[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The failure of his plan galled Ambarturion only in that he would not be able to slay the orcs who had dared try to parley with him, as though any of their ilk could be trusted beyond the sharp point of a dagger’s tip. He lay with his face to the wooden floor of the cart and once more began straining against his bonds. This time, however, they had bound him with the tough hide of some foul beast, and he was tired from his previous efforts. It would take time…

His mind went back to the image of the eyes that Coromswyth had sent him, and for a wild moment hope unbidden and unfounded came to his heart. The Elves who tracked them were too few and too inexperienced. That they had been seen at all, even by another Elf, bespoke great carelessness. Ambarturion closed his eyes and felt outward through the land, seeking for their presence. For a long time he felt nothing, but then there they were – disunited and bickering, they travelled ahead of the party of orcs, looking for a place to waylay the caravan. It had been many years since Ambarturion had last had dealings with the Elves of Mirkwood. Not since he had completed the training of Thranduil’s son had he set foot beyond the eaves of that wood. They were, like him, Silvan Elves, but few were of such lineage as himself, and none were as ancient nor as familiar with the ways and minds of the Noldor. They were a failing race, in danger of becoming quaint and amusing.

His mind flew back to the green woods of his youth, when the Elves were full of life and hope, and even the darkness of Melkor could not dim their accomplishments of hand and mind. He heard as clearly as the first day the song of Melian, and beheld the great doors of Menegroth, crafted by the Dwarves before their corruption by the Dark Powers. Soon, he was lost amid the glowing halls of the ancient kingdom, blinded by the brightness of the torches and deaf from the ceaseless sound of music and fair voices raised in laughter. Further and further into the past he drifted, but then there arose in his mind the image of a great darkness that fell upon the land. Thingol fell, and in despair Melian fled the shell of her body and returned in mourning to the West. There were cries and screams, and a vast shape crowned with fire and torment swept toward the land…

Ambarturion awoke with a start. He heard Coromswyth’s breath beside him and he turned toward her. “Do not believe that they are capable of any good, lady,” he said. She looked at him in amazement, a surprised retort springing to her lips. “I do not mean the orcs, lady, I speak of the other – the one whom you feel saved you in his tent. Do not think that he saved you; he merely preserved you for a more terrible fate before the Eye.”

Coromswyth paused so long before speaking that Ambarturion feared that perhaps he had said too much, and that she had taken offence. “He is our enemy, I know,” she said finally, a note of quiet resignation in her voice. “But there is something different about that one, that captain. He did not relish the thought of the orc’s…depravity, and there was gentleness in his manner to me – at least, such gentleness as mortals are capable of.”

“You merely compare him to the orc, and there is no Man who will not be the better for such a comparison. If he were to keep better company it would suit him the worse.” He felt Coromswyth acknowledge the truth of what he was saying, but without the full conviction that he would have desired. “If I have the opportunity,” he said quietly, “I will not hesitate to slay him. He is sworn to the destruction of the Golden Wood, and for that he is worse than any orc, for he is not just the mindless slave of Sauron, but a willing ally.”

“You are quick to judge mortals, Ambarturion,” she replied, with some warmth. “I fear, a bit too quick – and too harsh in your judgements as well. Men are capable of more than you think.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” he replied acerbically, “for no Elf can fully understand the full extent of the triviality and selfishness of Men. I have met the highest and noblest of the race and they were but as children newly out of swaddling cloth to even the youngest Elves I have ever trained.” His mind went unbidden to Caranbaith, and as quickly as he tried to push the image of his student’s bloodied corpse form his mind, he knew that Coromsyth had seen it. He knew too that she had felt the blood-soaked rage that seethed within him about the image of the one-eyed orc who had slain the youth. Coromswyth sighed and sought to reach out to Ambarturion with her mind.

You must not allow yourself to fall into such evil thoughts. If vengeance becomes your only goal, then you will find your life an empty one – for even if you do revenge yourself upon the orc, what will you do then? Caranbaith will still be gone, and you will still bear the burden of his passing.

“At the very least,” he replied coolly, “I will be able to sleep at nights with the knowledge that the orc has been sent to the howling void that was made for him, and that I was the one who sent him there.”

“No,” a voice said weakly. Ambarturion moved his head and saw that Megilaes had finally woken up. “I will be the one to send the monster to his torment.”