(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.