Acharn the Howling Hook-handed 

                                                                By

                                                               TreeHugger

                        Set sometime between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings

            “It is said that on certain nights, in certain years, when the crimson autumn leaves fly, when the moon is full, and a mist rises from the river, that Acharn the Hook-handed wanders through Arda seeking vengeance on the elves for what had been done to him so long ago.

            Acharn was one of the elves captured by Morgoth Bauglir after the elves’ awakening at Cuivienen.  He was once a marvelous singer with one of the first voices to be heard on Arda; and he was a talented harpist as well.  Some said he could rival even Daeron with his beautiful voice and skilled fingers as he sang and played beneath Elbereth’s stars.   But his voice was ruined by his constant screams of torment in the Dark Lord’s dungeons, and one of his hands was hewn from his body and replaced with a gleaming silver hook.  The poor tortured elf managed to escape the dread dungeons and fled to his kin, hoping to find comfort and solace with them; but when he arrived at his home his former friends and family shunned him because of his ruined appearance, and fearing him, they drove him away.  Then, to his great dismay and heartbreak, Acharn learned that his betrothed had traitorously wed another in his absence.  This last treachery caused the former singer to be overcome with madness and rage, and he vowed revenge on them.

            The newly wed lovers were in the woods alone one night, when suddenly a terrible unearthly howl shattered the chill night air, terrifying the young lovers who clung to one another in fear, their eyes wide with terror as the moon sailed overhead, light sparking on a flash of silver in the dark trees.  The last thing they saw was the ruined countenance of Acharn before their life was spilt on the emerald grass by his gleaming silver hook.

            It is said that tonight is one of the appointed nights for his murderous wanderings and all young lovers should beware of the dark beneath the trees, and the moon gleaming on silver.”

            The delightful feminine squeals of trepidation, the fear-widened luminous eyes framed by long fluttering lashes, and the soft hands that grasped the strong, muscular arms of their brave male counterparts, were all the applause that Thranduil’s youngest son needed to know that his rendering of the old tale had been successful.  He grinned over the soft dark head of Uilos, who had pressed herself against him in half-feigned terror, all softness and warmth, the fragile scent of her perfume tickling his nose.  Legolas gazed over at Tavor who had two females, one on either side of him, clinging in a rather competitive manner.  Tavor had one arm Baranri and the other about Colmaidh; he looked quite pleased with himself, though Legolas wondered what would happen later, and whom he would finally choose - if he chose at all - or if both maidens would end up slapping him and flouncing off as had happened before.

            Brethil was whispering excitedly to Tinnu, a lovely young maiden with fair waving hair and the darkest eyes Brethil had ever seen.  His own pale grey eyes were dancing with excitement and anticipation.

            “You know that story isn’t true!” Baranri declared, slapping Tavor on the arm, her full lips pushed out in a most enchanting pout.  “Everyone knows that it is just a child’s ghost story!”

            “Oh, no,” Tavor said, easing one lock of dark curls behind one of her delicately pointed ears.  “It’s quite true, lend-nin (my sweet).  Legolas’ brother knew someone whose cousin’s friend knew someone whose nephew knew someone whose aunt -”

            “Enough, Tavor,” Legolas chuckled.  “It is true though,” he continued, placing one arm about Uilos’ shapely shoulders.  “But . . . if you like, we will try to prove it otherwise.”

            “What are you saying, Prince Legolas?” Baranri challenged, tugging away from Tavor who sighed dramatically, and leaned his head dejectedly on Colmaidh’s shoulder.  The lovely elf maiden reacted just as he wished.  She laid her head against his, gently stroking his smooth cheek and murmured to him reassuringly.  Baranri frowned at this blatant display from her rival, and pouted even more, placing her arms over her bosom, which she knew served to enhance its charms.

            Tavor grinned over at Legolas, who was trying very hard not to laugh out loud at the two rival maidens and the object of their affection.

            “Why don’t we find out if the story is true?  We will travel to a very secluded glade just south of here, which seems a good place for Acharn to haunt . . . if indeed he does exist.  If we are . . . lucky,” Legolas grinned wickedly at this statement, “then perhaps we will see him . . . and maybe even live to tell the tale.”

            Brethil grinned back at his two friends, but remained suspiciously silent, his fingers twined in Tinnu’s. 

            Baranri stood suddenly.

            “Let’s,” she agreed, staring down at Colmaidh, whom Baranri felt to be more cowardly than she was herself.  Perhaps this show of bravery would recapture her fickle lover’s attention once more.  She reached down and grabbed Tavor’s free hand, pulling him to his feet.

            “Lead on, O mighty prince,” Tavor said with a mock bow at Legolas who stood, Uilos still clinging to him in such a fetching manner.

            Brethil stood, offering Tinnu his hand.  She smiled up at him and then winked.  His eyes widened as she laughed slightly, then moved to stand on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear.  He flushed a rosy shade of pink, then giggled, bending to whisper something back.  The two then began to laugh and Tinnu turned to Legolas.

            “What are we waiting for?” she asked.  “Let’s go and find Acharn the Hook-handed!”

            Brethil glanced apologetically at Legolas and Tavor and shrugged; then he grinned  widely, knowing that they knew what had just transpired regardless of how hard he had tried to do his part and not reveal anything.

            Tavor frowned and shook his head, though Legolas merely bowed to them and intoned,

            “Let us trod the dread path lightly, for we know not what awaits us in the dark.”

            Colmaidh and Baranri threw scathing glances at one another, and when Colmaidh sidled up to Tavor, slipping her arms about his lean waist, Baranri frowned furiously and grasped Tavor’s arm, pulling him away from Colmaidh.

            “Don’t worry, Tavor.  I will protect you.”

            She dragged him away, walking determinedly down the path.

            Legolas laughed in delight as Colmaidh hurried after them, looking as upset as her rival had earlier.  Tavor, he had noticed, looked somewhat flustered but rather pleased.

            “Shall we?” he asked Uilos, who nodded, her eyes wide and uncertain.  Legolas eased her into his arms, smiling contentedly as they followed Brethil and Tinnu down the path into the surrounding darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            “It amazes me that this old story still flourishes as it does with the younglings.  I remember the first time I heard it back in Doriath.  I didn’t believe it at first, as I had heard so many other strange things that I didn’t believe much of what was told to me.  After all, why would someone believe that a Maia would wed an elf and their daughter would wed a mortal?  There were too many fantastic tales flying about Menegroth and I thought them all to be imaginings until I actually saw Thingol and Melian.  *Then* I began to wonder about Acharn; perhaps his tale was true as well.  I even thought for one wild moment that perhaps Acharn was really Maehdros.  Now *that* was a story that terrified me. Ridiculous, isn’t it, Thranduil?  Thranduil, are you listening to me?”

            Tanglinna turned to stare at the tall elf that stood at his side, the long golden locks looking a bit unkempt.  They had been out hunting earlier that day, and due to a bout of excessive silliness and bad luck, which had begun when Thranduil had slipped off a mossy log rather unceremoniously, arms flailing wildly and then landing on his royal posterior in a mud hole.  Things had deteriorated from there and they had delayed their homecoming as they had tried to concoct a believable tale to explain away their somewhat bedraggled appearance and the fact that they had returned empty-handed as well.

            The archer stared at his companion, one eyebrow raised in speculation. Surely it wasn’t fear he saw on the king’s face.  Or was it?

            Thranduil was staring fixedly at the disappearing young elves, a very worried, and yes, frightened look on his handsome face.

            Tanglinna turned to see what it was that might have disturbed the king, but could see nothing.

            “I am sure they won’t do anything . . . too foolish,” he said quietly, and again received no response.  Slowly a wicked smile crossed his face, and one arm began a slow ascend behind the king’s back.  “They are merely having some fun just as you did when you were younger.  Do you remember the time that . . . .”

            Suddenly he grasped the king’s opposite shoulder and was rewarded when Thranduil started and gasped in surprise and fear, wheeling around.  His look of panic quickly disappeared as the archer burst into uncontrollable laughter.  Thranduil narrowed his blue eyes and punched Tanglinna on the arm.

            “Why did you do that?” he demanded in a low hiss.

            “I am sorry, Thranduil.  I just couldn’t help myself.  You looked positively frightened.  Surely you don’t still believe that old tale?”

            Instead of the angry retort of denial and the scathing glare that Tanglinna expected, Thranduil’s eyes looked troubled and he glanced once more after his departing son and his companions.  Slowly he turned back to the archer.

            “I have seen him,” he began hesitantly, his eyes earnest.  “I have seen Acharn.”

            Tanglinna’s lips rose in a smirk, but he asked quite politely,

            “You have *what*, hir nin (my lord)?”

            “I have seen *him*, Tanglinna,” Thranduil insisted, grabbing the archer’s arm in a vise-like grip.  “I have seen Acharn.”

            Tanglinna stared at the king for a moment, seeing that Thranduil seemed to be quite sincere for all the absurdity of his statement.

            “Ah,” he said finally, not quite certain how to approach this rather strange situation.  “And, um, when exactly was this?”

            “I know you don’t believe me, and I certainly wouldn’t believe you if our positions were reversed, but I assure you it is true!  It was soon after we came to Greenwood with Adar.  It was on a night much like this one, when the crimson autumn leaves were flying, the moon was full, and a mist rose from the river,” he murmured, glancing skyward where Ithil sailed silently in the star-strewn darkness.

            “Does everyone always use those words?”  Tanglinna asked with a grin.  Then he chanted softly in a sepulchral voice, his eyes filled with an odd brightness, “”It is said that on certain nights, in certain years, when the crimson autumn leaves fly, the moon is full, and a mist rises from the river.”  His grin widened suddenly and he chuckled.  “I thought Acharn was supposed to live in Doriath’s wood.”  He stared down at the king’s hand, which was still clamped on his arm.  “Do you think you could let go of me now?”

            “Oh!  Sorry.”  Thranduil’s hand dropped to his side and instantly knotted about his own muddy green tunic.  “I heard that Acharn traveled east into Greenwood, just ahead of us.  Surely you have heard that too?”

            Tanglinna lifted one brow.

            “Well, I suppose I have heard that somewhere.”

            “I was with Sulsell . . . um, that was before Brenillass and I . . . .”

            “Yes, I suppose it was.  Please continue.”

            Tanglinna watched his friend impassively as Thranduil told of his midnight stroll with the lovely and luscious Sulsell, how they wandered down the pathways to a secluded grove where they proceeded to . . . .

            “Well,” Thranduil said with a blush, “you know . . . what. . . .”

            “Yes, I know.  You were rather a . . . frisky young elf, weren’t you?  Please continue.”

            “Anyway,” the king narrowed his eyes in warning, which merely caused Tanglinna to fold his arms over his muddy chest and cock his head to one side, and smirk ever so slightly, “we were oblivious to all else when suddenly - ”

            “Suddenly a terrible unearthly howl shattered the chill night air, terrifying the young lovers who clung to one another in fear; their eyes wide with terror as the moon sailed overhead, light sparking on a flash of silver in the dark trees . . . .”  Tanglinna grinned again.  “That is how it goes, isn’t it?”

            “I am telling the truth, Tanglinna!” Thranduil insisted.  “We saw him!  We did!”

            “’Oh, save me!  Save me, Thrandy!’” Tanglinna intoned in a falsetto voice, clasping his hands before him and fluttering his lashes.

            “Tanglinna!  Don’t call me that!  No one is allowed to call me that!  No one!!”

            “Sulsell certainly did.  She was practically shrieking it that night,” Tanglinna chuckled and smiled over at the king.  “I am sure you saw . . . something . . . that night, Thranduil.  You were, after all, out alone in a secluded place in the woods with a young maiden.  Acharn’s story had been told earlier that very night, and rather skillfully, if I may say so myself.  It is a cautionary tale.  It always has been, nothing more.”

            “I saw him, Tanglinna.  He was in the woods and we saw him!  That is why we must follow after Legolas and protect them!”

            Tanglinna snorted as Oropher’s son moved quickly away, heading down the shadow-haunted path taken by the young elves.

            “He won’t appreciate your ‘protection’,” he called, moving swiftly after the golden- haired king of Mirkwood.

            “If we are quiet, they won’t even be aware of us,” Thranduil reasoned resolutely.

            Tanglinna sighed and shook his head.

            “Very well.  But make certain that, when they are aware of us – and they will become aware of us - you make it clear that it was your idea and I was only obeying orders.”

            Thranduil ignored him and moved silently across the leaf-strewn ground.  They hadn’t gone far, only barely enough to be able to hear the younglings’ laughter, when Thranduil suddenly stopped and Tanglinna plowed into him.

            “Sorry,” Tanglinna murmured, wondering why the king had turned cold eyes upon him for accidentally bumping into him.  After all that had befallen them today, this would be considered of no consequence at all.  Perhaps he was remembering the rather bumpy fall down a rocky incline that had ended with them lying in a heap on a wet pile of muddy leaves and storm debris.  Or the seemingly innocent mud hole that barred their way, but upon wading into it, found that it swallowed them up to their knees.  Or the log spanning the stream that had suddenly cracked when they were half way across – “I *told* you to wait until I was across!” -  Or -

            “What did you say earlier?”  Thranduil asked in a tone that would have iced Orodruin over and quenched the fires of Mordor.

            “When?”  Tanglinna’s brows knit in growing confusion.

            “’Oh, save me!  Save me, Thrandy!’”  Thranduil mimicked perfectly.  “How, pray tell, nin iarwain mellon (my oldest friend), did you know that is what she said that night, and that she was nearly shrieking it?”

            “What?”  Tanglinna frowned trying to remember when he had said that.  Suddenly it dawned upon him.  “Oh.  That . . . .  Ah. . .  Well, you see. . . .”

            “Yes?  How did you know what Sulsell ‘shrieked’ that night?  Or was it just a lucky guess?”  Thranduil glared fiercely, his arms crossed over his chest.

            “That is rather odd, isn’t it?”  Tanglinna tried to smile, but didn’t quite succeed.  When Thranduil didn’t budge or give in, his face as frozen as a marble statue’s, Tanglinna sighed in exasperation.  “Oh, for the Valar’s sake!” he groaned, shaking his head.  “After keeping this a secret for thousands of years, I let it slip out now!  Very well.  I will tell you how I know what Sulsell shrieked for “Thrandy” to save her.  As you may already have surmised, in your great wisdom, it was not Acharn that you saw that night; it was I.  Your father was a bit upset about your sudden infatuation with Sulsell, and so we followed the two of you.”

            “You *and* my father?”  Thranduil’s nostrils flared as he recalled how ‘friendly’ he and Sulsell had nearly been that night.  “You were spying on me?”

            “No.  We were merely . . . ‘protecting’ you,” Tanglinna explained, using the word Thranduil had used earlier.  “Or her. . . depending on your point of view.  We were trying to keep you from doing something foolish.  Your father thought it was the best course, and since I had just told the Acharn story at the feast earlier - ”

            “*You* told the Acharn story that night?”  Thranduil hissed, his eyes flashing with blue fire.   “*You* told the Acharn story and . . . and *you* are the one that said he had moved to the Greenwood ahead of us!  That is when I first heard it!”

            “Well. . . yes, I suppose I did make up that part,” Tanglinna answered with a shrug, backing up a couple of paces in case he felt the need to flee.  “Just. . . adding to the legend.”  He flashed a quick desperate smile, watching as Thranduil’s face contorted with anger, when several terrified screams echoed through the woods.

            Thranduil and Tanglinna exchanged startled glances then ran, bows in their hands as they sprinted toward the cries of fear that sounded, echoing off the dark trees.  But before they had gotten very far, Legolas and Uilos came running toward them, a decidedly mischievous grin on the prince’s face.  He hesitated only slightly at the unexpected sight of his adar and the Master Archer.  He took in their bedraggled appearances, raised one brow, and then sprinted past them with a wink and a grin, pulling the terrified maiden behind him, her long hair flying behind her.  The king and the archer looked at one another once more.

            Baranri came next, dragging Tavor behind her, who was pulling Colmaidh after him.  Baranri was grinning and Tavor was protesting that, “I *did not* scream!  I *did not* scream!”  He stumbled slightly when he saw that they had an audience they had not expected and his face flamed as they halted in their tracks, bowed somewhat unceremoniously, with Tavor telling them, “I did not scream, Your Majesty.  Truly, I didn’t,” before they continued to run after Legolas and Uilos.

            “What is this?”  Thranduil muttered, knowing quite well that he had heard Tavor scream, and why were these children acting so strangely anyway!

            Before Tanglinna could answer this rhetorical question, Brethil and Tinnu appeared, both laughing in obvious delight.  Bronadui’s son looked up, gasping and coming to an abrupt halt upon seeing the king.  Tinnu hastily curtsied, her dark eyes wide.

            “Oh!”  Brethil gasped, bowing hurriedly, one hand still entwined with Tinnu’s.  “Your Majesty!  Master Tanglinna!  What . . . what are you doing here tonight?”

            “What has happened, Brethil?”  Thranduil asked, his eyes darting about the forest, looking for whatever it was that had caused such ruckus and riot.

            “Nothing has happened, Your Majesty,” Brethil answered, looking perplexed.  Tinnu poked him in the ribs and raised her brows.  “Oh!  Do you mean,” he giggled, then cleared his throat, “the ‘Attack of Acharn the Hook-handed’?”  He burst into more giggles at this solemn pronouncement.

            Thranduil wheeled on Tanglinna when the archer snorted with laughter, but the silver-haired elf managed to look away before their eyes could meet.

            “You were attacked by Acharn?” the king asked, turning to look back at Brethil.

            “No,” Bronadui’s son answered, drawing a breath for a lengthy explanation but suddenly remembering that his answers were to be kept short.  “No more than one or two words, Brethil,” Legolas’ voice sounded in his head.  “Um, no,” Brethil finished with a smile.

            Thranduil waited for more to be forthcoming, but when Brethil merely continued to smile at him, being rather pleased with his restraint, Thranduil sighed.

            “You just said that you were.”

            “Did I?  I don’t think that is what I said.”  He glanced at Tinnu, who shrugged and smiled.

            “You had better tell them, Brethil,” she encouraged in a low voice, smiling prettily at Thranduil.

            “Seeing that it is the king, perhaps I should,” he confided to her with a smile.  “Well, you see, Your Majesty, Legolas, Tavor, and I were wondering how we might frighten the maidens because Legolas said they might be . . . friendlier if they were frightened.”  He glanced at Tinnu and a blush painted his cheeks.  “So you see, Legolas came up with this great idea, though I wasn’t so certain that it was great.  Most of his ideas aren’t, you realize. We decided to try it though.  I have wanted to kiss Tinnu for such a very long time -”

            “I believe we can figure out what has happened, Brethil,” Tanglinna interjected.  “The king understands this only too well, don’t you, Frisky?”

            Thranduil rounded on Tanglinna once more, but the archer was staring nonchalantly at the sky.  Oropher’s son drew a deep breath, vowing silently to get even with his troublesome friend somehow.

            “Very well, Brethil,” he said.  “I do understand what you were trying to … accomplish, but what has this to do with Acharn the Hook-handed?”

            “You see, everyone has heard that legend and well, it is quite terrifying,” Brethil began.

            “More for some than others,” Tanglinna murmured.

            Thranduil narrowed his eyes and hissed, “If you don’t shut up right now -!”

            “We thought that we would play a little trick on Tinnu, Uilos, and Tavor’s two maidens,” Brethil continued, oblivious to the undercurrent that existed between Thranduil and his Master Archer.  “Aralith agreed to play Acharn for us, which was very nice of him really.  We shall have to thank him for that.  He did it wonderfully.  He looked just like Acharn does – or would, if he were real, that is.  Everyone knows that he – Acharn not Aralith - is not . . . real that is.”

            “I don’t know about that, Brethil,” Tanglinna began, but stopped his words when Thranduil turned to him once more, blue eyes fierce.  “There are some who might think that -”

            “One more word out of you and I will cut your tongue out and use it for fish bait!” the king growled.

            “Were you fishing today?”  Brethil asked, noticing their muddy clothing, then he turned to Tinnu, who looked a bit distressed, so he whispered, “Don’t believe anything they say.  They do this all the time.  *I* would never do this, as he is the king, and I am not that brave, but Master Tanglinna is -”

            “That foolish,” Thranduil finished for him, glaring at Tanglinna, who was suddenly engrossed in his mud-caked braid.

            “Did you have a bad day, Your Majesty?”  Brethil asked, his eyes full of concern.    “I don’t think I have ever seen you looking like this.  You always look quite lovely and you usually smell rather good.  Not that you don’t look nice in mud, just . . . different.  And the smell. . . well, mud will do that to you.  What did happened to you?” 

            “What *didn’t* happen?” Tanglinna commented, rolling his eyes expressively.

            “Run along, Brethil,” Thranduil said, gesturing vaguely with his hand in the direction that his son and the others had gone. “Go, enjoy yourselves . . . just not too much.”

            “Yes, Your Majesty.  Fair starlight to you both.”  Brethil bowed once more, and then grabbed Tinnu’s hand once more and they hastened away into the darkness.

            “It is too bad that your father didn’t just tell you to enjoy yourself, but not too much then perhaps. . . .”  Tanglinna began.

            Thranduil turned slowly toward him, blue eyes frosty.

            Tanglinna sighed heavily.

            “Very well, I won’t say anything else, but. . . don’t you want to go and visit Acharn first?  He must be rather lonely at this point.”  He grinned, and then sprinted away before Thranduil knew what was happening.

            The king glowered, watching him go. Then upon hearing a slight rustling in the darkness behind him - that could have been the wind or some deadly monstrous elf with a hook for a hand – he leapt forward and quickly followed after the laughing Silvan.  He muttered under his breath as he ran, “I will get you for this.  Just you wait.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~Later that night ~

            Legolas was humming happily as he made his way to the family quarters of the palace.  Uilos had forgiven him for playing such a silly prank on her and even allowed him to talk her into letting him kiss her several times to show how contrite he was.  The elven prince smiled slightly, feeling pleased with himself and how the evening had ended.  Brethil and Tinnu seemed to get along very well together, though Tavor seemed to have a bit more trouble convincing his ladies that it was all for fun.  Baranri had given in first, telling him that it appeared he had forgotten that it was just for fun when he had screamed at “Acharn’s” first appearance.  Colmaidh had immediately told him how very brave he had been.  The last Legolas had seen of Tavor was when his friend was being led away by his rival beauties to some place ‘quiet’.

            Legolas chuckled as he rounded a bend and nearly ran into Celebross, who grinned when he saw his youngest brother.

            “Did you have a good evening, tithen gwador (little brother)?”  he asked with a smile.

            “ Yes, we did.  I was just on my way to thank Aralith for playing Acharn so well.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Didn’t we tell you?  Aralith agreed to play Acharn the Hook-handed for us tonight so the ladies would be frightened, and . . . well. . . ,” he grinned and shrugged, knowing Celebross would understand.

            Surprisingly Celebross frowned.

            “I see, but Legolas, Aralith didn’t get to play Acharn this night.  It seems a strange looking spider was in that clearing and well,” Celebross smirked, “our gwador-mel (dear brother) came running home.  Laerlend is with him even now.  She will never let him hear the end of this.”

            Legolas was the one who frowned now, and he wondered if his brothers were playing a joke on him.  Celebross thought didn’t look as though he were being sneaky.  Then what did this mean?

            “I don’t understand.  Then who did we see?”

            “Maybe it was the real Acharn,” Celebross chuckled, clapping Legolas on the back.  “Let’s go and rescue Aralith.  I believe he will need it!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            “You would think that he would have allowed me a torch, but noooo.  ‘This will teach you some manners, Tanglinna.  It will make you think twice before you toy with your king.’  Hmph!  I don’t think so, Thranduil.  I don’t think so at all.  You are not being very wise if you think that . . . .”

            Tanglinna bent forward, searching through the damp fallen leaves at his feet, looking for an elusive silver hair clasp that Thranduil had told him Legolas’ lady friend had lost during their wild flight through the woods.

            “It probably isn’t even out here,” the archer muttered.  “Thranduil probably already has it and has given it back to her, *or* it wasn’t here in the first place and this is one great ruse to get back at me.”

            He had begun his search for the hair clasp – “silver with small seed pearls in the shape of butterfly” – back at the palace and slowly worked his way deeper and deeper into the woods, muttering and complaining the entire time.  He straightened with a groan and stretched, feeling his bruises and scrapes protesting.  Then he grimaced.

            “You would think that he would have allowed to me take a bath first and change out of this disgusting clothing, but noooo.  ‘First things first, Tanglinna.’  Then he trots merrily off for a hot soak and . . . .”

            Tanglinna was so caught up in his conversation with himself that he failed to see the dark shadow that detached itself from the surrounding trees, one arm raising in the air; a silver hook flashing in the moonlight.

            “Just you wait, Oropherion, just you wait.  You’ll be sorry you sent me out here alone. . . in the dark. . . .”

            The figure advanced steadily, the hook gleaming seductively.  Suddenly the figure howled, a long and loud sound that echoed through the woods, sending the birds into flight the second time that night.

            Tanglinna jumped in terror, spinning about and pulling his dagger from his belt, an odd strangled sound erupting from his throat. His eyes caught on the hook that was raised above him, barely taking in the ragged clothing, the pale face, the long stringy hair that hung limply over the broad shoulders.  The archer stared at it in horror, his silver eyes wide, mouth agape, and a scream building in his chest.  Acharn was real!  Acharn was real and this was the end! 

          Suddenly the figure began to laugh, bending double with mirth, the long wig slipping away to reveal hair of a deep golden color.  Tanglinna bared his teeth, shoving his knife back into its sheath.

            “That was not funny,” he hissed, glaring down at Thranduil who was still gasping with merriment.  “Why did you do that?!” Tanglinna demanded as the king slowly straightened.

            “Why?  Why?!  If I were to tell you all the reasons why I did this, we would be here all night!  You should have seen your face!” he gasped out, bursting into laughter again.  “You looked *terrified*! I have never seen anything so funny before in my life!”

            “I am glad that I can afford you such amusement, aran-hir (lord king),” Tanglinna snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I suppose this means that my search for the lost hair clip is over?”

            Thranduil gazed over at him, and burst into laughter once more as Tanglinna frowned sourly.

            “I should have known this was some ruse of yours.  I really should have.  Well, I am glad that you have had your fun, Thranduil.  May we go home now?”

            The king chuckled and nodded.

            “Yes, I believe one of us needs to bathe.  You don’t smell very good, did you know that, Tanglinna?”

            Tanglinna growled slightly, his face still twisted with anger.  Then he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

            “This is no longer funny, hir nin.  And if you think, even for one moment -!”  He turned, only to find that he was staring into a ruined face framed with long dark hair, and where once there had been a hand, there glittered a silver hook.  Tanglinna gaped at the figure, knowing this was no one he knew.

            Thranduil was laughing once more, but turned when Tanglinna had fallen silent.  He opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw the spectral figure, its eyes seeming to glow with malevolent light.

            Tanglinna managed to tear his eyes away from Acharn the Hook-handed and glance at Thranduil. Was this yet another joke?  But the moment their eyes met, Tanglinna knew it wasn’t.  He and Thranduil both screamed in sheer terror and fled, the Thranduil’s wig falling to the ground.

            Acharn gazed silently after them for a moment, then slowly shook his head.  He opened the fingers of his good hand and gazed down at his palm.

            “I thought they were looking for this,” he said in quiet voice, then watched as a large Warg emerged from the trees.  “Perhaps I was mistaken.”  He placed the silver hair clip inside his tunic.  The warg seemed to smile at him as Acharn ruffled the thick fur.  The warg let out a terrible, unearthly howl that shattered the chill night air before following his master into the darkness beneath the trees, where they vanished from sight.

The End

Happy Howl –o – ween!  ;D

A special thanks to Dragon_of_the_north for her continued encouraging support.

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