“O do not give it up yet, Gimli!” protested Tamin.  “We have not played a game in – O!  Ever so long!  Ask him for another clue, do, Gimli; I am anxious to see you solve the riddle.”

“Very well,” said Gimli with a sigh.  “Give me a clue, Legolas.”

“Eighteen pipes, but only thirteen of them smoke,” grinned Legolas.

They all paused, considering; then the wind shifted to the south, and they heard high and light the trilling sounds of fifes; and Tamin and Dúrfinwen sniffed the air and said:  “Dwarves!”

“You win!” said Legolas with a glad laugh, clapping his hands.  “Better luck next time, Gimli.”

“Jackanapes!” growled Gimli, but he got up happily enough, and dusted off his breeches.  “Stonehelm must have sent them; my father said he would ask that help be dispatched.  How fortunate we are to foregather with them!”

“We’ll be all the more fortunate if they have something to eat,” said Vé, and together they took their horses and trudged to the crest of the vale.

The hundred Dwarves marched in formation, with fife and drum guiding them, and at their head was an old Dwarf in a purple cloak, walking proudly beneath the gold standard of Erebor.  “Dori!” exclaimed Gimli gladly, and taking his hood he waved it over his head and called:

“O my brothers, my kinsmen!  How you have come to us in our moment of need!  It is I, Gimli Glóin’s son; come to us and quickly, bearing food and unguents, for we are in dire need of your help!”

The Dwarves pointed and exclaimed, and Dori glared up at Gimli with a frown, looking from him to Legolas standing tall and pale by his side.  “Gimli Elf-friend!” he boomed; his voice was stuttered by the wind.  “What are you doing, wandering round the wilderness with the Elvenking’s son?  A sad state of affairs this; I have been criss-crossing this barren wilderness to find and fetch you back, when I ought rather to be fighting by my brother’s side in Esgaroth!”

“Fighting!” said Legolas and Gimli at once; but ere they could expostulate Vé struggled to the crest, and looking down anxiously amongst the assembly suddenly cried out happily:

“Papa!  Papa, Papa!  It’s me, it’s Vé!”

A cross-looking Dwarf in a grey hood pushed his way to the front of the file, staring up in amazement; when his eyes lighted upon Vé his face was transformed, and he laughed aloud and cried:

“Vé, Vé!  O thank the devils that misshape the molten earth!  Vé, you ninny-hammered, muddy-brained, doltish dunce of a son; where in the name of the lowest levels of Moria have you been?  Get you down here to once, and let me just put my hands on your knobby-pated, logger-headed canker-blossom!” 

Vé burst into tears, and laughing struggled down the slope to his father, who took him roughly by the shoulders and embraced him.  The Dwarves round them stood back smiling, and carefully did Legolas and Gimli aid themselves to the canyon floor, with Dúrfinwen and Tamin upon their steeds behind them.  Still growling epithets such as “tickle-brained idiot” and “beetle-headed lout,” Vé’s father continued to shake and expostulate, and Vé wept and wept, clinging to his father’s shoulders.  With an amused expression the Dwarf in the purple cloak stepped forward; he was stately and dignified, and his gold belt richly bejeweled.

“Gimli Glóin’s son!” he said, taking Gimli’s hand with a smile.  “You have been long out of our sights.  And Legolas, son of Thranduil!   What mischief has been wrought!  Many thanks though for your valambassador; he has amused our king at any rate, and we are grateful to hear Thorin Stonehelm laugh once more.”

“Has Kaimelas been behaving himself then?” grinned Legolas, shaking Dori’s hand gratefully.  “How wonderful it is to foregather with you!  Have you any cheese?”

“Cheese!” exclaimed Dori in amazement, but then he espied Dúrfinwen upon her mare, and started back, a look of horrified recognition upon his face.

“By all powers!” he breathed.  “It is not the Elf-maid Dúrfinwen Daughter of No-One, is it?”  And he stared at her with an expression of disbelief.  Dúrfinwen blushed deeply, ashamed of her disheveled state; but Tamin piped up angrily:

“It is not!  This is the right and distinguished mercer of Dol Galenehtar, Princess Anóriel daughter of Fércast, and she is very brave and valiant and strong and mighty and is the friend of wizards and thus-such, O Lord Dwarf; and do not disparage her hair for it has not grown in all the way yet, and shall be red and curly, which I think is quite pretty, though apparently I am in the minority in my preference.”

“Indeed!” said Dori, tamping down a smile as he looked up at Tamin’s indignant pale face.  “Red and curly hair is nothing to belittle, O Elfling; not in the slightest; and if Anóriel Daughter of Fércast will forgive my sauce, I shall gift her with all the cheese she like, provided she repay me when her hair has grown in properly, with a coil of those auburn locks – “ he cast an appreciative eye over Dúrfinwen’s shapely head “ – and the promise of a kind word and gracious cup of tea.”

“If you grant me a dram of cheese and a gill of wine, I will shave my head – again,” said Dúrfinwen politely, smiling at the Dwarf.  “And I shall sit bald-pated, and serve out of my porcelain pot the best and strongest tea you shall ever drink, flavored with hot cream and fine lavender honey.”

“Done!” grinned Dori.  “You are a fine specimen of maid, by thunder!  Though I contend you need a good two stone upon you to fill out properly.  By the heavens!  How happy your fathers shall be, Gimli you lout, and Legolas you frivolous fool, to hear you are well!  Well over a week have we wandered this desolate place, hearing naught but the rumble of thunder and the growl of the starving lion; not three days hence did the dark clouds dissipate and we feel brave enough to venture east.  We are missing most of the fun, you know; Thorin and Thranduil have marched upon Esgaroth, and are most likely putting it to flame as we speak.  Hél!  Söga!  Get these Elves some cheese and pomace – no wine, I fear, fair maid!  We are on straited means – and some cram, and see if Váli has any stoned raisins left.”  He clapped his big meaty hands, and several Dwarves near him scattered, vanishing to the back of the file; Dori turned to Gimli and Legolas with a warm smile.  “It is good to see you both,” he said, taking Legolas by the hand and peering carefully up into the Green Knight’s face.  “But you are looking rather peaky, Legolas.”

“It has been a terrible time, O Dori Gori’s son, inestimable servant of Stonehelm,” said Legolas soberly.  “May I present to you mine esquire Tamin son of Rúmil, and my mercer Princess Anóriel daughter of Fércast, with whom you have been forcibly acquainted already.”

“Please, do sit,” said Dori politely, and gesturing to one of his companions a cloak was spread upon the ground, and with the grace and dignity of a high queen, Dúrfinwen took Legolas’ hand, and dismounted, and gently sat herself upon the proffered cloak, smiling upon the flustered young Dwarf who had provided it and thanking him, making his ears turn pink.  Several other Dwarves rushed up with linen-wrapped packages and skins, and they fell over themselves offering to the woman their cheese and bread and drink; Tamin watched disapproving, but Gimli and Legolas hid their smiles behind their hands.  For herself Dúrfinwen with ladylike poise conversed courteously with her Dwarvish courtiers, ‘til they elbowed each other aside and strove to impress her with their manners and food; her chestnut eyes sparkled like a swift-moving river and she demurely allowed them their vanities.  Dori observed this with a grin, then turning to Vé and his father said:

“Búri!  Can you not see the boy is injured?  Let him speak with me, and then you may abuse him all you like, in recompense for the worry he has foisted upon you.”

“O very well!” growled the Dwarf, releasing Vé and wiping his eyes.  “But you wait ‘til his mother gets hold of him!  Running off the way he did, trying to impress the King under the Mountain, and getting himself fair killed!  O you are in for a hide-tanning, you are, Vé!”

“O Papa!” said Vé, giving his father a rough embrace.  “Do you not be too offended with me, now; I’ve fallen into lofty company, I have!  This is the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, now, and the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, he is; and this here’s Gimli Glóin’s son, and I’ve rubbed shoulders with the likes of Wizards and such, and helped kill a dragon – “

“A dragon!” exclaimed several Dwarves, turning white, and even Dori looked amazed.  “A dragon!” he repeated.  “Why, that explains – well – quite a bit, it does, and solves a pressing mystery we’ve uncovered ourselves, out here in the bare wilderness.  A dragon!  All that strange and secretive talk, and the number of dead – yes indeed, it explains quite a bit.  I guess that dirty beggar wasn’t lying, after all.”

“Beggar?” said Gimli suspiciously, frowning at Dori, though he was momentarily distracted by a wedge of cheese and a cup of pomace, which he began devouring hungrily.  “What beggar?” he demanded with his mouth full.  “Is there someone wandering about out here, that has seen what this vile cold drake has done?”

“A beggar indeed,” said Dori grimly, and casting a cautious eye upon Dúrfinwen he said:  “I would use rougher language, but there is a lady present.”

“Good Dori Gori’s son,” said Dúrfinwen mellifluously, smiling her best and most charming smile, “I do commend you for your gentle courtesy, and am o’ercome quite by your modest reticence; but such is the tense terror of these times come upon us that the hour for reserve is past, and we are in need of answers and not politesse.  So I beg of you, inestimable Dwarf among Dwarves, to disclose unto us your mind, and spare not the epithets; my poor ears are sufficiently abused, and so lush do I find your generosity I am confounded, and I shall gladly forgive you any oversight.”

“Nicely said!” murmured Legolas with a wink; Dori however beamed appreciatively at her, puffing his chest out a little, and making the surrounding sycophants glare. 

“O Princess Anóriel!” he said, bowing elaborately and taking one of Dúrfinwen’s wasted hands in his own.  “Such is the magnitude of your refinement and womanliness that I hesitate to ask such a thing of you; but we as rough warriors and Dwarves of the Earth have little truck with creatures the likes of which we have found, and I would beg your advice in this matter.”

“Speak, Dori of Erebor!” smiled Dúrfinwen, squeezing his hand and fluttering her lashes.  “I shall to repay you for your kindness in our hour of need bestow upon your prisoner whatever benevolence and wisdom I might possess.”

“I would expect nothing less from a princess of your dignity and beauty,” declared Dori.  “But I feel obliged to warn you, O Anóriel the Amiable, lady of the House of Fércast, that this base vagabond is a woman of ignoble and corrupt language, and I do fear me she is less than upright in her estimations betwixt truth and lies.”

Dúrfinwen’s face shuttered a moment, and the light in her eyes faded.  “Woman?” she said flatly, and the hand in Dori’s went limp.

“Yes, O Princess,” said Dori sadly.  “A wasted and dilapidated whore we found, wandering mad and forward in the rocks; we have bound and fed her, and dragged her along as best we might; but I am sore confounded by her presence, and would like to know what exactly we ought to do with her.”

“What is her name?” asked Legolas sharply, glancing with an alarmed expression upon his mercer, who had paled with fear.

“She says it is Lenna,” said Dori with a shrug, “but my heart misgives me, and I think she is mad, or lying.”

“What color is her hair?” asked Dúrfinwen, and Dori stared at her, for her voice was thick and expressionless, and her eyes dull.

“She has no hair,” he said, wondering.  “It has all been shorn away.  What little there is may have once been brown, but it is gray now, and very stubbled.  Past her first youth she is, but anxious to prove unto us how beautiful and alluring she might be; she coquettes and presses, but in a sordid and ignoble fashion; it is for this reason I brand her a whore; she is no better than she pretends to be – is a good deal worse, in my opinion.”  He bowed over Dúrfinwen’s hand again, and said apologetically:  “There is no reason, your highness, to so discommode yourself on this slattern’s behalf; I will simply bring her to Bard and – “

“I must see her,” said Dúrfinwen, and leapt to her feet, shaking her hand from Dori’s, who stared in surprise.  Legolas stepped forward, and took his mercer by the arm, drawing her back away from the Dwarves, and holding her still he hissed in her ear: 

“Little One,” he whispered earnestly, too low for the others to hear.  “There is no reason to torment yourself on her behalf.  Let it go rather, and allow me to –“

“You!” she breathed, staring up into his pale eyes, her face grey and tragic.  “You, Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, O Green Knight, Jewel of Ithilien?  Do you not know?  Did you not divine?  Your Lord Father was but the primary pawn in her game.  ‘Twas you, O my lord, upon whom she set her sights; she did press me for your mind, for the deep and most secret corners of your desires!  What color dress did you find most pleasing upon the ladies?  Did you like your meat savory or plain?  Whom did you take to your chambers, and what color hair had she?  How often did you disport yourself in the brothels of Osgiliath?  Did you prefer the scent of rose-petals or of lilac?”  Legolas blushed deeply and she said angrily:  “Yes!  It was to align herself with you, my lord; to take you to bed, and ensnare you, and have your offspring; when I fought her compulsion to betray you did she become the more convinced I was your especial paramour, and O how she hated me for it!”  She sought to wrench her arm from Legolas’ grasp, but he in his bewilderment grasped her the tighter; she struggled against him and clutched at his tunic and sobbed:  “She cut off my hair – and took my clothes – anything – anything to look like me!  In vain did I tell her I was but your mercer and you but my lord; that we had never lain together, despite the one who desired me most –“

“Belias – “ stammered Legolas, white-faced and horrified; she gave a terrible laugh.

“Belias!” she cried, beating Legolas’ chest with her fists.  “Belias the handsome, the forthright, the humorless!  Belias who begged Malbeach to visit those especial evils upon himself, and so spare Melima and me those torments! Belias the tender-hearted, the firm-souled, of high and irreproachable repute!  Belias whose body broke beneath the weight of iniquity but was left close-mouthed and unassailable!  And I – wretch that I am!  I was his beloved – I, I!  But he was not mine – not mine.”  And she fell upon his breast and wept, and in great choking breaths she whispered:  “To impress me - he told me – all the passwords – used by the guards at the river-chambers beneath the palace – “

Legolas’ mind was filled then with the vision he had dreamt, of Eryn Lasgalen aflame; he saw his birthplace engulfed with fire, and his people burning alive, crying for mercy; he smelled the smoke and the scent of scorched hair and flesh, and with a rush of fear and anger he took Dúrfinwen by the wrists, and shook her; Gimli gave a cry, and running to them tried to pry his friend’s fingers off her, but they were like iron shackles, digging into the woman’s arms.  “What did you tell them?” he shouted, overcome with dread; he could only see his mother and father, burning and screaming, and the oaks of his home like torches kissing the sky.  Dori and the other Dwarves stared in amazement, and Vé and Tamin leapt forward with cries of dismay.  “Did you betray him?  Did you?  Did you?”

“I told her!” cried Dúrfinwen, laughing feverishly.  “I told her – I told her Ancanga!”

“Ancanga?” said Legolas, nonplussed; he stared hard into Dúrfinwen’s face, and she gazed desperately back, her eyes streaming with tears; then her face crumpled like a limp cloth, and she collapsed against him; he took her in his arms, bewildered.  “That is not one of the passwords – “

“Belias,” she sobbed, clutching at his tunic.  “He said – it was a code – a trick password – signaling the guards to attack.”

“Oh – “  Legolas’ face cleared, and his heart, so heavy with dread, lifted; then he flung his arms about her and laughed, and spun her round.  “Ancanga, the iron teeth of the trap snap shut!” he crowed delightedly.  “O you and Belias both; you brilliant instigators!  They walked into a trap – a trap!”

“Vile – stupid – you arrogant – “ Dúrfinwen fought him then, punching and kicking at him; but she was yet too weak to do him any harm, and he held her still, still chuckling.  “Did you think – I was so puling – “

“Never – never,” Legolas said soothingly, stroking the auburn curls and laughing.  “Not my Dúrfinwen – not my Little One.”

“Not your Little One – You – you conceited – you percilious – “

“Hush, hush!”  Still she struggled in his arms, but he was laughing in relief and holding her tight.  “O my brave, my clever mercer!  I shall grant you an extra ten chambers and twelve looms and sixteen spindles and twenty skilled laborers and an account sufficient to purchase every ounce of silk from every house in Eryn Vorn – “

She kicked ineffectively at his shins.  “You – condescending – never give me the benefit of the doubt – you – “

“And carte blanche to create your own new wardrobe,” he added soothingly, patting her back.  “Olives and burgundies and chestnuts and golds and creams and oranges, teal and black and crimson and purple – “

She stamped her foot and thrashed desperately.  “You damned facinorous hedgehog, seeking to bribe me – “

“Facinorous hedgehog; I quite like that,” said Búri suddenly, and Legolas and Dúrfinwen, startled, turned to him, still locked in their contentious embrace; so embroiled had they been in their private argument that they had forgotten anyone else was there. Gimli and Tamin were standing by deeply dismayed, and Dori and all his Dwarves stood staring at them, intrigued and bewildered.  “I’ll have to remember that one, won’t I, Vé my boy?”

“It’s a good one, Papa, that it is,” said Vé approvingly, looking with significant interest at the Green Knight’s arms entwined round Dúrfinwen’s waist, and her hands clutching the lapels of his tunic.  “Are we entirely sure, Gimli, that Renna didn’t maybe have a bead on something here?”

Legolas hastily released her, and Dúrfinwen stepped away from him, straightened her dirty tunic, ran her fingers through her curls, and addressed Dori with lifted chin:

“My apologies, O Dori son of Gori, for so base a display; I ought not to have let my temper get hold of me so tight, nor used such vile language.”

“Not at all, not at all!” grinned Dori; his eyes were twinkling and he looked very amused.  “What I say is, a lady who is too mealy-mouthed to swear is not a very interesting lady at all, and you, O Anóriel Princess of the House of Fércast, are a very interesting specimen indeed.  Near perfect you are,” he added apologetically, “barring the lack of beard.  But perhaps that’s something you can work on over time.”

“I trust you are jesting,” said Dúrfinwen severely. 

“Only partially,” said Dori.  “That was an impressive stream of epithets.”

Dúrfinwen blushed deeply.  “Thank you,” she said, a little stiffly.  She glanced at Legolas, who was biting his lip.  “I – would like to interview this woman you have apprehended, but would prefer to do so alone.”

“So I surmised,” smiled Dori.  “I take it there is some – “ he glanced at Legolas, and it was the Green Knight’s turn to blush “ – private history there.”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Legolas, smiling faintly.  “But if this woman is to be questioned, I forbid Princess Anóriel to put herself at the mercy of the slattern’s venomous tongue.  I shall accompany her.”

“Not alone, you won’t,” growled Gimli.  “I’m coming, too.”

“And I,” said Tamin.  “No!” he exclaimed, his eyebrows lowering when Legolas opened his mouth.  “I will go along, Master, and you cannot stop me!”

“I was going to say, O my Tamin,” said Legolas dryly, “that, certainly you ought to come, and Vé too; I believe with the four of us we shall provide all the protection and guard the Daughter of Fércast requires.”

“This is hardly necessary,” said Dúrfinwen sullenly.

“Perhaps not,” Legolas conceded gently.  “But I fear I must insist, your highness.”

She sighed and said, resigned:  “Insist, then, your highness; but impede me not; I must speak with her.”

“I know you must,” said Legolas, taking her hand in his own.  “And so must I.  But not alone, Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen,” she said.  “Very well.”  She turned to Dori, who was watching this exchange with keen interest.  “The prisoner?”

“Right this way, your highnesses,” said Dori with gracious politesse, and led Dúrfinwen to the back of the file.

The Dwarves parted before them; Legolas and Gimli walked behind Dúrfinwen and Dori, and Tamin and Vé took up the rear.  They passed the pipers and drummers and warriors, the archers and pikesmen and foot-soldiers; the waggon of foodstuff and its little ponies, and at last, sitting tattered and dejected upon the earth in a little heap, her hands loosely bound with loops of rope and her stubbled head lolling, they beheld Renna of Dale.

“There she is!” said Dori in a low voice.  “And I wish you the best of her.  But we have got naught but strange tales and inappropriate advances out of her, and she changes her story twelve times a day.  Good luck getting the truth!”  And bowing to Dúrfinwen he and his Dwarves withdrew, leaving them with Renna.

Legolas took Dúrfinwen’s arm then, and Gimli, Vé, and Tamin stood at her back; she was trembling violently, and her brown eyes were dilated nearly black; but she lifted her chin upon her wasted neck and stood firm.  “Renna,” she said, and held her breath, as though she expected the woman to strike like a snake.

Renna shifted a little on the hard rocky ground.  She did not resemble the fair and well-dressed woman they had seen in Dale; she was gaunt and bruised and covered in soot, and her lovely red gown was torn at the bodice, and the petticoats gone missing.  She was barefoot and bleeding, and her hands were clutching and releasing, clutching and releasing in her lap, like some strange machine; she stared at the dirt beside her, red lips pursed, humming a little under her breath as though they were not there.

“Renna of Dale!” boomed Gimli then, and everyone jumped.  “On your knees in just abasement, you vile trollop!  Face the one whom you have so evilly wronged!”

Legolas held his breath, awaiting the heaviness, the wool gathering behind his eyes; but when Renna looked up at him, smiling, he felt naught:  No compulsion, no attraction; only a feeling of mingled shame and anger looking down upon that lovely and unfeeling face.

“Legolas,” she breathed, her voice trembling with passion; he grimaced, and drew back, disgusted, for he looking into those warm brown eyes descried clearly then the ugly soul they housed, and it was repulsive to him.  Her lips parted, showing her teeth; and her bosom heaved as her breath quickened.  “Legolas,” she said again; she was pleading, clasping her hands together and pressing them to her breasts, quite cleverly pushing them up and in so that they looked higher and firmer.  Legolas shook himself; how had he not seen her thus before?  Wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes and round her mouth, and there were even hoary hairs in her eyebrows; he could smell her too, smell the sour and stinking detritus of her passion.  “Legolas,” she said, gazing up at him in adoration.  “O how happy I am that you are uninjured!  Tell me, please, O glorious and beneficent prince; have you succeeded in freeing my poor Esgaroth from its bonds?  Have you slain my husband and his awful men?  O do tell me you have, O my lord, my prince, my beautiful prince; I have been desolate in your absence, and terrified on your behalf!  But I ought not to have been,” she added  coquettishly, fluttering her lashes at him.  “So strong, so noble, so fair!  Guided as you are by the magnificent and impervious virtue of your honor and integrity, how could you help but succeed!  Thank you, your highness,” she said, turning so that she was on her knees before him, staring with rapt veneration at him, though her eyes lingered a little on his mouth.  “Thank you – thank you for saving my people!”

Legolas was amazed at her audacity.  “You thank me, then?” he demanded angrily.  “You thank me for slaying your contemptible master – the worm, the dragon Muhk?”  She flinched back then, a spark of fear in her eyes; he added scathingly:  “Yes – Muhk!  Perjure yourself no more, nor seek to deceive me; I found the dragon’s lair, and slew him myself.  And as for saving your people – “ He shook his head in disbelief.  “Ask me rather if I saved your husband,” he said, his voice heavy with aversion.  “You loathsome creature!  He told us what you did – “

“It was not I!” she exclaimed, her face white.  “O Prince Legolas, O Legolas the generous, the kind, the munificent, it was not I – believe me, O believe me!  O the lies spoken of me; the indignities I have suffered on my poor misguided husband’s behalf!”  Tears flowed down her cheeks and she sobbed.  “He never desired me – O it was shameful, shameful; rather he wanted men, not I; I in my longing to be loved by him perhaps went too far – “

“Too far!” spluttered Gimli.  “You let the worm eat your sons!”

“O not that!” exclaimed Renna, looking shocked at Gimli, her eyes dilating with fear.  “O noble and wise son of Durin, never that!  What woman would dare - I would not dare!  I – I brought my sons – to meet him – to meet Muhk – I never intended – O I would never have dared – “

“Liar,” hissed Dúrfinwen then, and Renna drew back, alarmed; the fear sparked in her eyes was fanned into a flame, and she looked terrified at the woman.  “Liar thrice over.  What you have done, I have observed with mine own eyes.  You are a liar and a thief and fit for hanging alone.”  Her voice shook with anger and loathing, and she trembled with rage; Renna stared up at Dúrfinwen, her mouth working soundlessly; then she gave a terrible smile.

“Anóriel!” she purred, her eyes alight with mischief.  “What lovely vestments you wear!”  She smirked at the stained tunic and breeches.  “So fashionable, and it suits your lovely hair so well!  Ah; Princess Vandalia would be so proud to see her daughter like this – would she not, your royal mother?”

“What!”  Dúrfinwen started back, alarmed.  “How did you – “

Renna leant forward, her eyes hooded, her lips turned into an unpleasant smile.  “Muhk,” she hissed, and Dúrfinwen cringed away from her.  “Muhk – he told me – told me who you were.”  Renna spat and added angrily:  “So you sought to supersede my claim to Dale’s throne, did you?  Well might you be in the direct distaff line; but I’ll warrant my letters patents are superior to yours – half-breed!”

“Why would I want to rule Dale?” demanded Dúrfinwen, in turn growing angry.  “That middling, squalid, hovel-strewn town!  I should rather be a slave in the white towers of my bountiful and lovely Dol Galenehtar than rule so pretentious and insignificant a collection of blinder-afflicted pompous merchants!  Dale,” she said, affronted.  “The very idea!”

Renna chewed her lip angrily, then burst out:  “Foundling bastard!  A shame Muhk had your rake of a father slaughtered at Rhosgobel!”   At Dúrfinwen’s nonplussed look she added with an evil grin:  “He sought to cleanse the royalty of Dale – bring in folk fitting that noble house – and when Vandalia, your mother, defiled herself with Fércast, he sent his servant Ushtâk to do what needed to be done, to protect Dale’s nobility from the influence of so vile a miscreant, and slaughter him ere he could sully Dale’s royal house by wedding her!”

“How – can this be?” asked Legolas, amazed.  “Ushtâk – I slew him myself – “

“O yes!” purred Renna, turning her gaze, ardent once more, upon the Green Knight; she fluttered her eyelashes and cooed:  “Little … yellow … hornet.”

Legolas’ lips moved, but no words emerged; in his eyes was the look of a man who did not know what to think.  But Dúrfinwen gritted her teeth and said:

“It matters not what lies that worm slipped into your eager ears.  I am Anóriel Daughter of King Fércast of the Laiquendi, Daughter of Princess Vandalia of Dale; I have that on better authority than yours, you foul-tongued, common strumpet!  And I declare your sins have caught up with you at last:  We shall take you to your vaunted Dale, to that filthy, rat-infested, trifling town you wished to rule, and before a high court composed of Dwarves, Elves, and Men, you shall answer for your crimes.  I will see you brought to your homeland and set to trial, and you shall be stripped and flogged and hung upon a gibbet so that the ravens pick out your eyes ere you have perished!”  But Renna only laughed, and giving Dúrfinwen an arch look she said scornfully:

“So you will take me to trial, will you?  O do so – do so!  I ache to see you in the stand, bringing your accusation upon me, half-blooded bastard whore!  O yes,” she added, smirking evilly as Dúrfinwen flinched, her adamance shaken.  “Tell them just what you did!  For I did not force you to do that – did I, Anóriel?  O no!  Coercion one might call it; but I heard you cry out in ecstasy – “

“Stop!” cried Dúrfinwen, putting her fingers in her ears; but Renna laughed.

“I saw you!” she crowed, delighted.  “I saw you give yourself to my husband’s men.  I’ll tell the whole town how you submitted yourself willingly to their caprices – “

“I did not!” protested Dúrfinwen, white and shaking.  “I, I was trying to save Melima – “

“That little white-haired bitch!” said Renna scornfully.  “She wasn’t worth it, and you knew it well!  O no, the Lord of Dol Galenehtar wasn’t man enough for you, was he, Anóriel?  You just had to have more and more – “

“Quiet!” thundered Legolas, appalled.  “You have no right – “

“And what will you do, great and glorious prince?” demanded Renna with a wild laugh.  “Well do I remember the feel of your hands on my breasts, and I shall take great pleasure in describing that to the assembly – “

“Stop it – stop it!” begged Dúrfinwen; she shook as though with palsy, and her face was white with fear.  Gimli and Vé were staring in disbelief, and Legolas felt his blood boil; he was light-headed.

“Stop it!”  Renna shrieked with delight.  “O you coquette, Anóriel; how you teased my men with your false modesty!  And I shall tell all Dale and Esgaroth – and Erebor and Mirkwood too, yes! – how I observed you spread wantonly upon the earth – “

Tamin moved so quickly that not even Legolas could restrain him.  Whence had come the dragon’s fang into the boy’s hand no one knew; stunned past action they watched the Green Knight’s esquire dart forward, and thrust the spike deep into Renna’s chest.  She screamed and fell back, and Tamin landed on her, his left hand round her throat, stabbing her repeatedly with the long poisonous fang.  “You witch – witch – witch!” he cried, striking her again and again; Renna shrieked and struggled but Tamin held her tight.  “This is for Bandy – and Kálfar!  And the girl in the stables!  For Esgaroth – “  Each word matched another thrust with the fang, and Renna began to froth and convulse.  “You vile – you horrible – “

“Tamin, Tamin!” cried Legolas, grasping his esquire and hauling him off the quaking and twitching body; the blood from Renna’s wounds was mingled with a stinking green poison, and she spat foam and blood, her face grey and terrified. Grasping Tamin’s wrist he held the fang far from them; it dripped blood and venom.  “Stop, Tamin!  Stop!”

“No!” shouted Tamin, wriggling and struggling in his Master’s arms.  “She will not disgrace Anóriel before Dale – or you – I will not let her!  I – WILL – NOT!”  He kicked out then, and his foot caught Renna in the side; still convulsing she rolled over, retching blood and foam and poison upon the ground.  Realizing he could not break his Master’s grip, he threw the fang at her; it fell to the ground, bloody and stained; when it rolled up to Vé’s foot he backed away quickly. 

“Tamin!” sobbed Legolas, holding the boy tight.  “No, no; not my Tamin – not my Little One – “

At last Tamin’s struggles subsided, and he let his Master hold him; they stood round silently and watched as Renna’s struggling faded too; with a final awful gurgle her body arced up and stiffened, her eyes glazing over as they stared up to the sky; then with a rattling sigh all life faded.

Dúrfinwen stood stunned with them, unable to tear her eyes away from the dead woman lying in a filthy bloodied heap.  Gimli took a deep breath then, and loosened Legolas’ grip from round Tamin’s shoulders; the boy pulled away, his fair face furious and filled with hate; he was shaking with wrath.  Legolas stared at his esquire in horror, then turned to Dúrfinwen and said with a trembling voice:

“Anóriel – this ought not to have happened – “  He looked at Vé and Gimli standing soberly round, and said, “She ought rather to have gone to trial, and had her sins displayed for all to hear; it would have been more just, especially considering the damage she and her husband have done to the relations betwixt Dwarf, Elf, and Man.  I am very sorry.”  He looked mournfully at Tamin.  “My Tamin,” he said, “there was no cause – “

 “No cause!” cried Tamin, straightening and facing his appalled Master, trembling with rage.  “I would do it again –and had I known what she had done, I should have climbed up the balustrades of the tourney grounds, and slit her throat at the joust!  Why, had I the foreknowledge and opportunity, would I have even smothered her as a babe at her mother’s breast!”  There was a terrible silence then; Tamin’s breath dragged and snagged, and the tears ran freely down his flushed cheeks.  “Dragons are born evil,” panted Tamin, retrieving the bloody fang and tucking it into his tunic.  “But she ought to have known better.”  And turning on his heel he stalked away, back to the waiting wagons, leaving the four of them staring rather blankly at each other.  At last Vé stirred and said to Gimli,

“Your Elves have gone potty.  Let’s get them back to Erebor, double-time.”  And he kicked dust at Renna’s body, and turned, and followed Tamin away.

(A/N:  I hear you all say, "At last!"  At least, the few of you who haven't given up on me say so ... the rest of you are probably thinking, "Gee, I don't remember this story ... "

My apologies; I'm hoping to get this wrapped up fairly soon.  We're on the downward slope; all I require is time, patience, and motivation!  Many thanks to both Nieriel Raina and Sheraiah, who helped with this chapter; exposition can be tedious, can't it?

-- Le Rouret)

31. Fathers and Sons

The Dwarves felt it would be untidy to leave Renna’s body to the elements, and digging a shallow grave they cast her into it, dumping dirt and rocks upon it, and when they had supped, leaving it behind them.  Dori, mindful of Dúrfinwen’s tears and her shaken demeanor, took it upon himself to escort her to their camp personally, walking by her mare’s side with quiet and courtly word, and when they arrived at the Dwarves’ main camp, tucked deep in a green valley, giving to her for her privacy his own tent.  His aids, anxious to please the princess, scrambled round their baggage for the softest and best tunics and breeches and kerchiefs and scarves, offering them to her with a basin of warm water and a cake of fresh soap.  Rallying her decorum, Dúrfinwen thanked them with profuse politesse, bestowing mantled cheek and lowered eye with all the skill of an accomplished mummer, demurely ducking within the tent to attend to her ablutions with promises that she would enjoy whatever dinner they might concoct for her.  Dori stepped away from the tent-flap shaking his head.

“Do you know the difference between a garnet and a ruby, Legolas?” he asked the Green Knight, who had stood by anxiously at first, though his mercer’s subtle courtliness amused him.

“They are both red,” said Legolas, shrugging.  “One is darker than the other.”

“Garnets are pretty,” said Dori, strolling back to the main fire, Legolas beside him.  “So are rubies.  They both have a lovely color, and can be used with equal discernible effect in decoration.  However, the ruby is to be prized above the garnet, because its color is clearer, and therefore purer, and – “ he gave Legolas a keen look.  “A ruby is much harder than a garnet, and cannot be as easily crushed.  It is for that reason the ruby is far more valuable than a garnet.”

“And what do you say, Son of Bori?” asked Legolas, pausing and turning his gaze back to the tent wherein rested his wounded mercer.  “Do you say the Princess Anóriel is a ruby or a garnet?”

“A ruby for a certainty,” said Dori firmly.  “Do you not let her out of your demesne at any cost, Legolas.”

“And do you seek to marry us off as well?” asked Legolas with a small smile.  Dori grinned, and clapped him on the back.

“Not a bit of it!” he said.  “That would take all the fun out of flirting with her.  Nay, Legolas; keep her as your mercer if you can – she will be an invaluable asset to your rule.”

“Thank you,” said Legolas dryly.  “I shall do my best.”

“See that you do!  Though you do not seem to have much luck controlling your vassals.”  Dori pointed then to a lone figure sitting upon a tussock, turning round and round in his thin hands the dragon’s fang; Tamin’s head drooped so that his face was obscured by his sunshiny hair, and his shoulders slumped.  The high blue dome of the sky soared over him, and the bright white clouds rushed by; far above them wheeled rooks and swallows.  The wind captured Tamin’s yellow hair and spun it round his head like a dust devil, and Legolas and Dori saw the look of loathing and doubt etched into his furrowed brow and downturned mouth.  Legolas sighed, and Dori added, “Now that we know ‘twere Renna of Dale we captured, it shall be a tricky thing, keeping your esquire’s hands clean of the matter.  Despite her vile acts of depredation, she was of royal blood in the reckoning of the House of Dale, and the Master’s Lady; it might be best to not bring Tamin to Dale, for his actions were precipitate and unjust.”

“I shall bear the iniquity of his deeds, for so I swore as his lord,” said Legolas, turning his face to the brilliant sky; the wind likewise tore at his hair, and he brushed it impatiently aside.  “And you know, Dori, he did not truly disobey me; I never told him to not kill Renna.”

Dori shook his head, but smiled nonetheless, his brown eyes thoughtful.  “Sophistry!” he said absently, though there was no accusation in his tone.  “Let us see what Bard says about it.  Though if he has heard that she and Malbeach conspired to slay him, he might reward Tamin and not remonstrate.”

“We shall see,” said Legolas darkly.

Dori sighed.  “I ought to have known her, of course,” he said slowly, running his fingers through his beard.  “But I am not often in court; Dwalin fatigues me.”  Legolas laughed, and smiling Dori said:  “I had met Malbeach before, and took an instant dislike to the man; so when I heard the Master and Lady of Esgaroth had gone to Erebor, I volunteered to take out a phalanx on extended maneuvers, and missed her acquaintance.”

“You missed little,” said Legolas, smile fading.  “Even now I am unsure whether I loathed or pitied her more.”

“The two may walk hand in hand,” said Dori sagely.  “You ought to have met my wife’s mother … Now let us see this sword with which you slew the dragon!”

Legolas took him to their horses, standing tethered in a low grassy dingle.  The herd was happy, for the Dwarves had grain in abundance, and sugar-cubes too; Burnt Toast and Spark bickered half-heartedly over a flake of hay, and Dúrfinwen’s mare happily crunched upon some leathery carrots.  “Ho, my beauties!” murmured Legolas, and the herd swiveled their ears and eyes to him, but continued to eat; even Hammer but nickered half-heartedly at his master, for he was deeply engrossed in a bucket of grain, which occupied the majority of his attention.  Legolas but smiled, and ran his hands down Hammer’s withers.  “My poor Hammer!” he said, pressing his face into the stallion’s shoulder.  “Such privation!  But you are a brave and loyal beast; eat all you like, but founder not.”

Vé was sitting amongst the pack horses, showing various items from their baggage to his father and several other Dwarves, which he had pilfered from Muhk’s stores; they were clustered about him, and speaking in serious and businesslike voices about the treasures, and the logistics of returning to the cavern to retrieve them all.  “We’ll need a mort o’ waggons,” Vé was saying solemnly.  “And a couple of block-and-tackles for the bigger stuff.  And lads with strong stomachs … a right mess it is down there, you know.”  Smiling at the Dwarvish rescue-mission, Legolas dug round the baggage ‘til he found and unwrapped the strange sword, and when he had turned with it Dori leapt forward with an exclamation of delight:

“Orcrist!” he cried.  “Biter, the Goblin-Cleaver!  Elrond said this blade was of Gondolin, and very ancient and deadly; O how its makers would rejoice to know it pierced the vile flesh of one of Morgoth’s snaky brood!”

“Orcrist!” cried the other Dwarves, abandoning Vé and surging over.  “Let us see!”

They all crowded round, murmuring to each other and touching the sword with reverent fingers.  “Taken from Thorin Oakenshield’s very breast!” said Dori, shaking his head.  “With the Arkenstone, a terrible loss to Erebor.”

“Oh, we found that too,” said Vé offhandedly, and going to his bags removed a rag-wrapped bundle.  “Here it is, and you’re welcome to it!” he said.  “Never has a pretty trinket brought me so much ill-luck.”  He plunked it carelessly in Dori’s trembling arms.  “I think all the luck the Arkenstone possesses turns into bad luck once it leaves the Lonely Mountain,” he said.  “Put it back quick!”

“I concur,” said Dori, his voice reverent; he unwrapped the bundle and let the starry globe illuminate his face.  “Ah,” he whispered, smiling.  “The Arkenstone!  What a treasure for the restoration of Erebor!  You and Gimli shall return it yourselves, Legolas; ‘tis only fitting, and shall be a sign to our peoples that through the united efforts of Dwarf and Elf was the dragon vanquished.”

“If you wish,” said Legolas, and caressed the faceted surface of the stone; it gleamed and glittered round his fingers.  His father’s pale ring flashed as though answering the Arkenstone’s glory, and as Dori and the other Dwarves crowded round the stone and the sword he withdrew, turning the ring round his finger pensively.

“My father!” he thought, his heart heavy.  “Did you resist her, as did I?  O I hope you did, Adar; I hope that the weight of her desire rested upon me and not you!”  He sighed then, feeling very melancholy; then sensing someone’s eyes upon him he turned.  Sure enough, he descried Tamin watching him from round his golden mane, grey eyes red-rimmed and haunted, and with a sense of defeat, Legolas knew it was time to deal with his esquire.  “How I miss Bandobras!” thought Legolas, and the twist of grief tore at his heart anew; however he heard in his head the Hobbit’s sensible voice telling him to stop being a cowardly idiot and deal with the consequences of his spoiling his esquire to the point the boy was insufferably presumptuous, and with a jaded sigh he agreed with Bandobras’ assessment, and trudged disconsolately to the little grassy tussock where the boy had seated himself.

Tamin lurched to his feet when his Master approached, hastily tucking the fang back inside his tunic and standing with his hands behind his back, staring at his feet.  Legolas was reminded then of Tamin’s ignominy in Osgiliath, when he had thrashed Halgond for kissing Léodwyn; how long ago that seemed!  And how Tamin’s temper had increased with the offenses against others!  But to break a boy’s nose for his role in a love-triangle was one thing; to stab to death a royal member of the neighboring kingdom of one’s Master’s father’s was a much weightier matter.

“Little One,” began Legolas, stepping up to the boy; then he started, surprised; when had Tamin grown so tall?  The top of the lad’s head was to his collar-bone!  Shaking his head in resignation Legolas said, “Little One, seat yourself; your leg is not yet healed, nor shall be for some weeks.”

“I am well, Master,” said Tamin, and though his eyes still stared at the grass between his feet, Legolas heard the steel in his esquire’s voice.  Legolas wondered if perhaps he ought to rein the boy in; but the thin wrists dangling from the too-short tunic sleeves cut at him, and brought him to mind of the horrors visited upon his little esquire:  hunger and fear and pain and blood and poison; besides which had not Bandobras been equally mutinous?  But the rag-wrapped leg rebuked him, and with a frown Legolas lifted the boy’s chin, so that Tamin must meet his Master’s gaze; he looked sulky and ashamed.

“Do not contradict me, Tamin; it behooves you not,” said Legolas, firm but kind enough.  “Be seated, or your Master will break your other leg and constrain you to obedience.”

Tamin’s eyes widened a little in alarm, and he sat quickly and rather clumsily back upon the tussock, looking with apprehension up at his Master.  The Green Knight sighed and looked down upon his esquire in exasperation, wondering how to begin.  The seconds stretched to minutes, and Tamin wriggled uncomfortably upon his prickly seat, watching Legolas with haunted eyes.

“Master,” Tamin burst out, when he could hold it in no longer; his voice was small and hesitant.  “I – may I speak?”

“I have failed hitherto restraining you in so doing,” said Legolas resignedly.  “Speak, then, Tamin; I am thus far wordless.”

Tamin gulped, and looked back down at his feet.  He bit his lip, and shifted round nervously, and cleared his throat a couple of times; at last he gathered his courage and said:  “I – have shamed you, Master.”  He swallowed again, peeped at Legolas from beneath his tousled hair, and continued as though he were memorizing a homily:  “I have done that which I ought not, and in my vanity presumed the role of executioner ere a fair trial could be given.  I know that you will legally bear my misdeed, Master, but if you would recognize my disobedience and transgression, and release me from my oaths to you and therefore your oaths to me – “  His voice wobbled then, and near broke; he swallowed hard, and Legolas to his dismay saw two tears fall from the boy’s eyes to land upon the grass at their feet.  “ – then I will gladly assume blame for Renna of Dale’s death.”  He sniffled and wiped quickly at his face, and Legolas’ mouth twitched.

“Goodness!” he said mildly.  “Is this the sad decision upon which you have been so long ruminating here in the grass?”

Tamin lifted his head, aggrieved and a little angry.  “This is no mean thing I offer you, Master,” he said, affronted.  “The murder of a royal personage by the esquire of a visiting lord is a serious offense, and you as my Master will be constrained to take upon yourself the retribution for this crime - “

“Save the speeches for the banquet-halls and council-chambers,” said Legolas, waving Tamin’s expostulation aside with one hand.  He shook his head and looked up at the sun; the breeze caught at his pale hair and twined it round his throat and shoulders, and he brushed it aside impatiently.  “I do not make oaths lightly, my Tamin; you ought to know that by now.  And do you really think I will deprive myself of your aid and comfort, after everything we have endured together?  Nay, Little One; you are become a strong and tenacious young fellow, and I am right pleased to own you as my servant; and when at last you achieve your spurs – should you live so long, and not throw yourself into peril quite so much! – I hope that we will be friends as well as lord and vassal, for I love you; you are very worth knowing, and quite precious to me.”

Tamin’s eyes filled once again with tears, and his shoulders drooped; the stubborn stiffness in his face melted away.  “O Master!” he said, his lower lip trembling.

Legolas knelt, and took the boy in his arms.  “None of that, now,” he said gently, and when Tamin’s trembling turned into sobs, he pressed the boy’s face into his neck; Tamin’s tears wet his tunic.  “How obtuse you are!  Did you not know by now that I love you, Tamin?  I would as soon cut off my hand as let you suffer the retribution of the House of Dale.  Nay, do not concern yourself with this; Bard is too afeard of my Lord Father to set the offense against me; I shall but pay equal recompense, and the matter will drop.  And if Bard’s council attempts to rise up against me, I shall but enquire into the nature of their accords with Esgaroth; that ought to silence them!”  He set Tamin back and held him at arm’s length, looking soberly into the boy’s teary eyes.  “I will not release you ere you have earned your accolades,” said Legolas, shaking him a little.  “Remember that!”

“I will, Master,” promised Tamin, wiping his tears away and giving Legolas a shaky smile.  “I – am sorry, Master – but in the heat of my anger I – “

“You sought to break Halgond’s nose again,” said Legolas dryly, and Tamin closed his eyes, pursing his lips.

“Nay, Master,” he said in a low voice.  “O my anger was greater than that – so much greater!  I have never felt such rage within me – and now I am even more confused about Nwalmä than before.”

“When we regain Dol Galenehtar, I shall charge you to speak with him about that,” said Legolas, kissing the boy’s forehead.  “Now, up with you!  Do you not smell that, my Tamin?  Rabbit and oat-dumplings!  Thanks to our friends the Dwarves, we will dine well this eve, and be strengthened; and tomorrow morn shall we resume our journey to Esgaroth, to see what my Lord Father and the King Under the Mountain have wrought in that terrible place.”  Tamin let his Master help him to his feet, and leant upon the Green Knight’s strong arm.  “And do you return Théodred’s fang to your luggage; the boy would be desolate if it were lost.”

“He would,” agreed Tamin, looking to the south with a sad sigh.  “O Master, how I miss our home!  I miss my friends and my room and my bed, and I miss my mother and father too.  And I miss the sound of the bells in our campaniles, and I miss the noisy courtyard, and the smell of olive blossoms, and seeing the river through the trees from the tower balcony.”

“I miss those, too,” smiled Legolas, leading his esquire back to the horses and luggage, where the Dwarves clustered round Vé and Glóin.  “I want nothing more than to sit behind my desk and sign papers and go to dinner and go to bed afterwards.  O for a dull day!”

“You say that now, Master,” said Tamin gravely.  “But I will bet twelve pennies that in six months’ time will you be cursing the blisters on your fingers from the sealing-wax, and hiding in the broom-closet from Hirilcúllas when she comes round with more parchment!”

“Dear Tamin!  You know me far too well!” laughed Legolas, and together they returned to their friends.

*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*

Baranil stood with Thorin and Dwalin at the crest of the hill, and looked down upon Esgaroth.  His fair face was placid, and his eyes hooded and unreadable; his jet hair was smoothed back into a neat plait, not one out of place, and his armor, though it had been well-used, yet gleamed pristinely in the dim light.  His arms in their intaglioed paldrons were crossed over his chest, and he stood in silence, chin lowered and mouth set.  Dwalin betimes glanced up at him apprehensively; it had been long ere one of the Elvenking’s retainers made him pause, but the Captain was such a fair and forbidding fellow that Dwalin was not entirely certain whether to like Baranil or not.  Stonehelm for his part did not seem to mind, being of dour and secretive temperament himself; he too glared down at the city with his arms folded across his chest, and frowned into his black beard.

Esgaroth was burnt nearly to the ground.  The fire had started the night before, engulfing the Master’s Hall in the middle of the city, and spreading quickly to the stables and surrounding buildings; the inn had been next to go, and after that the rest of the houses and palisades went up like straw.  Men had run from the flames, fighting with Thranduil’s and Thorin’s men alike; some seeing they were surrounded by such fierce folk threw themselves on their swords, or returned to the fire to perish in torment.  The remainder of Malbeach’s troops was being mopped up very efficiently under Methlon’s command; they could hear the cries and the clang of metal upon metal from far below in the valley and under the trees.  Like small insects did the combatants seem from there, and the docks even as they burned set up a great stink of steam and smoke, lying heavy upon the wet and slimy earth; up further upon the banks of the river knelt Bard’s men, stripped of their weapons and armor and guarded by Elves and Dwarves alike, awaiting a time less fraught with danger and chaos for a reasonable decision regarding their fates.  It was all the stranger to the Elves and Dwarves that the Men of Dale had started the fire in the first place.

Baranil heard voices behind them; recognizing them as those of Bard of Dale, and of his former subordinate, he looked over his shoulder.  Though Baranil could not determine what exactly Meivel said to Bard, it was apparent the Green Knight’s Captain was giving the boy a piece of his mind, and that the prince was taking it meekly enough; the gangly youth’s head hung down, and he scraped at the earth with the toe of his boot.  Baranil watched as Meivel expostulated at length, waving his arms and glaring and pointing up the hill toward the city, then with disgust, Meivel threw his hands in the air, and turning on his heel stalked up the hill.  Bard made to follow, creeping after him like a whipped pup, but Meivel swung on him, delivering blistering yet incomprehensible invective, making the poor boy cringe back and stand, wringing his hands rather plaintively, and watching Meivel storm up to Baranil and the two Dwarves in a seething cloud of fury.

“Meivel looks as though he has got what he wanted out of that pimply-faced ratsbane,” rumbled Stonehelm at Baranil’s elbow; the Captain looked down and saw that Thorin had also observed this display, and stood frowning down at Bard.

“Where I fail, Meivel succeeds,” said Baranil with a small smile.  “I am betimes too urbane.  Bard needed rougher treatment.”

“He has got it for certain!” growled Stonehelm.  “Idiot.  What was he thinking?”

“We shall learn anon,” said Baranil, gazing coolly down at Meivel as he stalked, muttering and gnashing his teeth, up to them.  When the Green Knight’s captain came within hearing distance Baranil said calmly:  “Meivel, you have hardly slept or eaten, and look like an unmade bolster.  Do you please partake of a bit of waybread and a tussock, and plait your hair.”

“Plaiting be damned,” snarled Meivel, glowering up at his erstwhile superior resentfully.  “Think you your pretty tresses better equipped you to extract the truth from that bloody beet down there?  Men,” he grumbled.  “I should rather put them all to the sword, and be done with it.”  He went up to the edge of the ridge, and looked with satisfaction down at Esgaroth.  “Best thing to happen to that pile of sticks since Smaug rained down fire upon them!  The only reason I did not hang that half-grown wart upon a gibbet is because he did our work for us.”

“O come, Meivel,” remonstrated Baranil mildly.  “That is hardly fair.  Esgaroth has traded fairly and peacefully with our lord for centuries.”

“With your lord, perhaps,” growled Meivel, shooting Baranil an affronted glare.  “Listen, your Majesty, Dwalin:  Bard claims he discovered that Gith, his lord father’s seneschal, and Renna’s uncle of all things, has been conspiring against him with Malbeach and Renna, and that Gith was revealed to have poisoned Girion, sickening and at last killing him.  The attack upon your Dwarves, your Majesty, Dwalin, was Gith’s idea; and when Bard saw he could not stop Gith’s men, rallied several hundreds loyal to the true throne of Dale; ‘twas these men he led to Esgaroth, to put it to flame.”  He sniffed, disapproval evident on his surly face.  “Brood of cross-biting snakes!  Good riddance, I say.”

“Well, we got rid of Gith at any rate,” smiled Baranil.  “’Twas good of Nír to behead him and spare Methlon the effort.”

“Think you he tells the truth?” rumbled Thorin to Meivel, who was scowling down at the ruins of Lake Town.  “Men are men, after all; they are not Elves or Dwarves, and I have had my fill of their lies and misdeeds.”

“He is honest,” shrugged Meivel.  “Stupid, but honest.”

“It is so, your Majesty,” said Baranil.  “Whence came the gift I know not, but Meivel possesses the ability to perceive a lie.”  He smiled.  “A shame it did no good when his lord wandered off!”

Meivel turned to him, his face flushed with fury and his mouth working wordlessly; Dwalin actually stepped back, thinking the two Captains would come to blows; Baranil stood, smooth and calm and smiling; Meivel seemed almost to hiss steam from his ears.  At last after an effort Meivel said, his voice quiet but quivering with anger:  “I would not have let Kaimelas fight.  My lord will have aught to say to you about this … Captain.”  And with that he spun away, his cloak floating behind him, and he snapped over his shoulder:  “I am for his majesty’s tent, your majesty, Dwalin.  Come if you like. I care not.”  And he stomped down the hill, collecting Bard by the collar and dragging the youth along, who expostulated weakly as they went.  Baranil sighed, and Thorin smiled up at him, his black eyes twinkling like jet.

“I will wager he was a handful to keep in check.”

“A double handful,” said Baranil calmly.  “And his sister is worse.”

“Worse!” exclaimed Dwalin, going a little pale.  “I cannot imagine a more surly or ill-tempered type.”

“Go you then to Dol Galenehtar, and falcon with Prince Legolas’ huntsmistress,” said Baranil.  “It will be a veritable epoch in your life’s history, and you will not forget it for a hundred years.”

“Legolas is such a jolly fellow,” said Dwalin, bewildered.  “Why does he surround himself with vassals such as those?”

“Why indeed!” said Baranil.  “I love my lord’s son, but do confess me his motives remain inscrutable, and his tastes too.  But they grow on me, O Thorin Stonehelm your majesty, and noble Dwalin of Erebor … they grow on me.”

Thorin glowered up at the blandly smiling Baranil through his black beetling brows.  “Was that a compliment, Captain?” he growled.

“Perhaps,” chuckled Baranil.  “And let me tell you, your majesty, Meivel is of a temperament to prefer Dwarves to his fellows!  I am proud of him, you know, O Stonehelm,” he confessed, smiling at Meivel’s retreating back.  “I knew him far more capable than he ever guessed of himself, and my harsh treatment has cultivated him well.  He is a commendable Head of Militia, and far better than I – than my lord, even! – at keeping Prince Legolas in check.  And I also say, had it been Meivel and not Tathardil to intercept Kaimelas’ message, Legolas would have made it no further than the foothills of the Ephel Dúath, and been confined to quarters under guard ere Meivel could have divined the truth of all of this.”  He gestured with one armor-clad arm to the smoldering ruins of Esgaroth.  “I know not how that would have changed things ultimately,” he admitted.  “But at least we would know the whereabouts of Glóin’s son and his most aggravating companion.”

“Who can say?” growled Thorin.  “I do fear me it should have come to a head whether Legolas and Gimli had come up to Rhovanion, or stayed where they were in safety.  At any rate I shall be the better pleased when they resurface.”

“As shall I,” said Baranil, turning his gaze to the east.  “I have never liked being ignorant of his whereabouts.  It is … unsettling.”

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

“But, but Captain Meivel,” protested Bard as he was dragged along.  “I have told you – already I told you what I did and why – and I do not see – “

“O be quiet,” snarled Meivel, giving the boy an extra-hard twist with his hand fisted in Bard’s collar.  “Walk faster.  You’re too slow.”

“But – but – “  Bard’s protests fell on deaf ears; Meivel hauled him up to the draped and pennanted tent, where stood two of King Thranduil’s guards.  “Aderthad!  Orthelian!” Meivel roared, and the guards snapped to attention, showing the whites of their eyes.  “Where is his Majesty, King Thranduil?  Where is Glóin?”

“Within,” stammered Orthelian; he remembered Meivel of old.  “If you would allow me to announce you, Captain – “

“He knows who I am,” snarled Meivel, and throwing the tent-flap aside he hauled Bard inside.  The Elvenking, who had been filling Glóin’s wooden goblet with wine from a skin, raised his eyebrows but did not seem discommoded; he gave Meivel an inquisitive look, and the captain, shoving Bard forward, said:  “Your Majesty, Glóin, here is the idiot who set Esgaroth aflame.  Tell them why you did it, Bard.”  When the boy hesitated, eyes darting nervously back and forth between the Elvenking and a great Dwarvish lord, Meivel put his hand on his hilt suggestively and growled:  “Tell.  Them.”

Bard, completely overwhelmed, further frightened in the Elvenking’s presence and terrorized by Meivel’s brutality, nearly fell to his knocking knees; but the sight of Meivel’s white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword convinced him to speak, and he stammered out his story anew, his voice breaking and cracking as though he were still in the throes of adolescence.  Thranduil and Glóin listened with gratifying sobriety, fixing the trembling boy with grave and attentive eye; this however served only to flummox Bard completely, and when he had wound up was sweating like an unbroken filly first confronted with a saddle.  He stood, shaking and wiping the perspiration from his hands on his breeches, while Thranduil and Glóin considered his words; at last when the Elvenking spoke, Bard was so terrified he nearly fell over.

“Meivel, does he speak the truth?”

“He does,” said Meivel.  “Your majesty,” he added, as an afterthought.  Thranduil smiled.

“Well then,” said Thranduil.  “My condolences, Bard, on the death of your lord father.  And my thanks to you for uncovering more of this plot.  I suppose Gith had been promised by his niece a position of higher importance in Dale once she assumed power.  Have you any idea where Malbeach and Renna might be now?”

“Nuh- nuh-nuh no,” said Bard, going white.

“Perhaps they burned up in the fire,” suggested Glóin cheerfully.  “That would be handy.”

“But not very satisfying,” said Thranduil. “I want that man’s head on a spike.”  He filled another goblet, and handed it to Meivel.  “Aderthad!” he called.  “Escort Prince Bard back to the river, and put him under guard with the rest of his men.  When we find the Master of Esgaroth and his little slattern, we will try them all together.”

“Buh-buh-but I – I – I – “ said Bard, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor of the tent.  Meivel took a deep draught of wine, Thranduil sighed, and Glóin looked contemplatively at the boy; Aderthad scrambled in, then stood surprised and nonplussed by the pile of bones and skin to which his lord directed him.

“Not easy to escort that,” said Thranduil.  “My apologies, Aderthad.  Just get Orthelian and drag him along between the two of you.  I think I am safe enough without a bodyguard.”

“Yes, your majesty,” grinned Aderthad, and he and his companion took Bard gently by the arms and legs, and bore him away. 

“Silly little goose,” said Thranduil, filling himself a cup.  “Sit down, Meivel.  You certainly deserve it.  My congratulations for extracting his story of him.”

“It was not difficult,” muttered Meivel, though he dropped heavily in a low chair, and let the Elvenking refill his cup.  “I only threatened to geld him.”

“With what?”

Meivel shrugged and took another deep and satisfied drink.  “A sickle.”

Glóin snorted with laughter, and some of the prickles seemed to recede from the captain’s demeanor.  “Good for you!” said Glóin, eyes twinkling.  “I weary of all these concessions to men.  Let them fear us for a change!”

“I will most certainly drink to that,” said Thranduil dryly, touching the rim of his cup to Glóin’s.

“Any further news, Meivel?” asked Glóin, settling back in his chair comfortably.

Meivel shrugged.  “No.”

“What about Methlon?  Does he need further reinforcements?”

“No.”

“So the remainder of the battle goes well?”

“Yes.”

Glóin and Thranduil exchanged knowing looks.  “I am going to postulate that in your friendship with your lord, he provides the majority of the verbiage.”

Meivel gave the Dwarf an odd look.  “Well.  Yes.”

“Hm!” said Glóin, smiling behind his cup.  “I thought so.”

The three fell silent a moment; Thranduil let his head drop wearily to rest on the back of his chair. He was still very thin and pale, bearing the marks of his ensorcelment in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the languid hand that held his cup.  When Meivel had drained the rest of his wine, he rose restlessly to his feet, and fixing the Elvenking with a keen eye said, “Your majesty, do you sense your son?”

Thranduil looked up at his old lieutenant; Meivel’s dark and sullen face hid well the deep concern within.  “Not since many days hence, when I felt his presence move past me,” he said soberly.  “Almost I felt I could touch him, and that he with blind eyes sought some new darkness; but then a hand snatched him back, and he was gone from me.”

Glóin sighed and looked down into his cup; he thought the Elvenking’s vision of his son’s passing by unpropitious, and his heart was heavy on Thranduil’s behalf as well as on his own.  “For if Legolas be gone from us, and my son – O I pray it! – did not follow, will his heart be broken,” he thought, turning the cup round and round in his hands.  “And if my son did follow shall Fréra’s heart break, and mine, too!  O the weight of parenthood; it is a perversion of the worst kind to me for a father to lose his son.”  But steeling himself , and forcing his voice to sound bright and uncaring he said:  “Nothing further then?  You have felt naught since that incident?”

“Nothing yet,” admitted Thranduil.  “It is disappointing.  But since this morning there has been a tickle, the manifestation perhaps of a thought – “  He paused then, head cocked to one side like a dog listening; then he slowly put his cup on the floor.  “A thought of a – “ he began again, then arrested himself, and rose to his feet; Glóin jumped up, and Meivel said, his voice tight:

“What is it, your majesty?”  Then he too paused, and lifted his chin; he appeared to be sampling the air.  “There seems to be a – “

“Yes – “  Thranduil exited the tent, Glóin and Meivel at his heels.  The Elvenking stood upon the ridge, his face to the east; the sun occluded by the reek of Esgaroth’s ruin flickered uneasily on his fierce and ancient face, and his eyes glowed.  “Legolas,” he breathed, and like a lamp lit from within came his grin, presaging a delighted laugh.  “Legolas!” he exclaimed, and looking from side to side he said eagerly:  “My horse – where is my horse, Meivel?  Where is Thunder?”

“I will fetch him, your majesty,” said Meivel, his voice tight with excitement, and fled down the hill.  Glóin too stared at the far ridge, shading his eyes and squinting.

“I can see nothing,” he complained.  “Just grass and rocks.  Thranduil, are you sure – ?”

“Yes, yes!” said Thranduil eagerly, clapping Glóin on the shoulder.  “He is close, so close I can almost touch him!  Quickly, Meivel; quickly!”  Meivel came up the hill at a run, a great dun stallion clattering beside him; his eyes were bright, though his mouth was as sullen and unsmiling as ever.  “Get up, Glóin!” cried Thranduil delightedly, leaping upon his steed’s back.  “Let us go!  And do not tell Baranil, Meivel,” Thranduil added as Meivel aided Glóin upon Thunder’s back.  “I neither want nor need an escort of soldiers.  I know my son comes to me – at last, at last!”  And crying to his horse they cantered away.

Down through the smoky valley they went, Glóin hanging on for dear life; up the next ridge through the stink of debris, finally into clearing air and a freshening breeze.  The westering sun smiled down upon them, and when they surged up over the lip of the hill Glóin and Thranduil could see them at last.

Legolas and Gimli rode among a great company of Dwarves, and upon either side of them rode Tamin upon a little white horse, and Dúrfinwen on a roan mare, bundled and swaddled in cloths and scarves; Dori rode a pony by Dúrfinwen’s side, and there was a strange young Dwarf on a large palfrey.  The Dwarves running point started and exclaimed, but Legolas cried in a loud voice:  “You see!  It is he, it is my Lord Father!  Let the sky shine with diamonds; fathers and sons foregather in peace!”

With a glad cry Thranduil urged Thunder toward them, with Glóin protesting; Legolas and Gimli spurred their steeds on too, and they met in the middle of the grassy field, tumbling from their horses and embracing and laughing.  If Thranduil found his son too thin he did not speak of it, for he knew Legolas also could feel the bone beneath his skin; Glóin was scolding Gimli, and Gimli was laughing.

“You two!” Glóin spluttered.  “You two – you foolhardy, brave idiots!  O I am glad to see you both – “  And he abandoned his son and roughly embraced Legolas, thumping his back and making the Green Knight wince.  “Finally back – finally!  And you managed to find someone, at least.”  He stood back and grinned up at Dúrfinwen, who rode toward them with Tamin and Dori.  “By the heavens, little maid, it is good to see you alive and well!”

“Thank you, Glóin,” she said with a smile, inclining her head and dismounting; she courtesied to the Elvenking.  “Your majest – “

“Come here, silly girl,” growled Thranduil, and smothered her in his embrace.  “Running off like that – you could have gotten yourself killed, and what would my Lady Wife have said to me?”  He held her at arms’ length, and smiled down into her thin, pale face.  “I am very thankful you have returned, Little One.”

“As am I, your majesty,” she said.

“Well!” said Thranduil, grinning and rubbing his hands, and looking round himself.  “Look at all the Dwarves that had to rescue you, my son!  Did it take this many to extract you from your convoluted circumstances?  I will wager anything Bandobras has been very vocal in his disapproval!”  Legolas flinched, and Gimli grimaced; like a cold fist grasping his heart Thranduil looked round again and said with dread:  “Bandobras – my son – where is my little Bandobras?”

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out; he looked into his father’s stunned face and seemed to wilt.  Then casting himself upon his father’s breast, he wept like a small boy.

(A/N:  Okay, guys; let's hear it all together:  FINALLY!  Yes, I know ... finally.  Real Life is such a time-consuming thing!  But many thanks to both Nieriel Raina and Sheraiah for agreeing to beta this chapter, and I assure you, I am not finished - not yet!  I'm working on the next chapter as you read, and I beg your patient indulgence once more!  Thank you all for sticking with me!   --- Le Rouret)

32. THE HEALER

All round him were the sounds of voices, but they were muffled and indistinct, as though he heard them from a great distance.  At first, he reflected hazily, the voices in the surrounding cloudy darkness had been loud and agitated:  screaming, or shouting, or groaning in pain and discomfort.  And always with those frantic utterances had been terrible scents – blood, and smoke, and death, and mortal ruin; his heart had pounded then, and the hands that lifted and moved him had hurt him, so he fought them.  Sight became strenuous, flashing images and alternating darkness and light, clarity and obscurity; faces swelled and receded before his eyes, and finally, weary of fighting his muddled comprehension, he simply drifted off, preferring soothing ignorance to the struggle to understand.

Light grew and faded; sound did, too.  There would be terrible pain, then a foul taste in his throat, and the pain would ebb, and his perception also.  Then he heard a new voice, soothing and familiar, though it did not speak his name; so he concluded it spoke to someone else muddling through this bewildering morass of pain and obscurity, and let his mind withdraw, though he attended to the words with incurious bemusement.

“The whole leg, then?  O I am sorry, Ibun; that is a terrible loss.”

“It could’ve been worse,” said a low, growly voice, but it was a comfortable voice, and filled with wry humor.  “Lots of our lads didn’t make it at all.  Losing a limb is better than losing my life.”

“I have drawn up plans for the construction of a wheeled device,” supplied another gravelly voice.  “I’ll show them to you later, if you like, your highness.”

Royalty – the vassal in him fought his weakness, told him to rise, to bow.  But his body was so heavy, so weighed down.

“I would not mind seeing them myself.”  A woman’s voice, low and quiet and soothing; he almost thought he could put a face to that voice – pale, firm, surrounded by golden hair; wise, competent eyes and strong hands that forever smelled of herbs.  “Betimes I have been called out to some mortal village, wherein languishes a man or a woman with crippled legs or some other infirmity.  To be able to propel oneself, even if only indoors, would confer usefulness to an otherwise fiscally draining person.”

“You see then, Lord Father, why I requested your herbalist as my leech?”  The beloved and familiar voice again, rich and clear and clean.  “Your compassion behooves you, Liquíseleé!” A rustling, and the murmur of voices; then the royal personage said:  “Yes, Little One; what is it?”

“O Master, I do not mean to interrupt you, nor you, your majesty, for it is not my position to so do, for I am but an esquire and surely you speak of many great things, but O Master and O your majesty, the patrol out of Eryn Lasgalen has arrived, and Methlon is at the head of it, and Baranil and Meivel are talking with them, and O it is an envoy from Queen Edlothiel herself, and they ride beneath your flag, your majesty, and it is all shining and new-looking – “  The breathless excited voice babbled on, bright and cheerful like the chiming of little brass bells.  There was laughter, and the beloved voice interrupted:

“Yes, O my dear Little One; you are right to inform my Lord Father and me concerning this; but it is not so urgent that I must away without completing my munificences here.  Do you please go to the envoy and convey unto them my and my Lord Father’s regrets, that we shall meet with them anon, after this little thing has been seen to; will you do that, O mine esquire?”

“I will, Master, I will!” bubbled the voice.  “And O my Master, mine uncle Orophin is there too, and O he is so happy to see me well, though he looked with some concern at my leg, Master, but he could not embrace me or even speak to me as he is part of the special envoy, and there is protocol to observe, and – “

“O go embrace your uncle, little imp!” a big, brash voice laughed.  “Methlon is not so formal as that, and Orophin has missed you.  Go, little esquire; go!”

“Thank you, Master!  Thank you, your majesty!  And I am sorry about your leg, Ibun, and will bring you a sticky-bun as quickly as I can!”  The rush of a breeze, and the little voice was gone.

He drifted in and out after that; the voices had lost their interest for him.  There was the smell of a clean coal fire, and the sound of a pot bubbling; the pungent scent of mullein and new olive oil filled him.  Then the woman’s voice, businesslike but not without compassion:  “Would you like to give your husband his dose?  I believe it will do him good to have you near him.”

“It has not seemed to matter so far,” said another woman in a broken voice.  “He has responded to nothing since I arrived.”

O, but he knew that voice; he knew that one well; his whole being stirred to reach it.  It was hard to move his arms, and his chest hurt so badly, but he strained up out of the cloying cloudiness in his mind and strove to speak her name.  His lips and tongue did not seem to want to move though, and all he uttered was a groan.

“Kaimelas!”

Her scent surrounded him, and he felt the warmth of her hands on him, of her breath on his neck.  A sharp pain shot through his belly, and he cried out.

“Ware, Seimiel!  Not on his chest; his sternum is broken, and the costal cartilage is crushed, and presses down upon his lungs.”

The pressure and pain receded, and he fought the darkness; slowly his eyes opened, and he beheld his beloved’s face.  She looked pale and tired, as though she had not slept; this puzzled him, for ever since they had first been wed, to rouse her from reverie had been his most trying chore.  He wanted to speak her name, but his mouth was so dry and thick-feeling; he worked his tongue round the soft sibilants.

“Sess …. Semm … “

“You see, Little One?” said his lord’s voice gently.  “He knows you are here.  He is trying to say your name.”

“O my beloved,” his wife sobbed; Kaimelas wanted to embrace her, but his arms were far too weak and heavy.  He felt her face against his neck, and her hands in his hair; he could smell her, smell the lovely violet fragrance of her, feel the silky strands of her hair upon his face.  He blinked, and his vision cleared; then she was there before him, cupping his cheeks with her palms; behind him stood his lord, and his majesty the King, and Liquíseleé, holding a steaming cup.

“Welcome back, O ambassador to Erebor!” said his lord with a wry smile.  “You have made quite an impression upon King Thorin, I hear.  And your lady wife has already put in an order for three day-dresses, two ball gowns, and a month’s worth of lace and linen underpinnings from my mercer-princess.”

“Uhhh?”  It was so difficult to speak, to even follow what his lord said.  Seimiel with her face streaked with tears lowered the cup to his lips, and smiled faintly, though her eyes were filled with hope; he drank the bitter liquid down just to please her, and closed his eyes.  He felt her lips upon his, but he was so weary he could hardly kiss back. Vague thoughts surrounded him:  Dwarves, and smoke, and standing in a vaulted stone hall.  He thought of his dear wife in a new red dress and the inner vision pleased him; he felt himself smile, and as his eyes slipped shut the darkness descended upon him, but it was more comfortable this time.

“Sleep well, Kaimelas,” she whispered, and he did.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

The envoy rested upon the leeward slope of a grassy hill.  Eryn Lasgalen’s bright green and silver pennants fluttered upon the heralds’ shining spears, and the guardsmen in their dark armor stood round with sword and bow held ready.  Methlon and Baranil spoke soberly together, and Meivel stood a ways off, conferring in a quiet undertone with Glóin, Dwalin, and Gimli.  Tamin limped back and forth from the waggons to the tent, his grey eyes bright with the satisfaction of absorbing and harmless work, now and again bringing for Princess Anóriel some sweet from the waggon containing the finer dishes.  But the Elvenking and his son stood a ways off in the shadows of the eaves of the wood, watching in sober silence; had anyone observed them at that moment they might have smiled, for so similarly they stood, with hips cocked and arms folded; even their countenances, so different in color and form, mirrored each other’s frowns and furrows.  Even when the nightingale above them gave its low warble they turned as one, though Legolas’ gaze upon the bird was suspicious, and his father merely smiled.

“Do you have it?” asked Thranduil quietly, his voice the merest breath.  The corner of Legolas’ mouth twitched once, and was still; he nodded, and tipped his head very slightly, looking at his sire from the corner of his pale eyes.  Thranduil glanced at him, and smiled thinking how like his mother he was, with his oval cheeks and thin arched brows; then giving his son a twitch of his head, setting his golden mane dancing, he melted silently into the wood, with his son at his heels.

They pressed south, far from the reek of smoke and the stench of death and horses, far from the cacophony of voices both mortal and immortal, the press of life and its mortification.  At last they gained a little rise, ringed all round with linden and fir, and though the Elvenking paused, the Green Knight scrambled effortlessly up a branchy fir tree and perched upon a thick limb, his long legs dangling.  He gave to his father a quizzical look; Thranduil smiled, this time thinking how little his son resembled his mother in action; and likewise climbed up the tree, settling himself beside his only child with a sigh.

The feel of the sticky sap beneath their palms, and the heavy spicy scent of the tree and its sonorous voice, soothed and placated them.  The breeze stirred up a rustle and crack and creak of branch and leaf and needle, and somewhere beneath them in a thorny brake a small animal bustled round, intent upon its supper, ignorant of the two beings who sat in the gloaming, gleaming, their eyes glowing.

The sky dimmed, and the stars came out; father and son together gazed up at them, and when the fir rustled, Legolas sighed.  His father said:

“Well, let us have it, then!”

“How impatient you are, Ada!” said Legolas mildly, and withdrew from his tunic a skin of wine.  He dislodged the cork and passed it to his father.  “Age tastes; youth waits.”

Thranduil sampled the wine and rolled it on his tongue.  “Resinous,” he declaimed solemnly, handing it back.

“That is more skin than barrel, I fear,” said Legolas apologetically.  “It was all I could appropriate without Galion noticing.”  He too drank, and pursed his lips.  “I have had better.”

“We will have better when we are home,” promised Thranduil, taking the skin from his son and downing a deep draught.

“So we shall, Ada,” said Legolas, and his eyes twinkled.  “My barrels mellow and appease the grapes, and I have been promised a good result from the harvest two years’ hence.”

Thranduil grinned.  “Have you, then!” he chuckled.  “Well, then I shall remember that your home is far from mine, and invite myself down to taste it.”

“Do so, Lord Father!” said Legolas politely.  “And if the King of Rohan is generous he shall invite us to go boar hunting with him, and we might bring a barrel of red with us and broach it upon the plains of Rohan, with a great fat pig on a spit before us.”

“Only pig?” asked Thranduil, his lips twitching; he watched his son take a long swallow of wine, and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And cheese, and bread, and stewed herbs; and meat pasties, and roasted marrows, and fresh cream and fruit preserve.”

“You are yet hungered, I perceive.”

“It is not the hunger engendered by an empty stomach, Ada; it is the hunger of a man tired of slim rations and deep sorrow, who wishes to eat ‘til he bursts and drink ‘til he forgets.”  Legolas took another deep swallow, and Thranduil sighed.

“My poor Little One,” he said sadly.

Legolas did not reply; he simply handed the skin back to his father, who drank, and also wiped his mouth with his hand.  They were silent for some time; the sky turned black, speckled all over with stars like diamond dust; the breeze rustled mournfully through the trees.  At last the Elvenking commanded:  “Tell me.”

And so in a low monotone his son related it all to him – all the things he had not told Meivel, or Seimiel, or even Glóin; he left that tale to Gimli.  He spoke of the dreams, and the nightingale, and the horrible weight upon his head that made him do such awful things; he told him of the dark despair and his mutilated and tortured folk.  When he had got to Dúrfinwen’s madness, he stopped, and covered his face with his hands; Thranduil only turned from him, and climbed down the fir, gesturing to his son.  Legolas followed obediently, and when his father sat upon the soft fragrant underbrush, he tucked himself into the crook of his father’s arm, and pressed his face against his father’s chest.  And he spoke of the blood and the death, of the children’s bones and the stinking slime; of Malbeach’s and Renna’s desires, and of Gimli’s firm sanity.  When he began to speak of Bandobras, though, his voice choked and failed; Thranduil wordlessly handed him the wine skin, and Legolas drank some more, and curled into a ball at his father’s side, laying his head in his sire’s lap, and staring with blank eyes at the blue-grey shadows around him, the glossy leaves speckled in starlight.  He was silent for some time, and then Thranduil spoke.

“Then the nightingale was Radagast, the worm the dragon, and you the hornet.”

“Yes, Ada.”

The Elvenking scowled at the inoffensive trees. “Why dreams?” he murmured. “And why you, my son?”

“I know not, Ada.  But when I think of it, and upon the desires of Renna, and the strange history of Dúrfinwen’s birth, all I can think is, why not me?”

Thranduil gave a sad smile, and stroked his son’s silky pale hair.  “You remind me so of your mother, Legolas, when you speak like that.”

“Like how?” asked Legolas with a crooked smile, looking up at his father.  “Like I am thinking too much ahead of myself?”

“Why do you think you and she always beat me at draughts?”

“Because you drink when you play.”

“Ah!  Well, I cannot play sober either.”

“I have never had occasion to play you when you were sober, so I will leave that conclusion to you and your wisdom, Lord Father.”

“Wisdom!”  Thranduil shook his head disgustedly.  “You and I have both been consummate fools in this, Little One.”

Legolas did not reply.  His father did not see, but he was touching his tunic pocket, and secured therein was his father’s ring.  As before, his chest tied itself up in knots; his father’s shame bounced back on himself, and he felt sick thinking of his mother.  But then the Elvenking said:

“Well, at least the Arkenstone and Orcrist will be restored to Erebor!  There were many treasures, great and small, that Malbeach and his awful men carried away; I have spoken to Vé, and it sounds as though the reinstatement of those precious items may take some time.”

“Were you robbed, too, Lord Father?” asked Legolas; his voice felt thick as glue, and his heart was cold.  But Thranduil only chuckled.

“Robbed!  I should say I was robbed.  Like a common tippler rolled by opportunists, too!  I scarcely remember what happened, only that, like a drunkard, I awoke stripped and aching, and desperately seeking my money-bag.  They took your grandsire’s ring, I am afeared, Little One, and the gold chain upon which I hung my keys.”

Legolas’ stomach seemed to unwind within him, and a slow warmth stole through his torso.  “Just like a drunk in the streets of Dale, were you, Ada?” he asked slowly, clutching at the ring in his pocket.

“Very like!  Not to denigrate the power Malbeach and Renna wielded, of course,” added Thranduil judiciously.  “It was a horrible press of compulsion, was it not, my son?  But I am very gratified it came to naught with us both – disastrous it could have been, but disastrous it was not; I know not whence came this strength within us to combat it, but we held back!”  Thranduil sounded very proud.  “And there are those who disparage the Sindar,” he added gloatingly.  “The wherewithal to withstand Morgoth’s stinking brood!  My sire would have loved to rub that in Gil-Galad’s face.”

“Mother is Noldo,” said Legolas, feeling his spirits rise enough to tease his sire; Thranduil gave a great laugh, and took the wineskin and drank.

“So she is!” he said cheerfully.  “And pleased as a cat that got the cream am I about that, too.  Well, I shall have a look through Muhk’s pile for my sire’s ring and that nice gold chain; I do not really mind the chain so much, but the ring would be a keen loss. It was a pretty ring, was it not, Legolas?  That nice white stone that my mother set for him, and those diamond stars all round it.  I miss having it upon my finger.”

“Do you, Ada?” asked Legolas, and sat up; he took the ring out of his pocket, and handed it to his father.  Thranduil sat and stared at it in amazement, as it lay glimmering upon his palm in the starlight; at last he gave a glad laugh, and held it up; his face was filled with relief.

“My Lord Father’s ring!” he cried, delighted, and the diamonds flashed.  “Why, you little imp!  You have been hiding it from me all this time.  For shame, Legolas!  And I was so disenheartened by its disappearance!  Were you teasing me, my son?”

“Perhaps,” smiled Legolas, hiding his secret misgivings.  “I dreamt of your ring too, Ada; I dreamt of it on my finger when I slew the dragon.  And there it was, O Lord Father: Your Lord Father’s ring, upon the hand of the warrior who thrust the sword of Gondolin home, and brought Morgoth’s vile fiend low.  To be sure, though, ‘twas a collaborative effort,” he added judiciously, watching as his father slid the ring upon his forefinger, as he had done so many times before; Thranduil was smiling, satisfied; his pale eyes glowed with satisfaction.  “Were it not for Vé’s reconnaissance, and Gimli and Bandobras and Tamin, I should not have succeeded at all.”

“Be not so modest, Little One,” chided the Elvenking with a chuckle, ruffling his son’s flossy pale hair.  He held his hand out and admired the ring.  “There!” he cried with a laugh.  “My trinket is returned!  A mere symbol and sign of the greater gift given me.”  He kissed his son’s cheek, and taking up the skin took a deep draught; he swallowed and held the skin high.  “To Bandobras,” he said solemnly, and handed his son the skin.

Legolas swallowed heavily, and blinked; but he said clearly enough:  “To Bandobras,” and himself took a swallow of the bitter wine.

Father and son sat in silence a while, watching the stars wheel about, and the planets wind their complicated dance among them; when the breeze blew colder and the scent of dying fires drifted weakly toward them, Legolas said in a low voice:

“Father.  I am weary of Middle-Earth.”

The Elvenking said naught for a long moment.  His son waited, thinking him displeased; but in truth Thranduil was fighting down a sickening thrill of panic, and knew if he tried to speak he would either shout or squeak.  He wanted to do neither, and was desperately aware of his insufficiency to manage his son’s dark nature; he heartily wished for his wife’s presence, for in many ways she was a far superior counselor for a soul so torn and capricious as his only child’s.  At last with a weak and rather banal voice he said: 
“O is that so, my son?  And for what reason are you so weary of it?”

Legolas smiled sadly; he missed his mother, too.  “I had thought Middle-Earth to be my home for now, ere I sought Valinor,” he said, turning his pale eyes to the stars, which glimmered down upon him in wise silence.  “I built my demesne; I built a good one, O my father; you know that to be true: it is large and rich and beautiful, and all who live there prosper and are happy.  I truly thought, Lord Father, that Dol Galenehtar would be a safe place – a haven for my people – for the folk you granted me, Ada, and for those wandering Firstborn seeking refuge ere they sail for the bright shores.  I made friends with my neighbors, and found there good stout men, and fine brave souls.”  He paused, and Thranduil spoke not; he knew there would be a “but;” with Legolas there was always a “but.”  “But,” said Legolas, and Thranduil’s heart sank; his son’s voice broke, and he sounded bitter.  “But I was wrong.  The Eldar are not safe here.  Those mortals who surround us … “

“There are good men and Dwarves and Hobbits yet, Legolas,” Thranduil interrupted, too afraid to be politic.  “Think of Aragorn – and Faramir – and Glóin – and Gimli!”

“And Bandobras,” said Legolas; he dashed his tears away.  “How many times, Ada?” he asked, turning to his father; his eyes were shining, and his pale fair face stricken with grief; the Elvenking’s heart turned to lead within his breast.  “How many times must our mortal friends die ere the lives of the mortals around us weary us?  How many times must our folk be tormented and slain ere we detest the blood that runs in the hands that wield the instruments of death?  I had thought with the fall of the tower of Barad-Dûr and of Dol Guldur that Morgoth’s blight was taken from Middle-Earth indeed.  But the blight was there all along – it dwells within the breasts of the Edain; it beats in their hearts.  I do fear me it bubbles from the very earth in stinking telltale trace, and even the Istari are helpless to stop it alone.”

Thranduil shook his head; he could not answer.  “I have no reply for you, Little One,” he admitted.  He wiped his son’s tears away and begged, “Do not go from me, Legolas.  Do not sail from us yet.  I am not ready.”

“Are you not?” said Legolas, and shoulders sagging he turned his weary eyes to the stars.  “I am.”  And in sad silence did father and son contemplate Varda’s cloak, and listen to the mournful warble of the nightingale above them.

(A/N:  Yes, I know, my beloved and very patient readers ... FINALLY!  I promise, I'll explain to ANYONE who's wondering why a once-reliable writer has been reduced to posting every couple of months.  I'm appalled it's taking me two years to post a story.  All I can do is apologize ... and offer you this chapter, with the request that you lavish praise and kudos upon my beta's head.  T hank you, Nieriel Raina ... You're awesome.    --- Le Rouret)

Chapter 33. Milkthistle and Feverfew

Legolas awoke after the sun had risen; he blinked and rubbed his eyes, which felt sandy.  He sat up cautiously, squinting in the bright yellow light that flickered and filtered through the canvas of his Lord Father’s tent.  After a precursory assessment he determined the amount of wine he had drunk the previous evening had affected no deleterious debilitation, and after patting his hair to make sure most of the strands upon his head were pointing downward, he yawned, stretched, and shook the bedclothes from him, brushing some of the larger wrinkles from his tunic and exiting the tent, looking round for Gimli.

 He had achieved twelve steps forward ere he was arrested by his esquire, who upon trotting round the corner of a supply tent fixed his lord with an appalled eye, and setting his jaw took the Green Knight protesting weakly back to the tent, where a hurried ablution was performed with ice-cold water, sticky lye soap, and a comb that, Legolas decided, had been especially designed to find and pull every snarl in his hair.  Ignoring his lord’s assertions that certainly no one was going to give a brass piece for his appearance, Tamin stripped and redressed his lord, speaking no disapprobation but with an eloquent disapproval upon his little fair face.  At last Tamin declared himself marginally satisfied and allowed Legolas to leave the tent once more; though Legolas heard him mutter as he quit it:  “And us without his circlet!  What were we thinking when we packed for him?”  

Bemused, and not quite feeling himself, Legolas emerged once more into the sunlight, and found to his surprise that he actually did feel a little better after having washed and brushed; he determined however to keep that maternal tidbit to himself, lest he supply his esquire with more reason to scold him.  He ran his long fingers through his hair, wincing a little and wondering if it were the detritus of drink, or of his esquire’s overenthusiastic combing, that made his head ache; then he heard his name called and he turned in relief.

“Gimli!” he said, and rushed over to where the Dwarf stood, arms akimbo.  “I should have been out sooner, but Tamin got to me.”

“I hardly think Tamin took two hours to get you to this state,” said Gimli dryly.  He looked clean and alert and sober, his beard neatly braided and his blue tunic smooth; he gave his friend a critical look.   “And to think I feared you would never sleep again!  Do you know what time it is?  You have missed breakfast.”

“I am, I confess, not terribly hungered,” said Legolas with a sheepish smile.   “Thirsty, perhaps.”

“Hot mead, then,” said Gimli, his mouth twitching over an answering smile.  “I have been told it might relieve those symptoms of the aftermath of an evening of overindulgence … not that I have experienced this personally, of course.”

“Of course!” laughed Legolas.  “You certainly did not overindulge at Mardil’s wedding, now, did you, my friend?”

“Certainly not,” said Gimli with a sniff.  “I do not remember doing any such thing.”

“I believe you,” said Legolas.  “I thought I would never get you back to your chambers!  In the end, Aragorn and I had to roll you there.”

“Indeed?” said Gimli.  “That explains those strange bruises I sustained.”

They found the buttery tent, and to Legolas’ relief it was manned by Nír himself, who gave the prince a knowing grin along with a steaming mug of strong mead.  Legolas sipped it while he and Gimli walked the camp, watching the interactions betwixt Elf and Dwarf, and seeing the Men corralled and settled.  They went to the eastern corner, where the women and children fleeing the fire in Esgaroth had been housed; they were heavily guarded by a regiment of stout warriors, Elves and Dwarves alike; the regiment informed Legolas and Gimli that though some women had been entreating for their husbands, the preponderance seemed more than rather pleased with their current position, admitting they felt safer under the care of those who were not Men at all.  They were, Legolas thought privately, a rather pathetic grouping; the children were half-starved and lethargic, and the hollow-eyed women grimly satisfied.  When he and Gimli quit their company Legolas shook his head.

“Malbeach, though dead, has much to yet answer for,” he said; “Renna too, for allowing things to get to this state.  And now Esgaroth is destroyed, and these poor folk without homes at the tag-end of summer!  What shall they do when fall arrives?  Surely they cannot build their own houses, and I am reluctant to release them to their husbands, not knowing the scale of each man’s malfeasance.”

“It is a pretty question,” agreed Gimli, walking along beside Legolas, his thumbs in his belt.  “For myself, I think we should send them to Bard, and let Men deal with Men.”  He looked up at Legolas, and descried the discontented scowl; he added:  “I know that with you, to think a munificence is to immediately grant it; but Legolas, we are many hundreds of leagues from Dol Galenehtar, and it is rising autumn.  Surely you do not expect your Lord Father to succor them.”

“Well,” said Legolas a little sheepishly, “I had thought rather of asking my Lady Mother.”

“I would not,” said Gimli firmly.  “I think your mother, as your father, has had a skinfull of Men already.”  Legolas sighed in agreement, and Gimli added, “And speaking of skinfulls, what on earth did you tell your father last night, Legolas?  He begged me this morn to keep you away from the docks in Minas Tirith at any cost!  You are not thinking of sailing already, are you, my friend?  Because I will tell you right here and right now - ” the Dwarf poked Legolas aggressively in the chest “ – I will have none of it!  You are not allowed to quit this world as long as I breathe; is that clear, Legolas?  I forbad you to die when we fought Muhk, and I forbid you to do anything rash, while we are still stumbling round in grief and confusion.  You either sail when I am cold beneath the stone, or when I give you permission.  Do you understand?”  And he glared up at his friend, his eyes flashing; Legolas sighed and looked away.

“If I think of seeking the healing shores of Valinor, can you blame me, O Gimli?” he said with a frown.  “What a terrible summer it has been!  And these Men, Gimli – O these Men! – they repulse me!  I want nothing more to do with them – nothing at all.  I am tired of dealing with them!”

“Tell Aragorn that, then!” said Gimli angrily.  “Or Faramir, or Éomer!  Listen, Legolas – “ Gimli took Legolas’ elbow and lowered his voice.  “This has been a terrible summer, to be sure.  And we have seen terrible things wrought by the sons of Men.  But do you not throw out the baby with the bath water, my friend.  Valinor is not the answer, not yet.”  He let Legolas go, who did not reply, but only looked a little shame faced; then he added:  “And in all likelihood you will be terribly bored there.”

Despite himself Legolas laughed.  “I cannot imagine that I would be, though I confess its dearth of Dwarves is a concern,” he admitted, looking round the camp; Dori and Dwalin were bustling by, arguing about sides of beef, and there was a little clutch of Dwarves and Elves mingled playing at dice in front of the paddock; Methlon was among them, his bright face and hair a sharp contrast to his dark tunic; he rolled his dice and laughed merrily while his companions expostulated.  “You are right, of course,” Legolas sighed; “you are near always right, O Gimli my friend; I was precipitate, and in my sorrow and anger sought the swift solution.”  He fell silent, thinking of Radagast drawing him back to the earth, and pondered what would have been his fate had the wizard lingered an hour more.  “I should not think to deprive my friends of my most noxious and aggravating presence too soon.  But it is tempting, Gimli.”

“Well, think a little first, will you?” grumbled Gimli.  “I have lost enough friends already.  I do not wish to lose any more.”

“We have both lost some of our closest friends, O Gimli,” said Legolas sadly.  “Bandobras and Belegtilion, and poor Melima and Belias.  And Kaimelas was near killed, and Seimiel, though she has not yet said, is I am certain plotting dire revenge upon me for bringing her husband up here in the first place.  Meivel will put me under house arrest the moment we cross back into the borders of my demesne and make sure I never leave his sight again, and Dúrfinwen – “  He broke off and made a frustrated noise, halted, and drained his mead, looking around with lowered brow; when he determined there was no one about he said in a low voice:  “And Dúrfinwen!  What do I do with Dúrfinwen, Gimli?  How can I reinstate her as a maid of my household when a maid she surely can never be?  I know that she has declared she has no notion of ruling Dale; but it is early days yet, and I have no way of knowing whether she shall return to be my mercer – though why she should agree to be a mere mercer when she is of royal blood – and with her maidenhood stripped of her, though I shall maintain her sad secret with all my being, it shall denigrate her status; you know what think the Men of Gondor, and what is the opinion of the ladies of the royal courts thereabouts!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Gimli, looking in amazement at his friend.  “Perhaps you should sail for Valinor, Legolas; I never thought I should live to see the day you actually thought like a Man!  Do you not think what the Lord of Such-and-such should say, or what the Lady of So-and-so thinks.  Dúrfinwen’s purity is gone from her.  What do you think?  You are her lord and protector, after all.   What is her status in your eyes? Is she lessened or made greater to you?”

“Through no fault of her own, and in circumstances beyond all reason and control, did violent men seek to take from her that which for centuries she had guarded,” said Legolas a little hotly.  “To me that only makes her the purer, for she was robbed but held herself firm; and that so increases her value to me that she as a lady of Dol Galenehtar multiplies the worth of my court.  My poor, brave, beautiful mercer!  Had I no other consideration but mine own, would I bring her to Dol Galenehtar in honor and reverence, instating her as a lady without peer in my court, and bestowing upon her the privilege and authority due her.”  Legolas paused and considered his own words; then he gave a shamefaced grin.  “You are right again, Gimli,” he admitted.  “I am thinking too much of what Men will think.  What care I?  Dúrfinwen will do as Dúrfinwen will do, and all I can do is to be her lord, and make sure she does nothing precipitate.”

“That will be a good trick,” grunted Gimli.  “You, telling someone to not be precipitate?  So the moon scolds the stars for circling the earth!  Come,” he said, taking Legolas by the elbow and leading him away.  “Let us to the healer’s tents.  She is there, aiding Liquíseleé and Seimiel; take her aside and speak to her, so that you may determine how best to succor her.  Let the daughters of Men be cared for by the daughters of men.  Dúrfinwen is your concern, now.  And Liquíseleé and Seimiel, too,” he added with a smile.  “What wrath drove them to pursue Meivel to the north!  You will have to watch yourself around those two.”

Legolas allowed himself to be propelled along, but he looked unhappy.  “Speak to her!” he repeated.  “What will I say?”

“Tell her what you told me, of course, you ninny!” growled Gimli.  “You cannot dance around her denigration forever, and the longer you avoid speaking of it, the thicker will be the palisade between you two.  Take her aside, and in private assure her of your support.  What are you afraid of?”

“With Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas, smiling.  “That she will throw something at me.”

“So duck,” shrugged Gimli, and together they approached Liquíseleé’s domain.

On their way they found Meivel, walking along with an expression upon his face that looked two steps removed from a smile; for that dour fellow it was a surprising expression indeed, and when he paused to bow to his lord, Legolas exclaimed:  “Why, Meivel!  You look quite pleased; whatever has occurred to lift your countenance so?  Did someone slit Bard’s throat?”

“Better, my lord,” said Meivel; his dark eyes sparkled.  “You have made a good choice in esquires, my lord.  I highly approve.”

“Do you!” said Legolas in surprise; Tamin’s exuberance and perpetual good cheer had always irritated Meivel in the past.  “To what does he owe your approbation?”

“Ask Baranil,” said Meivel, with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle; with a final bow Meivel headed off, humming a little under his breath.

“Interesting!” said Gimli thoughtfully, watching the captain’s retreating back.  “I wonder what that scamp has been up to now?”

“Knowing Meivel and Baranil, I will wager he has managed to ruffle the unrufflable,” grinned Legolas.   “Come!  Let us see if the ladies know.”  And he drew aside the tent flap and gestured Gimli within.

The tent was spacious and airy, and filled with the pungent and cloying scents of herbs and unguents and hot water.  Row upon row of pallets were laid down, with Elves and Dwarves thereupon, and moving amongst the aisles in plain brown and grey were three of the ladies of Dol Galenehtar.  Liquíseleé and Seimiel had, Legolas noted with satisfaction, covered their hair with scarves, replicating Dúrfinwen’s design of headdress; he thought to himself that he had surrounded himself with the kindest and most solicitous Elves in Arda.  But then Liquíseleé espied him, and frowned; she turned with her hands on her hips and her chin lifted, and said:

“Well!  And what do you want?  A cure for a hobnailed head?  Galion told me someone had pilfered his supplies last night, and your Lord Father is going round looking like he has a parboiled liver.”

Legolas recognized his leech was in a foul mood, and in no state for banter; to assure her goodwill he bowed his head and said:  “I fully accept the repercussions of mine actions, and proclaim that I warrant whatever ramifications I deserve.”

“Good; we are out of feverfew and milkthistle, and have no unguent to give you,” said Seimiel, busily rewrapping an appreciative Dwarf’s head.  “I have just given the last of it to Rán here.”

“Superior to the physic is the hand that imparts it,” said Rán, smiling up at her appreciatively; he had the look of one who admires hair the color of honey, and eyes grey as glass; her beardlessness did not seem to be an impediment.  “Will you not sit a while and speak to me, O leech?  Your voice is more soothing than the strongest remedy!”

“Have a care there, Rán; she is wed,” warned Gimli, though his brown eyes twinkled.  “Did not your mother warn you of the dangers of flirting with married ladies?”

“Well, I cannot flirt with Dúrfinwen; Dori has told me it is strictly forbidden!” said Rán discontentedly, gesturing down the aisle to the grey-clad woman at work.  “He is only green, I think; he wants her dimples for himself.”

“Liquíseleé is unwed,” said Legolas, smiling at his leech, who gave him a sour look.  “And can you disparage that surpassing fair face, and hair of fulgent sunshine?”

“Never flirt with the one that is in charge,” said Rán firmly as Liquíseleé sniffed in disdain.  “That is what my father told me.  And he should know,” he added owlishly; “considering my mother’s position.”

“True enough,” admitted Gimli, stumping over to him and squatting down beside him.  He studied the skillfully wrapped bandage, still with its stain of blood, and gauged it against Rán’s rosy cheeks and bright eyes.  “How is it?”

“It is healing,” said Seimiel, tying off the strappings.  “There is no infection, and the edges, though jagged, are coming together.  But he shall have a scar, I fear.”

“It will but serve to dramatically illustrate my strength and courage in battle,” said Rán, looking up at her admiring.  “The ladies love that sort of thing, you know.”

“Do they?” smiled Seimiel.  “I cannot say I see the allure myself.”

“Well, no,” said Rán, glancing over into the corner, his smile fading.  “I suppose you wouldn’t, all things considered.”

Legolas turned his gaze to where Kaimelas slumbered, a little apart from the rest of the wounded; his valet looked terribly white and limp.  Seimiel too looked over at her husband; in her dark grey eyes was a suddenly tender and worried gaze, as though her conversation had been going along quite smoothly, but then the carriage had hit a deep and hidden ditch.  Legolas’ heart sank, and he yet felt the weight of his culpability, and the fears for his friend’s health.  “How is he?” he asked Seimiel under his breath.

“Better,” said Seimiel, her voice surprisingly level, though her long red mouth curved downward.  “He awoke and took some broth and water.  He still does not know where he is, or what is the day; but he knows the folk around him, and is comfortable.”

“Good,” said Legolas, and glanced down at her diffidently.  “Seimiel, I know that you wished to keep him out of danger – “

“Spare me your self-recriminations; I have scolded Baranil already,” said Seimiel with a sudden sunny smile.  “I know you would have kept him in Dol Galenehtar if you could – and equally that he should have followed you into danger, my and your arguments alike falling upon deaf and stubborn ears.  My Kaimelas has not the soul of a valet.  We have always known this.  He is a scout and a warrior and better bred for death than dressing, for passion than protocol, for escutcheons than epaulettes.  Though I admit, my lord,” she added frankly, “so great was my wrath when I first saw him wounded I should have torn out your heart; but Glóin informed me you sent him to Thorin to protect him, not thinking he would go into battle.  Be at peace, my lord; I am wroth with you no longer.”

“Excellent!” laughed Legolas.  “My life runs the smoother when my vassals are content.”  He let his gaze travel round the tent then, until it rested upon Dúrfinwen in the back corner; she was aiding an Elf to drink a potion, her head wrapped in a gaily patterned scarf of green and yellow; her arm was round the Elf’s shoulders, and she held the cup to his mouth and spoke to him quietly.  Legolas watched as she put the emptied cup down, and wiped the Elf’s mouth with the corner of her apron; she carefully lowered him back to his pallet, and covered him with a blanket.  Despite the scarf and the clean dress and apron, there was a marked difference between Dúrfinwen and her two companions; her face was pale and gaunt, her eyes like black blots on a white parchment; and beneath the voluminous vestments she looked starved and thin.  Then Seimiel put a hand on his arm, and he started, and looked down at her; he had forgotten she was there.

“Please speak to her, my lord,” whispered Seimiel; her grey eyes were distressed.  “With her purity she has lost her place.  I know not your plans for her instatement, my lord, but reassure her that her home is with us!”

“I like how well you know me,” said Legolas with a wistful smile.  “’Twas for that very purpose I have come.  And thank you, Seimiel, for covering your head – you and Liquíseleé both.”

“I would do anything for Dúrfinwen,” said Seimiel firmly, her eyes flashing.  “I cannot remember a day when she and I did not love one another, from when we toddled together in the nursery to when we first put our hair up, and let our skirts down.  But when I was wed to Kaimelas did a wedge drive itself in between us, for I was a married woman, and she a maid; my very homely duties did confer upon her the difference in our positions, and mine affections and their fulfillment did further our disparity.  Now these appalling actions visited upon her have widened the gap, and I feel the distance most keenly.  She will not speak to Liquíseleé or even to me, my lord, concerning this; Liquíseleé says it is because she feels her pain and trouble set her too far apart from us, for Liquíseleé is yet unsullied, and I though breached have unbreached myself likewise in honor.  But you are a man, and she has always been so ruthlessly pragmatic; she may yet listen to you, my lord.”

“Think you so?” asked Legolas soberly.  “She suffered far more than did I, who am yet maintained in purity.”

“But you suffered, and we did not,” insisted Seimiel stubbornly.  “You were there for her at the end of it.  Be there again, my lord.” 

“Do all my vassals order me about?” asked Legolas with a small smile.

“Yes,” said Seimiel promptly.  “Where do you think Tamin learns it?”

“Why; what has he done now?” asked Legolas curiously, remembering Meivel’s satisfied mood.

Seimiel’s eyes twinkled, and she bit her lip.  “I will not do the tale justice,” she said, her voice warm with humor.  “Baranil possesses sufficient perspective; ask him.”

“I shall,” said Legolas; “I could use the levity.  For now, however, I will take your helpmeet of you.  She looks tired.  Does she not look tired?  Do you not think she needs to rest for a moment to regain her strength?”

“She does,” smiled Seimiel.  “Also does she need to fetch additional feverfew and milkthistle.  There is no more in the supplies; but if anyone can find it in the surrounding areas it is she.”

“Then I have ample reason to abduct her.  Thank you, Seimiel.”

She gave to him a courtesy, which he disdained, and kissed her upon the cheek instead; she went back to her rounds giving to him an encouraging look; and Legolas with a sigh went down the aisle of pallets to where his mercer stood with a skin and cheesecloth, preparing an unguent.   She glanced at him, her eyes dark and hooded, and when he smiled she only looked down at the poultice, massaging it with her thin fingers until the oils had permeated it; then she knelt, and applied it to her sleeping patient’s burn.  Legolas knelt too, perceiving she would need an extra pair of hands to finish the dressing; she made no indication she either approved or disapproved of his involvement, but tied it off in silence, her eyes downcast.  Legolas collected her things, and rose; he held one hand out to her to help her up, and she hesitated; she shifted a little on her knees, as though gauging her strength against her pride; at last her pride lost, and putting her hand in her lord’s she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“I have been informed that the healer’s tent is suffering a paucity of feverfew and milkthistle,” he said to her.  “Furthermore, as you are the only Laiquenda in the immediate vicinity, that it shall be your charge to locate and collect more.”

“Indeed, my lord?” she said, unsmiling.  “Then I shall take me to the woods.”

“And I shall accompany you,” said Legolas.

She raised one eyebrow.  “Think you I require a bodyguard even now, my lord?”

“Yes, O Princess,” said Legolas with a little bow.  “’Twould be highly improper for a lady of your standing to proceed without proper escort.”

She gave him a strange look, but did not comment further; she returned her supplies to Liquíseleé, who fixed Legolas with a basilisk glare and informed her that Dúrfinwen would be returned at a reasonable time with all herbs accounted for, and there was to be no dilly-dallying.  Legolas meekly complied, and helped Dúrfinwen into a soft red cloak when Liquíseleé grimly pronounced the morning “too cold” for the mercer’s compromised constitution, despite Dúrfinwen’s weak assertions that the day was sufficiently fine to dispense with such extra burdens; they passed Gimli as they went out, who gave to them both a sympathetic grin and a wave; and in silence the two let the tent flap fall behind them.

They were constrained to cross the length of the camp to reach the forest.  All round them bustled Elves and Dwarves, laughing and talking together; the Elves bowed as they went, and spoke kindly to Dúrfinwen, and the Dwarves saluted them both with genial greetings.  Legolas felt her stiffen each time they were approached, and flinch when spoken to; her face was shuttered and tense, and her eyes frightened and unsure.  But she held herself erect, and spoke politely, inclining her head to her fellow Elves, and smiling at the Dwarves.  When they quit the camp and headed deep into a grassy meadow, and the voices and dust faded behind them, Legolas heard her sigh, and saw her shoulders slump; the stiff tightness in her face softened, and her steps slowed.  The thick tall grass rustled dryly round them, and as they moved through it, its sweet late summer scent surrounded them.  There were round the edges of the clearing some low shrubs of wild rose, already in their hips, though there were yet some dark pink blossoms quivering bravely in the sunlight.  Several tall stalks of coppertip waved amongst the browning grasses, and Legolas absently plucked one as they passed it; its sprays of red trumpets danced in his hands.  Dúrfinwen paused at one of the rose bushes, and fingered the hips thoughtfully.

“What is it that Liquíseleé uses the hips for?” she asked.  It was the first time she had spoken since they quit the tent; her voice was subdued.

“She gives it to patients with the ague,” said Legolas.  “And methinks when the inhospitable winter arrives, the folk hereabouts will suffer greatly from it.”

“Hm,” said Dúrfinwen, drawing her hand away from the hips; she hesitated, then opened the satchel hanging from Legolas’ elbow, and began harvesting.  Legolas did not comment, but let her go on for a few moments; at last she slowed and stopped.

“That was kind of you,” said Legolas.  Dúrfinwen gave him a hollow look, and with neither reply nor warning plunged recklessly into the thicket.

Her skirts snagged on the rose bushes, and upon some low hollies; she tore it away impatiently and pressed inward.  Legolas followed, watching her; her steps quickened again, as though she sought to put as much distance between herself and the camp as possible; but when she came upon a little rocky place she allowed him to take her hand and guide her safely over.  At last they came to a clearing, sun-speckled and dancing with butterflies, which hovered over late-blooming hydrangeas, white and pink and blue.  The grass was interspersed with thick moss and phlox, and there was the comfortable hum of honey bees; a wren fussed and clattered nearby.  She stopped as though jerked back, and stood, stiff, trembling, the sunlight athwart her swathed head, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“What is it, Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas after a moment.  “There is nothing here to harm you.  Not Elf nor Dwarf nor Man has passed this point in weeks.  It is quiet and warm and quite innocuous.  What is wrong?”

She turned to him then, her eyes angry.  “What is wrong?” she repeated, her voice trembling.  Shakily she unwound her scarf, revealing her torn and healing ears, and the russet curls glowing in the sunshine.  “What is wrong?  How can you ask that, my lord, when you know – “  She cut herself off and turned away, blinking hard.  “I, I do not want to be here.  And I do not know how to – how to go elsewhere – where people will not know – what I am – “  Her voice snagged on a sob, and she wiped impatiently at her eyes which had filled with tears.  “I have nowhere to go,” she said roughly.  “I cannot stay – I cannot go – I can go nowhere – “

“I do not recall giving you the option,” said Legolas firmly.  She turned to him, her brown eyes wide; Legolas could see the thoughts chasing themselves round behind them, like the restless circling of minnows in a sunny pool.  Then her eyebrows lowered and her lips settled into a thin hard line; it was strangely innocuous coupled with those dimpled cheeks.

“You said you would give me extra chambers and looms,” she said, as though it were an accusation.

“I did,” said Legolas easily.  “And spindles and laborers and silk and wool.”

She stared hard at him.  “Why?” she demanded.

“As recompense for your bravery and steadfastness,” said Legolas.

“You cannot repurchase my status,” she said angrily.  “You do know that, do you not, O Green Knight?  Not all the gold in Dol Galenehtar and Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor combined can repurchase it for me!”

“I need not purchase it; ‘tis not mine anyway,” shrugged Legolas.  “That your status has changed, that is immutable; you ought rather to be pleased than dismayed.”

She stared at him in amazement, and her eyes filled again with tears.  “How can you say that!” she cried, her hands in fists; Legolas braced himself for her blows, grateful she was wearing laced shoes.  “Pleased!  How can I be pleased when I am brought so low?”

“You are not brought low,” said Legolas resolutely, risking her fists and taking her by her shoulders; she trembled beneath his touch but did not pull away.  “Your purity was taken of you against your will; and so your status does not decrease but increase; the crown of your purity is redoubled, and you are brought to a far higher estate than you were before.  Therefore I say to you, that you are not without recourse, nor without a home.  Come back to Dol Galenehtar with me, O my mercer!  Terrors and horrors and acts unspeakable were brought upon you, but could not destroy you, for you are formed of a better and tougher mettle than any of your attackers could have dreamed.  Your dross is burnt away, and you stand before me not a ruined maid, but an illustrious princess; and it is my bounden duty as your lord to declare you my equal, and thus bestow upon you the riches and wealth according to your new rank.”

She stared at him dumbfounded, then gave a disbelieving laugh.  “You are too stupid!” she said scornfully, pulling away from him.  “Me, go back to Gondor!  And you would present me to the court as a half-breed princess?  Garland me with all the ignominy of my shame?  Expose me to the scorn and ridicule of those waspish gossips?  You may dress me in the finest silks and brocades you like, and crown me with mithril; but I am still – “

“A princess,” said Legolas, taking her by the hand.  “They cannot strip your blood of you.  And they are but mortals, Anóriel daughter of Fércast; in a hundred years’ time they will all be dead anyway, and you will still be a princess.”

She turned from him, but did not pull her hand from his grasp.  “You cannot be sure of that,” she said in a low voice.

“Well, some of the sons of Men are rather long-lived,” Legolas admitted judiciously.  “But Men’s memories are notoriously short, especially when confronted with the double letters patents you possess.”

“I did not mean the Men,” said Dúrfinwen. 

Legolas puzzled over this for a moment; then in comprehension his face fell and he said, “Oh!”  They were both silent; she was turned away from him, but he still grasped her hand; the honeybees and the butterflies hovered round them, and one brave and thoughtless bee began to crawl and hum round Legolas’ coppertip.  A hawfinch squawked in a nearby shrub, and high above them a blackbird warbled and peeped.  The breeze sighed and soughed around them, stirring Dúrfinwen’s plain gray skirt, and Legolas’ brilliant golden hair; it pressed their clothes against them, exposing the skin and bones they had become.  But Dúrfinwen’s hand was yet warm in his, and Legolas at last said:

“Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen.”

“Your Lord Father did name you Anóriel.”

“And your Lady Mother did name me Dúrfinwen.”

“Your Lord Father was first.”

She gave a huff of irritation, and turned back to him; her eyes flashed, but she was smiling.  “You are so aggravating, my lord.”

“I am pleased to hear you say so,” he said politely.

“You are pleased to hear I find you aggravating?”

“I am pleased to hear you call me your lord.  You swore oaths to me, and I shall impose my will upon you.”

“Shall you, now!” she said archly.  “Well, I know that when Legolas Thranduilion puts his foot down, something gets squashed.  What are you squashing now, my lord?”

“I am ordering you back to Dol Galenehtar, O my mercer,” said Legolas seriously.  “Convalesce here if you like; but I require you in Ithilien.  I refuse to share you with my Lady Mother any longer.”

“Very well,” said Dúrfinwen; she sounded tired, and looked up at the blackbird in resignation.  “Are there any other aspects of mine existence you wish to order?”

Legolas took her other hand in his, and captured her bright eyes with his own .  “Anóriel,” he said.  “I cannot command you to fade not, nor to deny your Edain heritage.  That authority is not mine over you.  I cannot order the will of your soul, nor demand you accept a fate you do not want.  But I can beg you to heed the call of the Eldar, and forswear both despair and mortality.  I do not want you to fade, O Anóriel; you are too dear to me for that; and for that reason I surely do not want you to die.  I spent too much time, shed too much blood, and suffered too many wounds to accept your death so complacently.”  He looked down at their hands intertwined, and pressed them together.  “My dreams sent me not to the east to find Muhk, Anóriel,” he said slowly.  “They sent me to find you, and I will be damned if I let you slip away, now that you are safely to shore.” 

Dúrfinwen did not reply, but Legolas saw the reluctant comprehension in her brown eyes; he grasped her hands the tighter and said earnestly:  “Think, Anóriel!  Autumn is on our heels.  The harvest is nigh upon us.  Tuilíndo will be packaging the dried herbs to ship to Langstrand, and the docks will be full of wine-barrels.  Andunië is likely conferring with King Éomer’s hunstmen concerning the wild boar, and Galás I am sure is near tearing out his hair over the paperwork Hirilcúllas has foisted upon him in mine absence.   There are three women requiring my presence in their time of need, and the attendant hoods, boots, and gowns for their tiny offspring have yet to be made!  And Seimiel is in need of a wardrobe befitting her new status as an ambassador’s lady; who shall fit her red ball gown?”

Dúrfinwen did not reply, but the corner of her sweet pink mouth turned upward; encouraged Legolas continued:  “In six weeks’ time, Anóriel,  will the slopes of the Ephel Dúath blush golden and crimson, and the tailrace will roar and boom and turn the wheels that press our oil.  Queen Undómiel’s Winter Ball is right around the corner, and I am foreseeing you in a gown of cloth of gold, with red satin roses at your waist, driving all the courtiers to distraction, and making jealous in your mimicry the lindens and oaks and maples in your splendor!.   Anóriel.”  He shook her gently, and smiled down into her unsure face.  “Last night, I told my father I was ready to sail.  I was wrong, Anóriel.  I am too busy.  And so are you.”

Dúrfinwen gazed up at him in amazement, too stunned to speak; the hawfinch however felt no such awkwardness, and clattered and trilled beside them.  Legolas held her gaze, unwilling to let her falter; his adamance quivered in the air between them.  At last Dúrfinwen closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, and let it out; she opened her eyes, and smiled.

Legolas’ heart swelled; her brown eyes were warm and acquiescent, and though her cheeks were yet thin and sunken, her dimple bravely reappeared.  “Cloth of gold?” she said.  “You must not be minding mine accounts, my lord; have you any notion the cost of it per yard?”

“What matters that, if it makes a pretty dress?” asked Legolas, smiling in his relief.

She tipped her head to the side, considering it; her lips pursed charmingly.  “For cloth of gold I shall strongly consider your request,” she said, tossing her close-cropped head.  “Though it is the world’s most unforgiving fabric with which to work.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to concoct a gown of such surpassing magnificence you bring the flush of envy to even Undómiel's cheeks.”

“You do not ask much, do you, my lord?” asked Dúrfinwen wryly.  “You tear me from my lady, and insist I return south with you to labor again in the tucking-mill; and you seek to dissuade me from acceding my royal heritage in Dale.”

“Wish you to rule in Dale?” asked Legolas with a laugh.  “By all means; I am certain Bard would happily concede, though he might ask certain sanctions of you.”

She made a face.  “Ugh!  I had forgotten; he promised to press his suit.  Well, perhaps I will be fortunate, and he be repelled by my pate.”

“Why should he be?” asked Legolas, lightly touching the dark red curls.  “Tamin is right; they are quite pretty.  I cannot wait to see them in another year’s time, tumbling and roiling down your back like fiddleheads in the autumn.” 

“Fiddleheads!” exclaimed Dúrfinwen.  “Now you are making me hungry.”

“O but there is a feast prepared for us, Anóriel,” said Legolas, winding one of the little curls round his finger and letting it spring back to her head.  “Can you not imagine what my Lady Mother and our Dwarvish ladies have concocted?  Think you upon the roasts and cheeses and subtleties and stews and breads and sweets and fruit and nuts – “

“For now, I would eat fried fiddleheads,” said Dúrfinwen with a laugh; her voice was clear and her face possessed of wellbeing.  “Fried in butter with peppercorns.”

“If I am to fry you fiddleheads in butter, I insist upon adding a school of good trout,” said Legolas, his pale eyes twinkling.

“If you are going to fry me trout, then you must also fry me potatoes.”

“And if I fry you potatoes, then onions … “

“And if onions, then bacon … “

They both laughed then, and Dúrfinwen in her respite threw her arms round her lord’s neck to embrace him; Legolas embraced her in turn, and kissed the crown of her head, relieved he had returned to her the substance of her repute.  “Now we are both hungry!” he said, releasing her; he was immeasurably pleased to note she had lifted her chin, and her brown eyes were sparkling with mirth.  “Now, Little One, let us find those herbs Liquíseleé did send us out to gather; for she did say to me no dilly-dallying and I fear we have dilly-dallied enough to raise her ire.”

“It will not be difficult,” smiled Dúrfinwen.  “We are standing in them.”

“Oh!”  Legolas looked down; sure enough there were feverfew and milkthistle blooming all round their feet, little white and yellow faces smiling up at them, and deceptively soft-looking purple puffs.   He laughed and said, “Well we had best begin harvesting them then, ere Liquíseleé sends someone out to find us.”  They both knelt in the fragrant blooms and gathered them up, placing them with care upon the rose hips in the satchel; after a moment of companionable silence Legolas said:  “So what was it Tamin did that amused Meivel so?”

Dúrfinwen laughed and sat back upon the grass.  “Ah!” she said smiling; “I am sorry you did not see it; poor Dwalin did not know what to think – whether to laugh or no!  Baranil had come up with his plan to disembark, setting out where and when the waggons and tents and prisoners should decamp; and Tamin along with several others were listening quietly; when Baranil had finished he said: ‘There you are, then; let us get going.’  And Tamin replied, ‘No, that is not how we shall do it.  We shall do it this way instead.’  And he outlined his own little plan, concluding with a polite yet rather defiant look upon his little face.  Baranil did not know what to do at first; he had not expected such mutiny; and he said: ‘But I did not tell you to do it like that, Tamin; I told you to do it my way.’  ‘My way is better,’ said Tamin firmly, ‘and I am telling you that we shall do it my way and not yours.’  Then he turned to the rest of the esquires and clapped his hands and announced: ‘Let us be off then!  We have a lot to do.  Quickly, quickly!’  They were so startled they did not know how to refuse, and scattered to do his bidding, with Tamin right behind them harrying them along.  The look on Baranil’s face!”  Dúrfinwen burst out laughing.  “And Dwalin and Stonehelm and Meivel all standing round, watching your esquire turn the Captain’s authority on its head!”

“Well!” laughed Legolas.  “It is no wonder Meivel was so pleased.”

“Yes indeed!” said Dúrfinwen.  “And Baranil turned to Meivel in amazement, and said, ‘Well, what are we going to do about that?’  Meivel only shrugged and said, ‘He is not mine esquire,’ and stalked off.  At first Seimiel and I thought he were affronted with Tamin, for you know how he is about insubordination; but we caught him sniggering fit to choke himself, hiding behind the leech’s tent afterwards.”

“I suppose I ought rather to be appalled at mine esquire’s presumption,” said Legolas, shaking his head and culling the thistle.  “I hope at least it truly was a superior plan to Baranil’s.”

“I would say neither superior nor inferior,” said Dúrfinwen, watching her lord put the last of the milkthistle in the satchel and rise to his feet; she accepted his proffered hand and stood as well.  “If you asked me, I should say it was a distinctly Hobbity plan.”

“Hobbity!” exclaimed Legolas, offering his arm; she took it, and turned with him to the edge of the clearing.  “Whatever do you mean by ‘Hobbity,’ Anóriel?”

“It was more practical and less procedural,” said Dúrfinwen.  “And do you know, I heard him mutter to himself as he left: This gets easier the more I do it, doesn’t it? But as to whom he was speaking, who can say?”

“Who indeed!” said Legolas, smiling at the sun.  “I think perhaps I might guess, Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen,” she said without rancor, and arm in arm they quit the quiet clearing.

 (A/N:  Yes.  I know.  At last.

Demon Hunter has a song called "One Thousand Apologies."  Even that seems insufficient for you, dear readers all.  I have reasonable explanations for my long silence, but unless you are truly curious, I will not inflict them on you here.  Simply trust that I am finally well, whole, sane, and happy; and that this chapter, and the following, will wrap up my tale sufficiently.

I love you all.

--Le Rouret)

Chapter 34.   

Of Elves and Men

Bard son of Girion, the uncrowned King of Dale, slunk shamefaced from the encampment, forswearing the dust and noise and camaraderie of the Elves and Dwarves for the quiet and uncaring woods.  There beneath the shady boughs and whispering pine fronds it was cool and quiet, and the fragrant grass and loam was heady with scent.  Chattering, clattering blackbirds with their speckled backs squabbled and squawked in the high branches, and Bard paused and looked up, watching the avian congress with puckered brow.  Just as he turned to press deeper into the wood, one of the birds let release its expulsion of filth, and it landed with a splat on his rather dirty epaulette; irritated and mortified, and ashamed of himself for feeling embarrassment before mere birds, he tried to wipe it off with a bunch of hastily plucked leaves; it but left a sticky smear on the fabric, and with a low heart he ducked beneath a low rock outcropping and pressed on.

Bard was supremely miserable.  He was, he determined rather gloomily, the miserablest person in Rhovanion, and possibly in all of Middle-Earth.  No one, he thought, could possibly be more miserable than he.  And did he not have adequate reason to be miserable, and to wallow in his misery?  His dear, loud, good-natured mother dead; his grim, silent, strong father betrayed and slowly poisoned; his beautiful and treacherous aunt sly and twisted, his most trusted servant a traitor to the throne of Dale.  And all these Dwarves angry at him for his family’s involvement with Esgaroth and Malbeach – it was not their fault!  They did not know! – and all those Elves, those horrible, beautiful, terrifying, dangerous Elves, sneering at him, looking down their noses at him, thinking he was naught but some inexperienced, ignorant, weak pup, thrown into a position of authority, and muffing it as soon as he tried to do something with it.

Meivel’s disdain lay heavy on his heart; he at once resented and feared it, and desired nothing more than to prove to that alarming fellow that he was every bit as capable of daring and bravery and quick thinking as the next man.  And Thorin Stonehelm – a daunting King Under the Mountain, with his black eyes and deep gravelly voice, and one could not tell what he was thinking, hidden behind all that black hair.  And Baranil – tall, forbidding, cold, dry, sarcastic Baranil, looking down upon one with such condescending pity.  And Thranduil, the Elvenking!  There were no words to describe Bard’s fear of the Elvenking.  Shrouded in the mysteries of the ages, immortal, immutable, magical, fierce and intractable; Bard had seen him but rarely, and had nightmares about that stubborn and uncompromising warrior.  It did not help that Bard had swooned in his presence – and before Meivel, too! – Bard was terribly ashamed of his weakness, and begrudged them the amusement they must take at his expense.  His cheeks burned with shame just thinking of it.

He stomped uphill, stumbling over stones and tripping on roots, reviewing in his mind’s eye a most satisfying scene, of his triumph upon a battlefield, and Meivel in disgrace; the Elvenking and Thorin Stonehelm watching him admiring as he sat upon a large white horse, his armor gleaming, swinging a sword covered with his enemy’s gore.  And upon the edge of battle – perhaps rescued by his own hand, though his imagination failed to concoct a reasonable excuse for her presence – the lovely, the unapproachable, the delightfully dimpled mercer of Dol Galenehtar, with her thick chestnut curls and dark eyes, so much lovelier than Aunt Renna’s had ever been, clasping her white hands together, her eyes starry, her mouth sighing with veneration, gazing longingly upon him … well, there Bard’s imagination failed him again; he was an honest enough boy to admit that battles might be won, enemies might be slain, and Elvenkings and Dwarven kings might be impressed, but no gangly, pale, awkward son of Men could woo the heart of so fair an Elven lady.

He stumped through the thicket, snagging his breeches on vines and thorns and grumbling as he tore his sleeves on grasping branches; he scarce noted the rabbits scattering as he approached, and the cautious sidelong stares of the birds in their brakes.  He was just muttering disapprobations to himself, his eyes downcast and unseeing of the tangled underbrush upon which he stumbled, when he realized with a start that there was someone standing next to a gnarled oak tree, watching him.

He arrested himself, his heart hammering; his vision seemed to recede from fear, and then through his swimming sight his eyes coalesced upon the form of a slim youth, crowned with brilliant gold and with starry grey eyes, face immutably fair and friendly, though his eyes were cautious.  He was clad in a neat, if somewhat undersized, tunic and hose, and seemed rather overthin; however the expression upon the lad’s face was composed and serious and, Bard thought, rather pig-headed.

Bard felt supremely graceless and uncomfortable.  The young man was an Elf, and a bright and fair and imposing Elf despite his youth; simply the look of knowledge and experience and serenity in that immortal face was enough to cause Bard to want to shrink back into the bushes and crawl under a rock.  The weight of those imperious, stubborn eyes rested upon his, calculating and thoughtful; then to Bard’s surprise, the youth carefully set down all his many packages, and throwing one leg forward, lowered himself into a deep and graceful bow.

“Your majesty,” said the lad soberly.

Bard gaped.  No one, not even his own subjects, had given to him such a bow; most were wont, when confronted with the heir to the throne of Dale, to simply nod and smile upon passing, or in court give but a precursory bob.  He stared open-mouthed at the lad, who straightened and regarded him with a critical eye.  After a long moment during which Bard racked his brain for something to say, and came up rather short, the lad cleared his throat and politely said, “Your majesty, it is customary amongst the mortal folk with whom I am the more readily acquainted to respond to such a courtesy with a nod or a phrase.  Are the formalities in Rhovanion so different from those to which I am habituated in the fair and sunny South?”

Bard gaped some more, then caught the light of irritation in the lad’s eye; he stammered quickly – “O no – not so different – I beg your pardon – “  and then as an afterthought he nodded.  The lad grimaced, and shook his head.

“Your majesty,” he said firmly.  “I am an esquire, and you a king.  I have just bowed to you.  Do you please respond as a monarch and not a mouse.  Nod to me, and display no contrition.”

“Oh, of course!” said Bard, very bewildered.  “Er – yes – “  he stared at the lad, who regarded him gravely; then nodded and added quickly, “I am so sorry, I do not – “

“No contrition!” snapped the lad, his face darkening.  “Goodness gracious!  You are the king of Dale!  Straighten your back!  Raise your head!  Shoulders back!  Chin up!  My word!  Are you bold or bland?”  Wordlessly Bard obeyed the boy’s commands, his eyes a little wild.  “Better!  Now!  Let us do this again.  I bow – “  The leg extended, the golden head stooped, its mass of yellow hair sweeping the moss.  “You nod – “  Bard, gaping, inclined his head; the lad made an angry huff.  “Close your mouth!  You are a king – regal – majestic!  Not some fly-catching, ill-mannered clout!  Again!”  The lad bowed, and Bard, feeling very wooly-headed, shut his mouth with a click, goggled at the boy, and inclined his head wordlessly.  “Ah!” said the lad, straightening and tucking several glossy golden strands behind one leaf-shaped ear.  “Much better!”  He paused, and both boys regarded each other carefully.  “Yes,” said the lad thoughtfully. “Much better.  Though some bird has shat on your shoulder.”

Bard scraped at it, embarrassed.  “Well – “

“O do not apologize again,” said the lad irritably.  “Where is your esquire? What!  You have no esquire?  Then bird shit on your shoulder is not so strange a thing; it is beneath a king’s dignity to wipe off bird shit, you know; it is not very regal, is it?  The first thing you ought to do, your majesty, when the disagreeableness in Dale is wound up, is to select for yourself a competent esquire, one that will wipe the bird shit off for you.”  He brushed briskly at the whitish stain; to Bard’s surprise it flaked off in a little grey cloud.  “There!” said the lad.  “Much improved.”  He paused, and Bard paused too, feeling a little better; then the boy said:  “I apologize, by the way, O King of Dale, for slaying your aunt.”

Bard gaped at him, realizing at last who the boy was, and whence he had come.  So this, he thought, was Tamin the esquire of the Green Knight; this was the boy who had with the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and the son of Glóin of Erebor slain the awful dragon Muhk.  He did not look much like a mighty warrior; but then, Bard mused, he himself did not resemble the boy who had rallied his father’s wavering troops and led them shouting to burn the town of Esgaroth to the ground.  He cocked his head and studied the esquire; the boy’s grey eyes were flinty and proud, and did not convey to him what he supposed ought to be a proper amount of contrition despite the apology.  “You do not seem sorry,” he said, a little resentfully.

The boy flushed then, and dropped his gaze.  “Well,” he said, a little shamefaced.  “I am not truly sorry.  Not really.”

“No?”  said Bard.  “Well, I am not truly sorry she is dead, so I suppose there is no existent need for an apology.”

The lad frowned.  “I have slain a member of your royal family,” he said stubbornly.  “An apology is the lowest form of my reparation.”

“She was a traitor,” insisted Bard, angry at the thought of this sunny fellow expressing contrition, no matter how false, for ridding Dale of Renna.  “A trafficker in evil; a conniver of iniquity.  She slew her own children, my cousins, the poor wee things; she conspired to murder mine own dear father!  I cannot say her loss shall lose me a moment’s respite!”

The lad’s face cleared, and he smiled; Bard suddenly felt as though storm clouds had parted, and the sun in its fulgence beamed down upon him in glory.  “Truly?” said the young Elf eagerly.  “Then it would please you to know she died in agony, the poison of Morgoth coursing through her veins?”

“Please me!” cried Bard happily.  “O I thought you slew her cleanly!  Nay, O esquire of the Elves;  if she suffered in her passage to Bannoth’s halls, then I am the more pleased with you, and I shall give unto you the courtesy, and forswear yours.”  He threw his leg forward, and bowing low said:  “Esquire of the Elves, come to me from the sunny south in Gondor, I thank you for your aid in vanquishing mine enemies, though they are of mine own blood.”

The lad clapped his hands, and gave a delightful laugh then, bubbling with all the joy of a baby’s first chuckle, and Bard’s spirits rose as though he had drained every goblet in his lord father’s halls.  He looked up; the boy was bowing too, and smiling happily.  “O I am so satisfied!” the esquire said, his voice full of happiness.  “How feared I of your disapprobation, for it should focus so detrimentally upon my master’s back, now that the other kings have decided to lift your arrest!  And how sorry I am for your bereavement,” he added, his face instantly dolorous.  “If you like I shall loan to you mine own Adar, for he is a jolly and clement man, and wise too after his own right, and my Nana a beauty as well; they are at a bit of a loss, with me being my Master’s esquire, and would probably like the challenge of a new boy to raise.  Though to be sure, you are doing fine on your own,” he added judiciously; “the burning of Esgaroth was quite nice.”

“Think you so?” asked Bard anxiously.  “I did wonder, you know, if I was laying it on a bit thick.”

“O not at all,” protested the boy.  “It was lovely.  The inn, the Master’s Hall, everything up in flames.  Very gratifying, I must say; mine only regret is that I did not get to see it from the start.  What a jolly conflagration it must have been!”

“It felt quite fine,” admitted Bard.  “But now I am wondering, you know, if I truly did the right thing.  I mean, the followers of Malbeach; I have no concern for them.  But all those women and children, you know – “

“Your concern behooves you, your Majesty,” said the lad solemnly.  “And I tell you, that kindliness speaks louder to me than the flames you sent aloft.  I have been assured, your majesty, that their welfare is a foremost concern; you are quite right I believe to ruminate upon their fate.  Here,” he added, handing Bard a couple of skins.  “Take this.  My leg is still a tad woddly, and I would not spill Meivel’s wine for anything.”

“Meivel!”  All Bard’s confidence fled and he went white, and a low pit of dread froze his belly.  “You go to the terrible Meivel!”

“Terrible be blowed!” said the boy disdainfully.  “Meivel, terrible?  He is only ill-tempered; ignore his rantings.  And if you think that he is bad, you have obviously not met his sister; Meivel runs hot, but brr!  Andunië is cold as ice.”  He threw the skin-straps over his shoulders and hiked a bag under one arm with a welcoming smile.  “Come!” he said.  “My Master is waiting, and he is anxious to make your acquaintance, your majesty, and to discuss with you the billeting of the refugees of Esgaroth.”  The lad limped away; when he realized Bard still stood frozen holding the wine skins he turned and said impatiently:  “Well, come on then!  You think Meivel terrible?  You have seen naught ‘til you have beheld my Master denied his red wine.  Step up, your Majesty!  And hold your head high!  You are the king of a proud and rich township; do you not let these Elvish upstarts make you feel denigrated.”  Bard hesitated, then remembered how the lad had bowed to him, and expected from him stately manners and not stammers; he took heart and followed, his mouth dry; he did not see how the lad smiled when his back was turned.

The Elvish esquire nattered away as they wove through brake and clearing, his voice bright and clear like the chiming of the bells of Bard’s city; he spoke easily, as though he and Bard had been acquainted for many years, and Bard was put strangely at ease, listening to him chatter on.  “I have nicked five skins of wine,” Tamin said cheerfully, “and a wheel of cheese and some dried sausage, and a nice sackful of nuts and desiccated fruits in crystallized honey.  The cups were a challenge,” he admitted, easily negotiating a rather treacherous series of stepping-stones across a brook, and extending a hand to help Bard.  “It seemed an insult to a wine of this vintage to serve it in aught but the finest crystal; but crystal and its poor cousin glass, though the proper vessels from which to drink red wine, are brittle and noisy when transported, and I had managed to escape notice, so it shall be, I fear, but wooden goblets for my lord and his friends.”  He cocked his head, his shining hair glistening in the slanting rays of the sun, and smiled sweetly.  “Yes,” he murmured under his breath.  “It will do, won’t it?”

It seemed to Bard then that the esquire did not speak to him at all, but to some unseen companion; so he said naught but only tramped by the boy’s side.  But after a moment the esquire stopped dead in his tracks, an astonished look on his face.  “Your majesty!” he exclaimed.

“What!” cried Bard, looking around a little wildly.

“I have not introduced myself!” cried the boy.  “Why, that is highly irregular of me!”

“You have no need to introduce yourself,” said Bard, surprised.  “You said you were an esquire, and that you slew my aunt.  I deduced therefore that you are Tamin son of Rúmil, esquire of Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen.”

“How intelligent you are!” exclaimed the boy, his face brightening.  “Though you are only partway there.  I am Tamin son of Rúmil, esquire of Lord Legolas of Dol Galenehtar – a small difference, you might think, but a mighty important distinction to me.”

“Well, that is up to you and not I,” said Bard, mystified.  “Is Dol Galenehtar such a marvelous dwelling, then, that you disdain your lord’s birthplace for love of it?”

“It is, and I do!” sighed Tamin then, and setting his numerous packages down he sat, a little heavily, on an outflung tree root, rubbing his leg as though it pained him.  “A marvelous place, your majesty; a tremendous and beautiful demesne!  O how high and golden-white are its towers, which stretch with bounding grace to the heavens!  How the rooks wheel and cry round the campaniles when the bells sound and echo back their voices from the steppes!  How the green slopes bloom and burgeon with grapes and olives and herbs and peaches, and the cataracts and waterfalls sweep round the shining cliffs!  And the scents, O your majesty; O how delightful it smells – pine and almond-blossom, thyme and rosemary; fresh hay and cold water, and in the quadrangle the smell of the smithy, with Hwindiö hard at work near the bellows, and the straw in the stables, and the fresh crackling bread from the ovens, and roasted venison and ox from the kitchen, and the way puppies’ ears smell when they are only a few weeks old, the dear fat soft little things with their teeth like needles … “  He sighed then, his eyes very far away.  “It is marvelous – marvelous,” he said softly.  “And I want to return so badly – and yet … “  He trailed off, and a darkness seemed to cover his face.  Bard had been so caught up in the beauty of his words that this puzzled and alarmed him; he said anxiously:

“Yet – what?”

“Hm?”  Tamin turned to him, his eyes bright and present once more.  “Oh!  Well, it is a silly thing, your majesty, and I’m sure far beneath your interest.”  At Bard’s polite gesture Tamin blushed and said, “It – is concerning my dearest friend, Fastred – we quarreled right before I left, and I was not able to make it up to him.”

“I see,” said Bard gravely.  “So the remembrance of your lord’s demesne, and your desire to return there, is tainted by the unresolved issue between you and your friend Fastred, and causes you to at once long for and dread your return.”

“Yes, your majesty, that is it precisely,” said Tamin eagerly.  “How intelligent you are!   And it was a stupid quarrel, too,” he added, looking sad.  “How I wish I could go back and unsay things I have said!  Then perhaps we would not have parted so.  But still,” he added thoughtfully, “he said some pretty awful things to me, which he would have to unsay first, so I am not sure where that would leave me.”

“You would not wish to be puling, and let him abuse you,” insisted Bard.  “Betimes it is better to say what you think in a quarrel than to let someone walk all over you.”  He shook his head, his eyes owlish.  “Trust me,” he added darkly.  “I know.  O that I had inherited more of my mother’s outspoken ways!”

“You are plenty outspokenish now, your majesty,” Tamin pointed out.  “And I do not find it offensive in the slightest.  You are right, of course; when one is the recipient of some undeserved abuse, it is often better to fight back than let the wrongdoer think he is right; otherwise he will continue on in his idiocy, and one be thought to approve of it.”  Tamin huffed.  “And it was idiocy indeed!  Letting Halgond walk out with his girl,” he said scornfully.  “I ought to have hit both of them, and taken a switch to Léodwyn's backside.  Love,” he sniffed.  “What utter nonsense!  I hope I am wise enough to avoid it!”

Bard thought of Dúrfinwen then, and her dancing dark eyes and lovely curls, and sighed; Tamin regarded him thoughtfully and rose to his feet.  “Well!” he said.  “We had best be moving, else my lord and his friends will die of thirst out here.  And I would not have Princess Anóriel denied her corner of cheese and sup of wine.”

“Anóriel?  Dúrfinwen?” shouted Bard, leaping to his feet and upsetting all his packages.  “Here?  In the woods?  Near us?”  His hands went to his hair, trying in vain to plaster it down upon his head, and he brushed at his doublet.  “I, I have no offering for her,” he stammered, “and I must look a fright – “

“Pish!” scoffed Tamin.  “You look no worse than any of us do, who have been knocking round these woods without a bath or brush!  Come along, your majesty; I will bet you three pennies that she will appreciate a dram of wine more than any posey you might pick along the path.”

“Truly?” asked Bard anxiously, gathering up his packages with haste and stumbling after Tamin.  “A dram of wine more than a posey?’’  He followed along after the lad for a moment, then said worriedly:  “What about a gold brace?  Would she like a gold brace?”

“Hush!” said Tamin irritably.  “Why do you speak of posies and gold braces concerning the Princess Anóriel?  As though she had nothing else to think of but love-making!”

“But all maids love love-making,” protested Bard, crashing through the brakes and bobbling a skin of wine, catching it but barely with one hand.  “Flowers and songs and whatnot.  It is what they like.”

Tamin turned then, his face like a thunder-storm, eyes flashing as lightning; when he spoke his voice was low and threatening, and Bard stopped in his tracks.  “Not Anóriel,” Tamin said firmly.  “Not she.  Not anymore, if she did ever.  Great Elbereth above,” he added, frowning when Bard flinched back.  “Of us all had Belias the greatest chance, and he is gone – “  Tamin choked on the word then, and his eyes were tragic, and glassy with unshed tears.  He cleared his throat, and said more clearly:  “Gone.”  Then he turned on his heel, and limped away, Bard scrambling to keep up, his heart like lead.

They tramped on a little ways, Tamin saying nothing, though Bard noted he sniffed on occasion, and crossly wiped at his eyes when he thought Bard was not looking.  They came after some minutes upon a little dell filled with clover and slanting sunlight, and a magpie warbled on an oak branch; then with a suddenness that made Bard yelp an Elf dropped out of the tree in front of them, his flossy fair hair flying like snakes round his face; his eyes were sparkling with mischief.  “Got you!” he said, and despite Tamin’s protests he tackled both boys and brought them to the ground; Bard could feel the lean muscle and spare skeleton beneath the soft leather tunic.  Head spinning, and groping desperately for his packages, Bard sat up, panting a little; there was the crunch of leaves and the snapping of branches, and Tamin’s voice protesting:  “Master, Master, enough!  You are squashing the cheese!”

“Is it wrapped in wax, Little One?”

“No!  I stole it from Galion after he had opened it.  Now it will have dirt in it!”

 Bard wheeled round; Tamin sat there, gingerly unwrapping a broken wheel of cheese from a cloth; the bright-eyed, bright-haired Elf knelt before him, examining it closely.  “No harm done,” said the Elf cheerfully.  “It looks quite toothsome!  Where is the wine?  I am parched!”

“Goodness gracious me!” grumbled Tamin, struggling to his feet and brushing the leaves and dirt from his clothes.  “Could you not have waited until after I delivered the food?”

“My apologies, Little One; I am so filled with elation at your return that I could not help myself.”  The Elf rolled round to his feet, looked down at Bard, and cocked his head; his mouth slid into a grin.  “Well!  Hello there.”

It took a great effort on Bard’s part to not gape again when he realized he sat before the legendary truant Prince of Mirkwood, who had left the Elvenking’s demesne long ere Bard was born or thought of; he thought hectically to himself that gaping was really something he should be working on, and wondered if he could somehow untrain his gaping tendencies.  His heart hammering, he struggled upright, and wobbled into a crooked bow.  “Your highness,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Highness!  Faugh,” laughed the Green Knight, striding forward and clasping Bard by the hand.  “How pleased I am that Tamin found you and dragged you along!  I have been meaning to thank you, your majesty, for burning Esgaroth; but Gimli and I have issue with you, that you burnt the tilt also; we had hoped to reserve that especial pleasure for ourselves.”

“I, er,” said Bard, painfully aware he was being terribly inelegant.  “I apologize – “

“Enough of that,” said Tamin briskly.  “There are entirely too many apologies round here for my taste.  Here, Master!  Take these skins.  And that bag, it has the dried fruit in it.  The poor cheese,” he muttered, brushing it off.  “So pretty it was, too!  Well, I’ll pare it and make you eat the hard bits; Anóriel and Seimiel can have the soft stuff in the middle.”  The three of them turned, and headed up the dell to a clearing, light-speckled and filled with bright cheerful voices and song.  Bard stared, bemused; it seemed to him as though the sun lit up the green leaves until they glowed, and that the Elves’ voices drifting down to him mingled with the warbling of the magpie.  It was all very magical, and he wondered if he ought to be afraid.  But when they broke into the clearing and he saw the Princess Anóriel, Dúrfinwen of Dol Galenehtar, sitting in a pale green dress upon a snowy white rug, her shapely head swathed in fine silver-shot gauze, his entrails did a loop-the-loop, and melted like butter left in the summer sun overlong.  She turned her dark eyes upon him, red lips parted in a startled smile, and the blood rushed into Bard’s ears; his knees were filled with water, and he scarce heard the voices of the others greeting him, and introducing themselves.

“Vé son of Búri at your service,” a young Dwarf said, and another added, “And I am Nír – and here is Gimli son of Glóin; I am sure you are anxious to make his acquaintance – “

“I cannot imagine the sentiment is reciprocated,” said a low harsh voice then, and all Bard’s floating bliss burned away; he turned with dread to behold the terrible, the sarcastic, the short-tempered Meivel, glowering darkly at him beneath his untidy mop of hair.  That terrifying Elf frowned suspiciously at him, his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted firmly, impeding Bard’s progress; but then the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen laughed, a bright cheerful sound, and clapping his Captain upon the shoulder said merrily:

“Enough of that, Meivel my friend!  We all know you are cross with me; do you not take it out on poor Bard here, dear boy; it is not his fault your lord is such a silly fellow!  Father and Stonehelm have agreed to release him and his men for their acts upon the field of battle, and there is now no longer any reason for suspicion.  Give Anóriel her wine,” he said to Bard, eyes twinkling; Meivel stomped grumbling away, and Bard took a deep breath.  “Fill her goblet to the brim,” muttered Legolas, glancing sideways at the ladies on the blanket.   “Well does she deserve it, the dear little thing!”

Bard nearly fell to his knees at Anóriel’s side, his heart in his throat, and scarce noting the lady who sat beside her.  The princess smiled up at him, dark eyes twinkling, and took from Tamin a wooden cup; she held it up to Bard expectantly.  He worried the cork from the skin, and poured the dark wine into her cup; its rich heady scent filled the glade.

“By heaven!” exclaimed a Dwarf sitting nearby.  “That is a fine tipple!  Tamin, what did you steal?”

“Procure,” corrected Tamin primly.  “I did not steal it; I procured it, O Vé.  I procured five skins of the best vintage from Esgaroth that Galion had set aside for the Queen’s arrival.”  He glanced deprecatingly at Legolas.  “I hope your Lady Mother forgives me!”

“O she will,” Legolas assured her, holding out two cups; Bard filled them both, and Legolas handed one back to Gimli, and taking the skin from him gave Bard the full cup instead.  “She loves me, and will gainsay me naught, for I have brought her favorite girl back to her.”  He snatched another cup from Tamin, and filling it he smiled down at Dúrfinwen, who looked archly up at him over the rim of her own cup of wine.  “Drain the skins!  I wish to propose a toast!”

“A toast!” cried all the others; Bard looked round, and beheld the little party; Meivel stood, watching soberly as Tamin filled his cup; Gimli Lord of Aglarond was there, with the young Dwarf Vé, and another Dwarf was topping their cups with the rich dark wine, and laughing; with a great shout Legolas lifted his cup aloft, his face shining with joy.  “To the new Master of Esgaroth!” he cried, and saluted Bard, who choked on his wine; but all the others, Meivel excepted, called:  “The new Master!” and drank to him.  Meivel muttered under his breath, ill-temper seething round his head; Tamin however clipped him with his elbow as he passed, and made Meivel spill a little on his tunic.  The Captain glared, but Tamin said smoothly:

“O, hush!  You have overused your ill-temper, like a poorly made leather cuirass, and it is quite worn out!  Drink your wine and toast his majesty, and do stop acting like a billy-goat, Meivel!”

Legolas and Gimli shouted with laughter, and Meivel flushed; the fair-haired woman seated beside Anóriel however chided the esquire.  “O Tamin, you should not speak to your elders so.”

“My leg hurts, Seimiel,” said Tamin evenly.  “The pain makes me tetchy; I cannot help myself.  Meivel will forgive me for it.”  He turned to the captain, who had already drained his cup and glared at the esquire; Tamin but filled the cup again, and said sweetly:  “For his dear friend Liquíseleé will vouch for me; a broken limb is nothing to sneeze at, you know, and I have walked two miles on it just to bring him this noble vintage.”  Meivel glowered down at him but spoke not; the others all laughed, and Tamin smiled engagingly up at him.   “You will forgive me, won’t you, Meivel?” he said agreeably.  “For I am a poor young esquire, wounded and far from my home, and you would not hold a word spoken in haste against me!”

“Not if his sister has aught to say of it!” boomed Gimli, holding out his already empty cup for Legolas to fill.  Legolas obliged, grinning, and Meivel threw back his second cup, and held it out to his lord with the glint of challenge in his dark sullen eyes.  Legolas filled it for him, his face alight with mirth, and taking and filling a cup for himself he held it out to Meivel and said merrily:  “O my Meivel, my dear old friend, my brother-in-arms, my point-guard, my cold blade of logic neatly dissecting his lord’s nonsense!  To you, O my Captain, who disdaining Galás’ command hunted me swifter and fiercer than flies the falcon!  To Meivel, the Sober and Conscientious!”

“Sober and Conscientious!” cried all the others, Bard excepted; he was struggling to control his gaping again, and watched amazed as they cheered and toasted scowling Meivel, who nonetheless drank with them, grumpily conceding their accolades; Tamin and Gimli went round refilling goblets, and Meivel looked around at the little assembly, then said sourly:

“A toast.”

He held up his goblet, and all the others did so as well, looking at him with bright expectancy; Bard waited, wondering what lashing of sarcasm might be visited upon this merry group by the forbidding fellow.  But all Meivel said was:

“To Seimiel and Liquíseleé, who caught me up.”

Seimiel gave a delighted laugh, and all the rest cried:  “To Seimiel and Liquíseleé!”  Bard drained his cup, mightily puzzled; it had not occurred to him until that point to wonder how two ladies of the southern demesnes had managed to come all that way with Meivel.  That they had pursued and met up with him, and that Meivel had likewise pursued his lord without permission, surprised and enheartened him; he felt better knowing he had not been the only person doing mad things without proper authorization.  He turned to Seimiel and Anóriel, whose arms were wound with comfortable familiarity round each others’ waists; they seemed to him then like a random arrangement of wild flowers, all white and green and red and yellow, strewn haphazardly and charmingly upon a simple cloth.  “I am ignorant of the tale of your coming to my lands,” he said shyly.  “Please do you, O lady Seimiel, relate to me the account of your journey!”

“Be seated, your majesty, and I shall,” laughed Seimiel; her grey eyes twinkled.  Bard sat a little heavily upon a root; Tamin limped over and refilled his goblet silently, though his eyes looked satisfied.  “The tale begins with Meivel’s insubordination actually,” said Seimiel, throwing the captain an arch look; Meivel merely bowed his head politely for her to continue; she laughed again and added:  “My lord’s seneschal will have all our hides when we return to Dol Galenehtar I fear … and Galás though merry can show his temper like a maelstrom!”

“Galás frightens me not,” growled Meivel, and Gimli burst out laughing; when the captain gave him a curious look Gimli chuckled:  “He will be unsurprised by that declaration!  Poor Galás!”

“Do you not ‘poor Galás’ the seneschal,” sniffed Seimiel.  “What a stubborn, intractable, stiff-necked mule!  No one’s arguments, not Meivel’s nor mine nor even Lord Faramir’s, moved him to send out an assessing party; it was the army or naught – Nórin took him to task for it, poor fellow, and got an earful for his efforts.  In the end Himbaláth came to me under cover of night to tell me Galás and Meivel had quarreled – “

“Quarreled,” snorted Vé.  “I heard they were going at it hammer-and-tongs!”

“Who told you that?” asked Nír curiously.

“Liquíseleé,” said Vé.  “Mighty fine-looking woman she is; I always liked yellow hair in a maid.”

“Not much of a beard, though.”

“I shall forgive her that, I think!  Such juicy gossip she tells,” said Vé, grinning at Meivel.  “Quite a dust-up, from her account.”

Meivel shrugged.  “Yes,” he said indifferently.

“Did it come to blows, Meivel?” asked Legolas hopefully.

Meivel wordlessly pointed to his cheek-bone, and Legolas laughed.  “What a shame I missed it!  I have not seen you two scrap in over a century!”  Meivel but shrugged again, and Gimli said:

“Go on, Seimiel!  Tell us the rest of the tale!”

“There is little to tell, really,” said Seimiel.  “Himbaláth told me my husband had run off after his lord, and that Galás forbade Meivel to go in pursuit, despite the Prince of Emyn Arnen’s disquiet; Meivel in secret slipped out of the demesne unmarked during a patrol, and was two days gone ere Galás realized what he had done.  While the seneschal raged, Liquíseleé and I took stock of the situation; I missed my husband, and Liquíseleé knew her services would likely be required; so we took us to horse and chased him down.”  She turned to Meivel, likewise raising her own cup.  “You are a challenge!” she said; “I salute you, Meivel, O Sober-and-Conscientious!  My lord chose rightly in his appointment of captain!”

Meivel raised his cup to her wordlessly, and laughing Seimiel drained her own.  “More wine!” she cried, and Legolas refilled her cup, and against Dúrfinwen’s protests filled the mercer’s as well.  “And a toast to my Kaimelas!” cried Seimiel.  “For this afternoon he sat up and demanded a leg of lamb and a tankard of ale!”

“To Kaimelas!” cried all the others, and laughing drank deeply.

Bard sipped at his wine, looking round owlishly.  He wasn’t entirely positive if it were the libations, or the sight of Meivel looking mellow, or the Elves and Dwarves treating him as though he had every right to be there with them, but his apprehension faded, and his heart and stomach settled; he listened to the growly deep voices of the Dwarves, and the clear chiming Elvish tongue, and overall the whisper of the breeze in the pines and the hesitant chatter of birds in the branches, and felt his soul quicken: the grief was there, and the concern for his peoples’ future too; but his diffidence and deep trepidation faded, and with it diminished also the high hum of anxiety, which had played a hectic and confused solo in the front of his mind for months.  He stretched out his long gangly legs, noticing bemusedly that his boots were no dirtier than Meivel’s or Legolas’; he sipped from a plain wooden cup, just as Gimli and the other Dwarves did; he watched the Princess Anóriel lay her head upon her dear friend’s shoulder, and receive a tender kiss for the effort; warmth spread through his chest, and he began to wonder if perhaps he could be a good king like his father, and ensure hope revisit his beleaguered Dale at last.

They ate all Tamin’s procured comestibles, including the maligned cheese, and drained all five skins of wine, and by the time the clearing fell into cool blue shadows, the swallows came out, and swooped round the trees snapping up the little clouds of gnats; owls hooted, and the breeze died.  Legolas danced round the clearing, laughing and singing, telling terrible and sometimes improper jokes; Bard found himself laughing, and speaking with comfort to the two ladies, and to the Dwarves; though he was content to let Meivel stand silent in the shadows, merely watching.  In fact Bard did not notice when Meivel slipped away at first; he only realized, when Vé and Nír began arguing about the right way to make a pitchless torch, that the captain was gone.  The sky purpled and stars twinkled faintly in the lavender dome, and then Legolas gave a great leap, and cried aloud:

“My Lady Mother; my Lady Mother!  The great Queen Edlothiel comes at last!”  He laughed and clapped his hands together and said:  “On your feet, my dear friends and companions!  Let us follow Meivel again, to where my sovereign lady approaches!”

Far from apprehension Bard felt within himself the stirrings of excitement; he had seen Queen Edlothiel a bare handful of times, and never spoken with her; however he had spent long hours staring at his bedroom ceiling contemplating that benevolent and lovely face, and mulling over the tender wisdom she was purported to have.  He rose and dusted himself off, handing his cup to Tamin, and found himself offering his hand to aid Princess Anóriel and then pretty Seimiel to their feet; the ladies thanked him for his gentility and both took his arms, so that he walked between them, his head spinning with their light chiming voices and bright eyes.  Legolas began to sing, a lighthearted walking song that did not sound in the least bit Elvish; Gimli joined him with a laugh, and they hooked their elbows together and marched along in a jolly fashion together.  In thus way they came up out of the woods into the deepening twilight, leaving branch and leaf behind to welcome the blazon of stars across the heavens, and the torchlight that mimicked it in the field below them.  There was a great company assembled, and the buzz of excited voices; then two heralds with torches approached and bowed.

“The Queen of Eryn Lasgalen, Edlothiel of Cardolan, bids her son, Prince Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, to come forth to her assembly, so that they greet and inform each other concerning the recent events,” said one herald formally, though Bard noted he was grinning; he wondered if such insubordination ran rampant in all Elvish kingdoms.

“Iyavas!” cried Legolas happily.  “What a pleasure to see you again!  Of course I shall meet with Mother; she is in all likelihood going to fuss at me for not writing ahead.”  He and Gimli strode into the assembly towards the mass of torches at the center; there standing beside her husband, the great and terrible Elvenking, stood Edlothiel of Cardolan, gleaming in a spotless haubergeon with a sword bound round her waist; her head was crowned with a shining helm that was eclipsed by the burnished silver of her hair.  She gazed upon her son and his companions with a gentle smile, and held out her hands; Legolas dropped to his knees to kiss them, and she raised him to his feet and embraced him.

“My beloved son,” she said, and turning to Gimli she kissed him.  “And his faithful companion!  How pleased am I to hear of your mighty deeds!”

“Thank you, O Lady Mother!” said Legolas cheerfully.  “We have drunk up your wine, I fear.  Did you bring any extra?”

The Elves and Dwarves standing round all laughed, including the Elvenking, who said, “O my son, it is not wine we bring you; it is aught to make you a little more sober than you are at the moment!”   And standing aside he gestured to a Man who had stood quietly behind him in the shadows.  The Man stepped forward and threw back his hood; his dark hair was flecked with gray, and though Bard saw no jewel nor circlet nor outward sign of royalty, the Man proved the weight of his command in his very carriage.  Legolas started back, eyes wide; he said something incomprehensible, which sounded to Bard very much like, “Erk,” which, he supposed, was not really Elvish at all.  Gimli stepped forward, looking very surprised, and exclaimed:

“Aragorn!”

The Man regarded Elf and Dwarf gravely; at last Legolas swallowed and said hesitantly:  “Er … how much trouble am I in?”

The Man looked down at his fingernails thoughtfully.  “From me?  Not much at all, barring your unwillingness to let me in on your secrets, old friend, precluding me from any of the fun.  From your royal cousin, the seneschal of Dol Galenehtar?  Quite a bit – you and Meivel both.”

“Hm,” said Gimli, his eyes narrowing; and Legolas grimaced; however Tamin pushed forward boldly, his chin held high, and giving a precursory bow – nothing at all like the elaborate courtesy he had given Bard – he piped up firmly, “Begging your pardon, your majesty, if it is any consolation,  we did not have any fun to speak of – not one scrap, really, so you missed very little.” 

“Indeed!” said the King of Gondor, smiling down at Tamin.  “Well then, your Master is forgiven, Tamin son of Rúmil; and I shall forgive you too, for you aided in taking down one of the spawn of Morgoth, and his misguided servants, and so restored order and peace to Rhovanion.”

“It was more of a committee effort,” said Tamin gravely.  He stepped aside and gestured to Bard, with a look on his face that brooked no hesitance; Dúrfinwen and Seimiel released Bard and gave him a little push forward.  Feeling very gawky and unschooled indeed Bard approached King Elessar of Gondor, hoping he didn’t gape at all; Tamin propelled him up to the king and said:   “Your majesty, may I present his majesty, King Bard of Dale, who wrested command of his Lord Father’s troops from a traitor, and so turned the tide of the battle for Esgaroth, and subsequently burnt it to the ground, which I thought a nice touch.  Bard, this is his majesty, King Elessar of Gondor and several other places too, and he’s also got other names, which is rather confusion-making so I will not bother to recite them, and anyway I have forgotten half of them already.  But he is less stern than he looks, and has a lovely wife, and quite a nice kingdom, and he sings rather well when he’s had a glass or two of wine.”  He turned to Elessar then and said, a little deprecatingly:  “I’m sorry to say that I killed his aunt, your majesty, which I understand is a misfeance of some great proportion, and my Master was going to take the guilt of it upon his own head; but King Bard has very kindly said she was a bad sort, and the perpetrator of all the trouble round here, so apparently we are quits now.”  He paused, then realizing the assembly’s attention was focused on him, he said tentatively:  “Erm … might I fetch a jorum of wine for anyone?”

“Enough wine, Little One!” said Legolas, laughing in relief; and then it seemed to Bard as though the assembly exploded in laughter and song:  Legolas was embraced in turn by Elessar and by his Lady Mother; then the Elven Queen descended upon Seimiel and Dúrfinwen with a vengeance, spiriting them away; the Elvenking, much to Bard’s surprise, clapped him on the shoulder and shouted:  “Well done, lad!” and then everyone was swallowed up in the grand throng of Elves and Dwarves alike.  Another goblet of wine was pressed into his hand, and as he was carried off by the happy crowd, Bard could only think that he had been right to pursue hope for his people, for it very well might have finally come to pass.

Chapter 35. Tamin Tries his Hand

In the weeks following Muhk’s demise, the green of the trees in Greenwood started to darken, and the Black Emperors disappeared one by one. The river deepened and darkened, and sometimes in the mornings one could descry the rims of ice round the rocks and coves deep beneath fern brakes and rocky dells. Mist like smoke hovered opalescent and still over the eaves of the wood, and the sky was clearer and brighter and bluer than beryl.

Bard returned to Dale, with accolade and the remnant of Esgaroth, but no bride; Princess Anóriel turned him down, as Tamin told Vé, flatter than a flat-iron, but as gently as possible under admittedly awkward circumstances. His proximity to the Elvenking, to Stonehelm of Erebor, and to the King of Gondor had more than elevated his status in his subjects’ eyes, and despite Meivel’s grim predictions, he had the makings of a “middling king,” as even Dwalin conceded. His generosity to the widowed and orphaned of Esgaroth became bruited abroad, and soon the tales of the remuneration accorded him from Muhk’s treasury afforded him the respect of the surrounding settlements. Many of the displaced villagers fled to him ere the autumn descended, and soon Bard discovered he had a surplus of farmers, coopers, herdsmen, woodsmen, hunters, and merchants at Dale’s service. Stonehelm reported to the Elvenking, with whom he now shared a deep friendship, that in his opinion, Bard would elevate Dale to surpass even its nascent splendor.

The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen returned, albeit briefly, to his birthplace. Happy were the Elvenking’s subjects to hail his coming, for he had been greatly missed, and all had regretted his move to Ithilien and the removal from his father’s halls (though perhaps Galion did not regret it as much as his fellows, and not to be wondered, considering their history). Dúrfinwen, now called Princess Anóriel, found herself cosseted and pampered and spoilt, and the Elven Queen so taxed the buttery concerning her dear girl’s comfort that the cooks and bakers held secret conference, wondering if their stores would suffice, or if they had need to appeal to the Beornings for honey and cream.

Gimli, though his father implored him to return to Erebor, chose to stay in the Elvenking’s abode a little while; he and Vé and Nír had discovered amongst the three of them a predilection to disperse treasure; as Búri and Dori brought back waggon-load after waggon-load of Muhk’s takings, between those three Dwarves and Dwalin they determined who was robbed of what, and to whom what should be returned. Indeed Vé became so good at this that he was promoted by Stonehelm to be one of his personal accountants; Búri put on so many airs about this that even Glóin felt obliged to snub him somewhat, though it had no effect.

The Right and Honorable Dwarven Ambassador (or Valambassador, as Dwalin insisted upon calling him) recovered from his injuries at his own pace, aided by his lovely and sharp-eyed wife, who likewise received from her queen’s tucking-mill gowns in red and deep blue and persimmon, and circlets of silver wound in copper wire, and belts with yellow and green gems. Kaimelas for his part appreciated his wife’s finery, though he complained loudly that such was her beauty that the acclaim of the Dwarves focused on the ambassador’s wife alone and not on his policy. Stonehelm did not seem to mind this at all.

So the Rhovanion summer wound down, and the ruins of Esgaroth smoldered until the rains came, hammering upon the blackened stumps and piles of brick and rotted ash. King Elessar stayed with the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen for some weeks, enjoying their hospitality and renewing many acquaintances within the Elvenking’s halls, and commenting every other evening meal that he surely ought to be heading back to his halls at Eriador, though his expectant looks at the Green Knight and the Lord of Aglarond went unheeded.

Legolas and Gimli seemed but little inclined to quit Rhovanion just yet; they were weary and sad still, and Legolas in particular seemed hesitant to return to a Dol Galenehtar without a Hobbit. Meivel and Liquíseleé had long since departed; Meivel admitted he must needs face Galás and take his medicine, and Liquíseleé acerbically asserted that, speaking of medicine, she ought to go back to her apothecary ere Ardún rearranged her stock so that she could not find anything anymore.

Tamin was at once pleased and disconcerted to reacquaint himself with those Elves of Lothlórien who had eschewed Ithilien for Eryn Lasgalen. The youngsters looked on him with wonder and envy, seeing his station as esquire, and his cousin Bragadel, the imp, attempted once to play a prank on him, but he descrying her motives gave her such a rap upon her backside that she smarted for a week, and gave it up. Indeed, ere his departure Meivel caught Bragadel in the middle of her preparations for a particularly complicated prank, to be perpetuated upon the Lord of Aglarond; his fit of temper coupled with flaming vituperation and cold dark eyes so terrified her she dismantled it at once; and upon learning from her cousin Tamin that his sister Andunië was possessed of an even more volatile temper, all it took from that point forward was for Tamin to threaten to send her to Dol Galenehtar’s huntsmistress, and her depredations ceased. They had no more trouble with her after that.

One evening, when the wind moaned and fluttered at the gates, and the clouds scurried greyly across the uneasy sky, and the sun settled herself in a bed of vermilion and black and green, Orophin, who commanded the post, came into the solar where sat Legolas and Gimli and Tamin and Dúrfinwen, and after distributing such letters to his superiors as was appropriate smiled at his sunny-haired nephew, and said: “Tamin! You have a letter.”

Tamin looked up. “I do, Uncle?” he said in surprise, rolling over upon the fur rug in front of the mantle where he had been teasing the Queen’s cat. “You are certain it is for me? I never get letters, and I am not even at home!”

“That does not preclude your getting letters however,” said Gimli from where he sat in a low chair, his feet on a cushion and his pipe between his teeth. “I have got a letter here from Nórin, who says he is in Dol Galenehtar with Galás; he has divined my presence and desirous of my return has sent it me here. No doubt this is likewise some correspondent from Ithilien, Tamin.”

Tamin rose and retrieved it, and brought it back to his Master’s feet. “Who is it from, my Tamin?” asked Legolas, stretching his legs out to the fire and taking a deep draught of ale.

Tamin broke the battered seal, and opened the envelope; he withdrew several sheets of vellum and examined them. He looked up then, his little face so white his uncle thought of fetching smelling-salts; he said in a small trembling voice: “It is from Fastred!” He glanced down again and added wonderingly, “And he writes in Elvish!”

“Propitious!” said Legolas with a smile. “Read it then, Little One, and if it is good news, let us know so we may rejoice with you; bad news however, and we shall commiserate. Sit upon that stool there, O Tamin; you will have better light that way.”

So Tamin in a fever of worry and apprehension did sit himself down, and spreading the parchment on his knee began to read.

Fastred Faramirion, Lord of Osgiliath, Heir-Presumptive of Rohan, and the biggest fool in Gondor,

To Tamin Rúmilion Esquire of the Green Knight of Dol Galenehtar, Traitor-Bane and Staunch if Misused Friend,

Greetings.

O Tamin, my friend, my dear dear friend, I am so sorry! I have been a fool, and an idiot, and ten different kinds of cad, and I do not deserve so good, so loyal, so pure and wonderful a friend as you! Oh, how can I express to you, O Tamin, my sorrow that I have caused you such distress, my remorse for my words and actions both, my regret for treating you with such callous disdain? I do confess to you, O my dearest, my devoted, my dependable friend, how nefariously I have treated you, disparaging your goodness, your honesty, your vibrancy in favor of such low, despicable, shallow and vain folk I did think erroneously were my favored companions! I have been a vile worm, undeserving your forgiveness, and indeed I do not expect it; for I have done you enormous disservice, speaking to you in vainglorious anger, insulting the purity of your motives, reproachful of your kind nature, and simply and horrifically because I am proud, and arrogant, and self-absorbed, and too heart-breakingly stupid and stubborn to bend! When I think, dearest Tamin, how I did say such evil things to you, accusing you of officiousness and audacity in defending my reputation, condemning you for your just violence, sanctimoniously declaring your actions vain whilst nurturing conceit and wounded vanity within my bosom, how does my soul rankle within me; how I do writhe in abasement and blame. For bitterly do I blame myself, O Tamin; I let my pride, my stubborn arrogance push you aside, and I have inconsolably regretted those terrible, spiteful, cruel words I spoke to you in the mortification of my vanity. The fault lies solely with me, Tamin; you have naught for which to blame yourself; I am culpable wholly, and do admit this full willing; I am contemptible before you, and deserve only your censure and not your forgiveness.

Yet humbly and contritely do I beg it of you, Tamin; dark and inhospitable have been my days without knowing your confidence is mine own, and long have been the hours spent in harsh culpability on your account. I grovel at your feet, Tamin, and plead with you, with the tender and just and merciful heart I know well you possess, to give to me another opportunity to prove myself to you. I miss you, Tamin; I miss you and your trust and loyalty and temperament most dearly; it would not be so bad that you are gone from me in body, but you are gone from me truly in spirit, and I have lost that gentle amity we once shared. I grieve for it as one grieves for a dearly loved friend in death, and my soul aches for reconciliation.

O please, dear Tamin, dearest and faithfullest and truest friend ever a boy could have, O Tamin, will you please forgive me? Please restore to me your love and friendship, Tamin; I am desolate without it, and think perhaps I shall go live with Uncle Éomer in Rohan when you return, because your proximity shall wound me so greatly; yet he is so unsympathetic you know, and anyway I would rather know you are close to me, even if we are parted in our spirits forever; it is the only consolation I yet bear.

Write to me, please, dear Tamin; even if your words bear naught but reproach and refusal; well do I deserve them, and at least I shall have some missive in your dear hand to comfort me, bearing it to the grave in my grief over the loss of so good, so kind, so benevolent a friend as Tamin Rúmilion!

Yours in tears and deepest regret,

Fastred

Tamin leapt to his feet then, and his Master, looking up from a letter writ in Faramir’s thin and elegant hand, blinked in surprise. “Tamin!” he exclaimed. “You are gone so white! What is it? Nothing grave I trust?”

“Oh, Master!” said Tamin breathlessly; his head felt very light and wobbly. “He is sorry – he says he is sorry – he begs me to forgive him – Oh, Master! Oh, oh, Uncle Orophin, Dúrfinwen, I mean Anóriel, parchment! Paper! A quill, a bit of charcoal! Oh, I must write to him at once!” Tamin fluttered hectically about the little solar, ransacking side-tables and window-seats for aught to write with; at last Orophin found one of King Thranduil’s secretaries, from whom he wrested vellum, ink, and quill; and throwing himself upon the floor, Tamin wrote feverishly:

Tamin Rúmilion, Esquire to His Highness Prince Legolas, Lord of Dol Galenehtar,

To Fastred Faramirion, Lord of Osgiliath, And Not a Fool at All so Do Not Even Think It,

Oh Fastred how happy I am, how I am filled with delight at your letter, I was so thrilled to receive it, well actually I was terrified, for when I saw it was from you I was so afraid you were still angry with me, and I was so unsure that I had done the wrong thing, even though my Master told me I did rightly and you accused me unfairly, it was so hard for me to understand how this had come about, but now you say you are sorry and I was right after all which means my Master was right too, which he usually is, though sometimes he is wrong though not often. And yes Fastred, of course I shall forgive you; I forgave you long ago, I think round about the second day we left Osgiliath, and O Fastred I am sorry too, for when I turned from you I cut you so, and O Fastred, please do you forgive me too, for I meant to hurt you when I did that, and it was cruel and unkind of me and I am so so sorry! I have missed you so much, Fastred, and I was so sorry our beautiful friendship was over, and I wept so at the thought that we should never ride or hunt or fish or swim together ever again, because I love you so, Fastred, and I do not have a brother so I wished to find a sort of brother in you, and I thought I had found it, but then we lost it and I was so sorrowful, and you are exactly right it is like grieving when someone dies. And O Fastred I do not know if you know, but Bandobras is dead, so I know precisely how it feels to grieve, it is a terrible thing, and when I think of him my throat gets all tight and my eyes fill with tears and my nose stings, and that O Fastred is how I felt when I thought of you, for I did not think I should ever see you again, and how it hurt me, Fastred! I have no friend in Arda like you, Fastred, and I shall never have again, and I have missed you so, and am so anxious to see you again! But we will be here some months more, Fastred, which at first I did not mind, because I did not feel like going back to Ithilien because you were there and we were not friends, but now we are friends again I am anxious to return, though I like Eryn Lasgalen well enough and the King and Queen are very nice, though I do not know if Dúrfinwen truly wishes to go back to Ithilien, which makes me very sad, for Dol Galenehtar will not be Dol Galenehtar if she is not there. I cannot wait to go back to Ithilien now, Fastred, and see you again; I miss you so, and I wish we could be together, for it is nice having your letter and knowing we are in congress but it would be so much better to be with you and to know we were side by side and could not be parted again! And Fastred, do please write to me again, it was splendid to hear from you, and now I want to know all the doings, so much has happened here, but it hurts still to write it because there were so many horrible things going on, and we have lost so many people, and such terrible things have happened to people I love, worse than death even, and I have seen such awful things I never will forget, though I wish I could; I wish I could cut out that part of my memory, Fastred, for it hurts me and I cannot forget it, try though I may. O Fastred, how I long to sit with you, and tell you everything, even the terrible things, and weep, I am not afraid to weep before you anymore, and I must be strong for my Master and for Lord Gimli and Dúrfinwen and may not weep before them, for then they feel sad too, but I must weep, Fastred, or I shall burst with grief. But it is not so bad now, Fastred, for we are friends again, and how I love you, Fastred, and I cannot wait to see you!

Your friend for ever,

Tamin

Six weeks is a very short time indeed for a letter to go from Rhovanion to Ithilien, for its recipient to read such letter, and for that recipient to reply and send his letter back; but the King’s post-stops were stout and warm, his couriers strong and brave, and his horses swift and tireless. So it came to pass that in six weeks’ time did a reply to Tamin’s missive arrive, and he breathlessly snatched it from his uncle’s hand, and ran through the Elven King’s halls to a quiet corner, where he broke the seal, and read:

Fastred Faramirion, Lord of Osgiliath, Heir-Presumptive of Rohan, still Daring to call Himself a Fool but a Happy One at Least,

To Tamin Rúmilion, Esquire of the Green Knight of Dol Galenehtar, Traitor-Bane, Possessor of the Softest Heart in Gondor and Rhovanion,

Greetings!

O Tamin my friend, how my heart leapt within me when I read your letter! You have made me, Tamin, the happiest boy in Ithilien – in Gondor – in the world! How relieved I am, my friend, that we are in sympathy once more, for you felt so far from me, and my world was so cold and empty without your amity; but now I know that though far from me in body we may congress in spirit, and soon I hope shall we congress in truth; I shall count the days ‘til your returning, and eagerly await the time in which we might embrace as those made closer than brothers.

I grieve with you, O Tamin, over Bandobras’ death; my Lord Father did receive from Lassah a full account of the deeds done and horrors visited, and O Tamin, I am so sorry such awful things have happened to you, and to the people you love. But Lassah did assure us that you comported yourself with wisdom, and bravery, and cunning, and steadfastness; I do not doubt this, indeed I have never doubted it, for you are such a fine soul, Tamin, and such a good and skilled warrior, that anyone would be thrice-blessed to have you on his side; indeed I have benefited from your strong arm before, Tamin, more recently than perhaps you realize.

Our news here is less exciting than yours, and sadly not even interesting or remarkable. Mother is doing fair; she sits all the time now, and is very weary; Father is rather worried, as are we all, for even her snap and temper are gone; when she was waiting for Théodred she was tired and ill to be sure, but at least she would shout at Hísimë and me if we misbehaved; now she simply sits there and stares, or embroiders; and she is got listless. Léodwyn never leaves her side; she is become a good nurse-maid, and her aunt Éodild is here, as is Ardun Liquíseleé’s servant, who with Léodwyn watches over Mother well. All Mother seems to complain about is that we fuss over her like a hen with one chick! Father is often at Minas Tirith, for as Steward he is higher in rank than King Elessar’s seneschal in the King’s absence; and as Mother is so indisposed I help Father all I can, and flatter myself I have set judgment and amercement well. I am looking forward to Elessar’s return from Eriador, especially in Spring, so that you and I might steal away and go fishing again!

Do not, O Tamin, get your hopes up that I mentioned Léodwyn; things are no better in that area. I am a fool. I have let slip through my fingers the greatest delight ever offered me, save your friendship alone. I knew, you know, O Tamin, the moment I met her that we would be friends; there was between her and me an amity similar to that which we two share, though I did not see it for what it was. What a stubborn, stupid, prideful fool I have been! Do you know, Tamin, what the last thing was that Bandobras Took said to me? He came to me the last night you were in Osgiliath, Tamin my friend, after you had given Halgond such a beating, and Mother sent me away; I was seething with chagrin and fury, Tamin, and so angry. But Bandobras came to me, his face so solemn, and I could tell he was angry too. At first I thought he was angry on my behalf; he soon disabused me of that notion though, for he set upon me like a terrier with a rat. I shall never forget his words: “You’re the biggest idiot in Osgiliath, Fastred my boy, and it otter of been you Tamin beat silly. He should’ve knocked some sense into that thick stupid head of yours, and you deserve every whipping Kaimelas can dig up. Friendship with Elves don’t come around every day, you thick fool; it’s only your selfish, stubborn pride makes you treat the folks who love you like this, and you don’t deserve a good friend at all if this is the way you repay ‘em, pushing ‘em away when they try to show you how much they love you.” And he shook his head at me then, Tamin, in disgust, and walked away from me. And though I dismissed it at the time, when I had come to myself I realized how right he had been, and how obtuse I had been to not see what I was doing. Do you know, I did the same thing to Léodwyn that I did to you? I did, Tamin; I am ashamed now to admit it, but it is the truth, and I shall tell you it. This was not her doing, Tamin; do not blame her; I drove her to it; I drove her away from me with my pride, my arrogance, my hubris; I was unwilling to concede, unwilling to bend, unwilling to compromise; I was self-righteous, self-absorbed, self-pitying. I spared no thought for how my actions might hurt her; I had mind only for myself and my own wants and feelings. What have I done! I have ruined everything, Tamin; I know that now; I know Halgond meant nothing to her; he is gone now anyway – she broke his nose again, you will be happy to hear – I feel so deceived – and so foolish! I had it within my grasp, Tamin – I had happiness the likes of which few men see, the same happiness accorded my poor father, accorded Elessar, Himbaláth, Kaimelas, Meivel – I had that same promise of happiness in the palm of my hand, Tamin; yet when we quarreled I in my pride threw it away as though it were nothing but dross. And now when I see her, Tamin, how I am grieved to recall it! She is so lovely, as well you know; I in mortification of spirit can say this to no one else, for they will but scorn me; but to you I can admit this; I love her, Tamin; I love her so deeply, so desperately, so painfully. To see her sitting by Mother’s side, reading out of a book to her; the light gleams on her honey-gold hair, on the long spiraling locks spilling down over her shoulders; her throat rises like a column of alabaster from the ruff of her gown, and her eyes like polished walnut glow warm. How I love to see her, see the curve of her cheek, the long tapered fingers, her dear pointed chin; how I pine for the sound of her voice, once so tender to me, now cold and deservedly aloof. And I have no right to say any of this to her, Tamin – I have killed her regard for me – I have destroyed whatever chance for happiness we might have had. I am miserably culpable, Tamin; I have over the course of this unhappy year blamed many for this, but the fault lies solely with me, and I shall humbly, contritely, and silently reap the consequences of my pride. And I miss her; I miss riding with her, sitting with her, I miss the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand. And how I miss you, Tamin; you would have words of comfort for me, or at least would sit in sympathetic silence listening to me; I can say this to no one, for I am solely to blame for this; she will never forgive me, and I cannot blame her one bit for it. So I fear I shall never wed, Tamin; I cannot, for my dear Léodwyn will not have me, and I can never have another; I sincerely hope Théodred weds and has children, for I do not see my poor Father having an heir otherwise, unless Mother is successful in this venture and produces another son.

O Tamin, how relieved I am in my mind now! You and I are friends again; and though I shall never be with Léodwyn, at least to you I can pour out my heart in its agonies; you are so dear to me O Tamin, and I miss you so. I shall never have a friend like you, Tamin; you are so gentle, so understanding. How I wish you were here! I miss you; can you not come home sooner? Aside from Hísimë and Théodred I have no confidants, and I cannot tell them what I tell you; my soul aches to congress with you, and I greatly desire your presence. But that shall come betimes, and with that I will be content. At least I have the knowledge that I await you in full trust of your friendship, dear Tamin! I am immeasurably grateful for that. And as for your bequest of forgiveness of me; it should be the grossest of effronteries for me to deny you this! You are forgiven; I blame you not for your turning away from me, for did I not drive you from me myself? O Tamin, I shall ever forgive you; not that I think you shall ever do anything needing forgiveness, for you are so good, so kind and temperate; any offenses would be initiated by mine own perversities.

Write to me, O Tamin! I greatly desire to see you again; but to have in my hand a missive from you, from my dearest friend, will be close enough!

Yours until death,

Fastred

This letter made Tamin pause, and he sat for some time contemplating it. The sun moved across the sky, and its light slowly traversed the room; the Queen’s cat chased its warmth, but Tamin was blind to its golden glow. His gray eyes were dim beneath his furrowed brow, for he was deep in thought, and that was not a place Tamin went to very often. Betimes he trembled with delight at some secret notion; then he would shudder thinking of unwanted consequences. At last he took him to a quiet library, and taking up a quill and a piece of parchment he began to write. He nibbled now and again on the tip of the quill when a thought impeded him, but at last he appeared satisfied with the results, and packaged everything up in an envelope to take to the post.

“This must be why my Master meddles in these affairs,” he thought excitedly, hearing the heavy missive thump in the bottom of the bag. “What delights might arise if I am successful! But oh, what trouble I shall bring, should I fail!” After some thought, he wandered round ‘til he found the lady he sought, sitting with her slippered feet upon a fender before a warm fire. Legolas sat beside her reading a book to her, and she worked with spindle-thin fingers at a fine tapestry. Her needle flashed in the firelight, and her beautiful cap glimmered round her narrow corded neck.

“Princess Anóriel,” he said, “I do not mean to interrupt, and Master, I am sorry for interrupting, but I do need to ask the Princess a question. It is not a matter of great import, thankfully, but still it is preying on my mind, and I would be grateful for your input, my lady.”

Dúrfinwen looked up at him and smiled; she was still too thin, but her dimples had reappeared with the liberal application of rich and fattening foods, and her brown eyes were warm and twinkled with secret mirth. Tamin’s heart swelled with relief and joy, and he hoped once again she would return to Dol Galenehtar to be its mercer. “It is of no moment, O Tamin,” said Dúrfinwen. “Whatever conundrum visits itself upon your fair little head, I should be delighted to aid you in unraveling.”

“What is it, Little One?” asked Legolas, setting the book on his lap. “Have you remembered something that you forgot to remember?”

“No, Master,” said Tamin. “But I need to tell Princess Anóriel that Fastred and Léodwyn have not yet made up their quarrel, but I know how to do it, if they both behave, but it will involve what she calls meddling.”

“And you want my permission; is that it?” asked Dúrfinwen, amused.

“Well, no,” admitted Tamin. “Forgiveness, my lady. I have already meddled, you see.”

Legolas gave a snort of laughter, quickly quelled; Dúrfinwen threw him an acerbic look and said: “Match-making must be catching, Tamin; I had thought to cure your Master of this, but it appears my lord has infected you with the selfsame disease!”

“But if it works, they will be happy,” said Tamin earnestly. “And they are so unhappy now, you know, my lady.”

“But what if it does not work, Tamin?” asked Dúrfinwen sternly. “What if by your meddling you make things worse than they were before?”

Tamin considered this. “I do not think I can, my lady,” he admitted. “Things are pretty bad already. I cannot but think anything would help, and that is why I meddled, my lady.”

“Forgive him, Anóriel!” said Legolas with a smile, laying his strong white hand on her thin silk-clad arm. “Indeed you must forgive him; for he meddles out of a sense of charity, not as do I, for I am overbearing and supercilious. And anyway, from what Faramir tells me, it is as bad as Tamin says, and if anyone can help, it is mine esquire.”

“And you will see to Fastred’s Lady Mother, will you not, Master?” asked Tamin anxiously. “She is so tired, and needs your especial talents when her time comes.”

“Trust me for that, my Tamin,” said Legolas comfortingly, opening his book again. “I do not plan to let my adopted sister languish. Now, sit you here at our feet, Little One; I read to Princess Anóriel that marvelous tale of Thongorodrim, and it is one which would behoove you to hear.”

Six weeks later, Tamin was packing up his Master’s things, for Legolas had finally declared it was time to go home. Tamin was glad, for he missed Dol Galenehtar, and Fastred and Théodred and Hísimë, but he was anxious too, for he had heard nothing in return for his meddling in Fastred’s affairs. What if Fastred and Léodwyn were angry with him? What if they had written, and the letter passed him on his way back down to Ithilien? What if they had not written because he’d muffed it so badly? He threw himself into the task of gathering and organizing and laying out and packing his Master’s clothes and armor and belts and boots and other tidbits, and when he was satisfied they were ready to be placed in the trunks, he took himself to the treasury, where sat Nír drinking comfortably with Vé and Methlon. From them he procured a receipt for his Master’s share of Muhk’s treasures, and several strong Elves to bring it up to the chambers for accounting; it took Tamin a good three hours to sift through it all and match it against the official document Stonehelm had signed, and when he was done, he was very hot and tired and hungry.

He trotted down to the stables, swinging by the buttery for a slice of bread and cheese, and wolfed them down while going carefully over the tack, bags, and fodder for the horses. Satisfied all was in good order, he indulged himself in a quick caress with Isilmë, only to be interrupted by his uncle, Orophin.

“There you are, nephew!” cried Orophin. “I am glad I caught you. I know you and your lord leave tomorrow, and did not want to have to send this back to Dol Galenehtar after you.” And he held out a thick envelope to Tamin, scrawled over in Fastred’s hand.

Tamin gulped, heart thumping. Fastred! Now he would see what his meddling had produced! “Thank you, Uncle,” he said weakly, and without bidding either Orophin or Isilmë farewell, he bolted up into the hayloft so he could be alone.

He admitted to himself he was nervous on the letter’s account, for he knew not what it contained therein; it was from Fastred, but Tamin could not tell from its envelope whether his plan had succeeded, and Fastred was grateful; or failed, and Fastred was angry. But, he determined, sitting in the musty hay holding the unopened letter would get him no forwarder; he must gird his loins and accept the consequences of his officiousness. He tore the envelope with trembling fingers and began to read.

Fastred Faramirion, Lord of Osgiliath, Besottedly Happy and Twice-Blessed to have both a Friend and a Lover,

To Tamin Rúmilion, Esquire to the Green Knight, Effulgent in Brilliance, Sly as a Serpent, yet Gentle as a Dove,

O Tamin, I cannot believe you did that to me; I ought to be angry I suppose, but as your trick was so efficacious I cannot but thank you for your interference! I truly had no idea, my friend, that you sent on that letter to Léodwyn, which contained therein my thoughts concerning her; certes it is I should never have thought to say such things to her, yet they being truth, did prick at her upon the discovery of them, so softening her heart that she found it within her own to come to me; I in mortification of spirit did attempt to dissuade her, but she with characteristic obduracy of purpose waylaid me quite, and I being overcome by her arguments was happily vanquished. What joy is mine now, O Tamin! For not only do I have my Léodwyn restored unto me, I have to stand by me my dearest, most clever friend Tamin Rúmilion, who seeing I yet writhed in inward-focused abasement sought to free me from this prison, and gave unto me instead of degradation honor and peace. What gifts you give to me, my friend! Not only do I bask in the grace of your forgiveness and amity; you have bestowed upon me once more the blessing of your kindliness, for Léodwyn is mine, mine, mine; I shall wed to her as soon as I can, and you shall stand for me, O Tamin my brother; Théodred admits the place is yours, for, he said, had it been up to him, I could have “moped over her for the rest of my life.” How clever you are, O Tamin! And now I repay to you what you have done for me; I send on to you a letter Léodwyn sent to me, so that you might see how your plans have come to fruition.

Thank you, thank you, Tamin Rúmilion!  I cannot wait to have you here with me again!

Yours ever,

Fastred

Included in the envelope were two slips of paper, reading:

O my dear Fastred,

I truly had no thought you were yet tender towards me. You are so cool; you hide your ardor well, yet here it is, though writ to another. Tamin is the best and dearest boy in the world, Fastred, and he shall ever be friend to us. Yes, O my Fastred; I say “us;” I dare yet that we shall be one day united, as I had hoped from the moment I saw you standing outside Queen Lothíriel’s door, a bottle of olive oil in your hands. I have loved you from that moment, my Fastred; abjure then this self-abasement, and come unto me again; mine arms are hungry to hold you.

Here is what Tamin sent me, along with the letter you sent to him. What a dear he is! And how we ought to love him for this! I declare I love him more than any one in the world save you; for you, O my Fastred, is reserved my best.

Yours, ever and always,

Léodwyn

Tamin Rúmilion, Esquire of the Green Knight of Dol Galenehtar,

To Léodwyn Daughter of Éoreth, Especial Handmaiden to Her Ladyship Éowyn of Emyn Arnen,

Greetings.

Léodwyn, I do beg your forgiveness for my presumption, but I thought you ought to read this, though it was not meant for your eyes but mine; however it is more suited yours than mine, for it concerns you and not me, and therefore I think it is necessary you should see it. You and Fastred both have been very stupid, but the time for blame-making and blame-taking is past; and it is high time you reconciled and had done with it, for there is enough hurt and heartache in the world without creating more of our own. So do please stop being stupid, and tell Fastred I said he needs to stop being stupid too, and go back to each other, and make up, and get married and treat each other well and set up a home together and have children and all those other things married folk do, for I am tired of waiting round for you to stop being stupid, and want this matter settled before I come back to Ithilien.

Again, I apologize, but really, this has gone on long enough.

Sincerely,

Tamin

“Well!” said Tamin to himself, greatly relieved. “No wonder my Master likes to match-make; it is heady stuff! But all the same I am glad my calculations worked out; I would not like to have faced Dúrfinwen, had I been wrong.” So whistling cheerily to himself he pocketed the letters, and trotted off to find his Master.