I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

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10. Escape

“Mithrandir did not know where Sauron had gone?” Thranduil asked, his brows drawn together.

“No,” Ithilden answered.

Thranduil toyed with the dagger on his desk.  “I do not like the sound of that. Sauron left once before, but in the end, he returned.  If the White Council did not succeed in destroying him, then we will almost certainly be dealing with him again.”

Ithilden hesitated.  Even during the Watchful Peace, his father had been wary.  Thranduil had seen the return of evil too many times in his long life to believe it could simply be sent away.  And of course he had been right; Sauron had come back.  But even though Ithilden knew his father thought his optimism was naïve, he could not help feeling hopeful.  “That may be true,” he finally ventured, “but the shadow to our south has lifted. The trees were glad, and I think that in the spring, new life may grow there again.”

Thranduil smiled at him fondly and then dropped the dagger and sat up straighter.  Ithilden could see him marshaling his thoughts on what would need to be discussed at the meeting with his advisers that he had called for this morning.  Word of Sauron’s departure had spread rapidly after Ithilden’s arrival the previous evening, but now Thranduil needed to decide what implications that departure might have for such matters as the number and deployment of troops or his policies toward the small settlements scattered in the woods.  “What about his creatures?” he asked more briskly.  “How did his Orcs react to his leaving?  Did they seem to be leaving too?  Will we have an easier time fighting any who stay?”

“Those we could see were pained by the light of course,” Ithilden responded, “although they could simply take to prowling at night the way they do everywhere else.  But I hope that, without Sauron to guide their actions, all of them will be less organized and may take to quarreling with one another.  And, Adar, there was something else.”  Ithilden leaned forward, and his father’s attention intensified. “Even before the White Council cast Sauron out, we saw bands of Orcs moving west and north toward the mountains, and as we were on our way back to Rhosgobel, we saw many more.  They were not hunting but seemed intent on some purpose at which I could not even guess.”

Thranduil frowned.  “Did none of the Council members know?  Elrond has good intelligence of what goes on in the mountains.”

Ithilden shook his head. “I told Eilian to let the Orcs leave if they wanted to and concentrate on keeping any from coming toward us.”  He smiled slightly.  “He will be happier about that now that he and his patrol have returned to their territory and he can no longer see what is happening along the Anduin.”

Thranduil smiled wryly.  He knew as well as Ithilden did that Eilian would not have been keen on letting Orcs walk away without a fight.

“Adar,” Ithilden asked, raising a subject that had puzzled him since he had arrived home, “why are you keeping the Doors sealed?”

“Spiders have ventured much too close to the stronghold of late, but I have been even more concerned about a party of Dwarves that invaded Tonduil’s wedding feast.  Have you been told about them?”

Ithilden nodded.  “Sinnarn told me about the Dwarves last night, and of course, Alfirin told me about the wedding.”  Alfirin had been forgiving about his missing the wedding, but she had gone on at some length about the disruption the Dwarves had caused there.  Sinnarn had sat behind her with a big grin on his face the whole time she was talking.  He had evidently found events at the wedding far more amusing than his mother had.  Ithilden had been appalled by the apparent failures of the Home Guard, but even so he had had to struggle to keep a straight face with his son’s dancing eyes watching him while Alfirin told her story.

“The Naugrim still have not said what their mission is,” Thranduil went on grimly, “and I have no intention of releasing them until they do.  Until I know what they are up to, I will continue sealing the Doors.”

Ithilden tried to hide his dismay.  Over the years, he had exerted a great deal of effort to soften his father’s deep distrust toward Dwarves enough to allow for buying metal or weaponry from them.  He greatly feared that all his hard work had been undone, and he had no idea where he would get what he needed to supply his warriors if Thranduil decided to break off all dealings with Dáin’s people in the Iron Hills.

Someone rapped on the door.  “Come,” Thranduil called, and Celuwen appeared in the doorway.

“Your advisers are waiting for you, Adar,” she said.

Thranduil rose, drawing Ithilden to his feet too.  “You seem more eager than usual to begin the meeting,” he smiled at her.  “That would not have anything to do with your desire to get it over with so that you can take Ithilden’s news to your parents’ settlement, would it?”

She laughed.  “Do you know, I think it just might.”

“Do not stay away too long, Celuwen,” Ithilden advised her.  “Eilian is looking forward to his leave, and if things go as I hope, I may be able to order some of his patrol home early for an extended leave.”

Celuwen drew a deep breath.  “That is almost beyond belief.”

“It is,” agreed Thranduil soberly, and the three of them began to walk toward Thranduil’s council chamber.

***

Sinnarn slumped glumly in his chair, listening to the faint sounds of the feast that was underway in his grandfather’s Great Hall.  His father had been home for a week now, and tonight had been chosen as the night on which Thranduil’s people would gather to celebrate the news he had brought.  Sinnarn’s mother had thrown herself into planning it, and the food and music both promised to be extraordinary.  Moreover, Emmelin would be there, and at some point in the evening, the tables would be moved out of the way to allow the guests to dance.  Sinnarn had been looking forward to the feast, and especially to dancing with Emmelin.  It had not been until the previous day that he had looked at the duty roster and realized he was on guard duty tonight. 

He had organized the rotation of the guards’ shifts himself when Legolas had first made him chief guard, and he supposed he had the authority to change it, but doing so had struck him as unfair.  The other guards were undoubtedly looking forward to the evening as much as he was.  So here he was, sitting alone on the palace’s lowest level while everyone else was celebrating.  He picked at the bits of venison left on his plate and thought wistful thoughts about Emmelin.

The sound of feet on the stairs roused him from his self-pity, as several kitchen servants came to retrieve the dishes from the prisoners’ evening meal, accompanied by Thranduil’s butler, Galion.  The butler grinned at him. “Why so gloomy, young one? You look as if you think someone else might be dancing with your favorite maiden.”

Sinnarn made a face and got to his feet.  “What are you doing here, Galion?” he asked, preparing to go down the hall to unlock the first cell.

“I need to make sure that the empty barrels are ready to be sent to Esgaroth in the morning,” Galion answered. “Come and visit me when you have finished with your task, and I will see if I can find something to cheer you up.”

Sinnarn shot the butler a grateful look, and Galion started down the hall toward the storerooms.  Galion had always been kind to Sinnarn on the frequent occasions when he had been present as a child while Alfirin and Galion discussed the management of Thranduil’s household.  It was an open secret that he sometimes drank too much, but Wood-elves enjoyed making merry and tended to be tolerant of such a failure.  And at the moment, Sinnarn could do with both kindness and a cup of wine.

Gathering the dishes took no more than fifteen minutes, and when the last of the servants had retreated up the stairs, Sinnarn went in search of Galion, whom he found just emerging from one of the rooms with a pitcher of wine.  “Come with me and taste the new wine that has just come in,” Galion invited. “I shall be hard at work tonight clearing the cellars of the empty wood, so let us have a drink first to help the labor.”

Sinnarn could not help laughing. “If you truly need help, I will taste with you and see if it is fit for the king’s table.  It would not do to send up poor stuff!”

Galion grinned and led the way into a small room with chairs and a table on which he had already placed two large flagons.  He filled both flagons with the deep red wine.  Sinnarn picked up the over-large cup and took a sip.  “Dorwinion!” he exclaimed, and Galion nodded happily.

“I had a hard time getting it, too, but the king should be pleased to have it on his table tonight.”

Sinnarn eyed the flagon cautiously.  “This is strong stuff, and your flagons hold enough for two.”

“One cupful will not hurt you,” Galion said, leaning back in his chair with a blissful look on his face as he savored another sip.

Like most Elves, Sinnarn had drunk wine from childhood, and he knew it usually took a great deal more than one cupful to affect him, but Dorwinion was exceedingly potent and Galion’s flagons were indeed outsized.  “Just one, then,” he conceded.  The wine really was excellent, and he could feel his spirits lifting already.

“It is too bad that you have to deal with the barrels tonight,” Sinnarn said, taking a satisfying drink of his wine.  He had occasionally accompanied his mother to these storerooms when he was small and had always liked watching Galion and his helpers push empty barrels through the trap door into the underground stream that carried them out a watergate and into the river.

Galion raised his cup in a philosophical gesture of resignation.  “The Elves who take the rafts of goods to and from Esgaroth are due to leave early tomorrow morning.  They need the empty barrels to hold the new goods.”

Sinnarn rolled a mouthful of wine around on his tongue. It really was exceptionally fine.  A sudden soft noise sounded in the corridor.  “What was that?” Sinnarn frowned.  He was still on guard duty after all.  He and Galion both got up to look, but they saw nothing.

“It must have been a mouse,” Galion shrugged, as they resumed their seats.  Sinnarn made a face.  If there were mice in the storerooms, his mother would declare all-out war on them.  She had no objection to mice in the forests and fields; she simply did not want them in the food supply.  He picked up his flagon and was surprised to realize that it was still almost full.  He could have sworn he had drunk at least half of his wine.  He took a deep drink.  If he was going to have only one cupful of wine tonight, he might as well enjoy it.

“How are you and the Dwarves getting along?” Galion asked.  “Do you have much to do with them?”

Sinnarn made a face.  “I have almost nothing to do with them.  They will not talk to me, and now that their evening meal is finished, they will all go to sleep.  It is going to be a long night.”  And indeed, Sinnarn felt a little sleepy too.  This was his first night duty in four days, and he thought the change must be bothering him.  A faint noise from the hall caught his attention, and he scowled in the direction of the doorway. “I hear something again.”  He dragged himself to his feet to check the corridor once more, with Galion trailing him.  This time they searched for some distance in either direction and still found nothing.

“Mice,” Galion declared.  “They come inside in the autumn, when the weather turns cold.”

Standing with his eyes still turned toward the empty corridor, Sinnarn fumbled for his brimming flagon and took a drink.  He sat down heavily and glanced at the pitcher of wine, which was now almost empty.  Galion must be drinking a great deal tonight, Sinnarn thought ruefully. The wine was almost gone, and Sinnarn was still on his first cupful.

Galion launched into a story about the time Legolas had brought mice into the palace and hidden them in his room as pets.  He kept laughing, and Sinnarn laughed along with him, although he was having trouble paying close attention and was not absolutely certain he understood all of the story’s intricacies. Galion’s face kept slipping in and out of focus across the table, and Sinnarn’s head felt very heavy, so much so that it started to fall and he had to jerk himself upright.  Both he and Galion laughed about that, and then Sinnarn’s head drooped again, and he decided that maybe the smartest thing to do would be to rest it on the table after all.  He could hear Galion’s voice still rambling on about mice as he floated happily away onto the path of dreams.

***

Legolas leaned back contentedly in his chair, sipping his wine and nibbling on one of the sweet fried pastries the servants had just brought to the table.  Alfirin had outdone herself tonight, he thought.  The feast had been exceptionally good.

He glanced to his right, past Thranduil to where Ithilden sat with Alfirin leaning against him and his arm around her.  Alfirin looked as relaxed as Legolas had ever seen her.  She seemed to have fully accepted the news of Sauron’s departure and talked excitedly about how relieved she was that Sinnarn would no longer be exposed to so much danger and Ithilden would be less weighed down with responsibilities. Of course, of all of them, she had seen the least of Orcs and spiders, and they all tended to keep bad news from her because she worried and could do nothing about these things anyway.  Legolas thought that, like himself, Ithilden and Thranduil were still withholding judgment on what the Realm would be like now.  They had all spent too many years as warriors to take an enemy’s weakness for granted.

At the other end of the room, Legolas could see that Thranduil’s musicians were gathering. They had been wandering around the room, harping small tunes as people ate, but now they were getting ready for the dancing that would start as soon as the feasting was done.  When that happened, Legolas would be free to leave the head table and sit with his friends if he liked.  He looked to the right side of the room where Annael was sitting with Beliniel and Emmelin.   His friend saw his eye upon them and smiled, lifting his wine goblet in invitation as he did so.  Legolas grinned.  It would be good to celebrate with Annael tonight.

Emmelin looked a little subdued though.  Legolas guessed that she was disappointed that Sinnarn was on guard duty tonight, and he knew that Sinnarn was disappointed too.  Legolas felt some sympathy for Sinnarn.  He was one of the few Elves who lived near the stronghold to miss tonight’s feast.  The maiden he was courting was here, and the little pastries were even his favorite sweet.  Elves were rising from the tables now and wandering about visiting with one another.  Next to Legolas, Thranduil waved a hand at waiting attendants, and they began to carry the tables from the Hall and push the benches to the side to clear a space for dancing.

Legolas turned to his father. “By your leave, Adar, I think I will take some of the pastries to Sinnarn.”

Thranduil smiled sympathetically.  “Go. Give him my love.”  Legolas piled several of the remaining pastries in a napkin and started for the lower levels of the stronghold.  When he descended the last flight of stairs, he was surprised to find no-one at the guard’s post, but the sound of voices drew him toward one of the small room near the storage areas.  For a split second, he stood frozen in the room’s doorway, trying to take in what he was seeing.  Galion was bent over the slumped form of Sinnarn, whose head was on the table.

Legolas dropped the sweets he was carrying and leapt forward with a cry. “What happened? Is he hurt?”

Galion flinched.  “No, my lord. He is simply –,” he paused, groping for a word.  “He may have had a little too much wine,” he finished apologetically. And now Sinnarn lifted his head from the table and looked blearily at Legolas.

Legolas stared at his nephew in open-mouthed horror.  Sinnarn was drunk. He was drunk on duty.  For an instinctive moment, he wondered how he could help Sinnarn conceal his offense, and then he realized that he could not do that.  He was Sinnarn’s superior officer, and that meant he was responsible for disciplining him.  He nearly moaned aloud.  How could Sinnarn have been so careless?

“Hello, Legolas.” Sinnarn smiled a little uncertainly, apparently puzzled by the look on Legolas’s face.

“Get up, you fool,” Legolas snarled.

Sinnarn blinked and then put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet.  He swayed a little and might have lost his balance had Galion not grabbed his arm and steadied him.  “You are hereby relieved of the watch,” Legolas declared, reaching out and taking the ring of keys from Sinnarn’s belt. “Report to Todith the first thing in the morning.” Sinnarn frowned, and then suddenly, he seemed to get some glimmer of comprehension about what was happening, and his eyes widened.

“I only had one cupful,” he protested a little muzzily.

Legolas snorted. “However much you had, it was too much.”  He turned to Galion.  “Can you get him to his room, Galion?  Try to be as discreet as you can.”  Galion nodded and put his arm around Sinnarn to guide him toward the stairs, still protesting that he had only had one cup of wine to drink and therefore could not be drunk.  Legolas groaned.  The palace was full of guests, and at least one set of guards stood between here and Sinnarn’s chamber.  There was no possible way that word of his state would not be spread far and wide within the hour.

He took the keys and started down the hallway to check on the prisoners. Given that hundreds of Elves were milling about between here and the sealed Great Doors, Legolas did not really believe the Dwarves were anywhere other than behind the locked doors of their cells, but there was a routine to be followed when a guard had been compromised, and it would not hurt to follow it.

He unlocked the first heavy wooden door, pulled it open, and for the second time in far too few minutes, he stood staring, unable to take in what he saw.  Drawing the ceremonial knife he had donned for the feast, he stepped into the cell and spun, looking in all the corners, still without finding what he sought. The cell was empty.

A horrible fear struck him, and he ran back out into the hallway and along it to where the next cell lay. He tested it, found it locked, and then inserted the key and opened the door. This cell too was empty.

Panic rising, he checked all of the other cells and found the same thing.  All of the cells were locked, and yet, impossibly, all of them were empty.  All thirteen Dwarves had somehow escaped.  They had somehow gotten out of their cells while Sinnarn was unconscious with drink.  Thranduil was going to be beyond furious, Legolas thought, shutting his eyes against the vision of the king that arose before him.

The Dwarves cannot have gotten far, he thought determinedly.  They had to be in the palace somewhere.  He needed to get a search for them underway immediately.

He took the stairs three at a time, and then ran through the hallways, startling servants with their hands full of dishes and slowing only when he drew near the Great Hall. It was going to be impossible to keep what had happened secret, but for now, only the Home Guard warriors who would carry out the search needed to know.  It would surely be better for Sinnarn if most of the guests had left before the true extent of his failure of duty was known.  Just now, Legolas needed to find Todith and report what had happened so the captain could organize the search.

He walked quickly toward the doors leading to the Great Hall, where, to his dismay, he nearly ran into Ithilden and Alfirin with their arms around one another’s waists. Ithilden was whispering in his wife’s ear and drawing her out of the Hall and toward the hallway where the royal family lived.  Alfirin’s eyes were sparkling, and she was giggling.  They both lifted their heads to look at him, and he felt a stab of pity. They looked so happy.

Ithilden reacted immediately to the look on Legolas’s face. “What is the matter?” he asked sharply, straightening up to his full height.

Legolas hesitated. He would ordinarily report to Todith, who would report to Ithilden. To do otherwise was disrespectful of his captain.  Even as Legolas thought that, however, he knew the real reason for his reluctance to speak. He did not want to be the one to tell Ithilden and Alfirin about Sinnarn.  “I need to speak with you privately, my lord,” he said, and Ithilden read his formality exactly in the way Legolas had intended.

Ithilden looked at Alfirin regretfully.  “I will rejoin you as soon as I can, love.”

“You should go back to the feast for now, Alfirin,” Legolas put in, worried that she might go to their apartment and find Sinnarn.  His sister-in-law raised an eyebrow at him but turned and went back into the Great Hall.  Legolas breathed a little more easily, and then he and Ithilden stepped aside into a private corner.

“What is it?” Ithilden asked.

Legolas braced himself. “The Dwarves are not in their cells.”

Ithilden blinked as he absorbed this information.  “They have escaped?” Sudden alarm flooded his face. “What about Sinnarn?  Is he injured?”

“No,” Legolas shook his head unhappily.  “He was apparently drinking with Galion and passed out.  When I arrived, he was just coming to, and then when I checked, the prisoners were gone.”  Ithilden’s face had begun to flush, and Legolas could see his hands clenching and unclenching, but he stood in absolute silence.  “I do not understand it, Ithilden,” Legolas rushed on. “The keys were still on Sinnarn’s belt, and all the cell doors were locked.  I cannot see how they got out. But they must still be in the palace. The Great Doors are still sealed, and they would have been seen if they came anywhere near them.”

For a second longer, Ithilden stood in shocked silence. Then he drew a deep breath.  “Get Todith,” he ordered. “Tell him to search everywhere.  Half the Home Guard is in the Great Hall. Get them out here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Legolas jumped toward the Hall, but Ithilden caught his arm.

“Do not tell Adar,” he said tersely. “I will do it.”

Legolas nodded and hastened to do his brother’s bidding, as Ithilden continued to stand immobile in the out-of-the-way corner.  But while every available warrior spent the rest of the night searching the stronghold, they found nothing.  By the next morning, they had to accept the truth.  Somehow the Dwarves had eluded them.

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AN: Some of the dialogue between Galion and Sinnarn is taken from Chapter IX of The Hobbit, “Barrels out of Bond.”  I have modified it slightly.