This, And My Heart Beside *added ch. 20/part 1*

CHAPTER 19


“What do ya think yer doin’?” the gravelly voice demanded of the thin, nervous thief who sat

cross-legged by the campfire.

He looked up quickly, eyes large with apprehension, as he clutched the piece of jewelry that glittered brilliantly in the glow of the flames.

“I was just polishin’ it for ya, Caedmon,” Cyril stammered, holding out the magnificent ring to the thieves’ leader.

Caedmon, the tall, blonde chief of the scruffy band of wandering thieves, snatched it roughly from his hand and held it up in front of his face to admire it, once again.

“It don’t need polishin’,” he growled. “This is Elvish silver, the finest and purest there is. It’ll fetch a hefty sum in Tregonwell, and I’ll just be keepin’ it with me ‘til we get there.” He looked pointedly at the twitchy thief who squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Whatever you say, Caedmon,” he muttered.

The ringleader nodded in satisfaction, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously when he caught sight of another of the group’s members, approaching the campfire.

“Here, where’ve you been, then?” Caedmon demanded.

The dark-haired young man bent to lay a stack of twigs on the ground, near the fire. Straightening, he looked into the eyes of the blond thief with a glint of defiance in his own, and an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Collecting more wood for the fire, just as you *ordered*, Caedmon,” he said succinctly.

Caedmon grunted. “About time you made yerself useful around here. You weren’t worth a damn back there, with that Elf.”

Aefic held his ground. “That is because I wanted no part of that barbaric exhibition. As I told you when I first joined this merry band, I am a thief, not a murderer *or* an assailant.”

“Aw,” the blonde replied, smirking, “did we offend your delicate sensibilities?”

Aefic raised one dark eyebrow. “Everything about you offends me, Caedmon. And when we reach Tregonwell, you and I will be parting ways.”

“Suit yerself. But you’ll forfeit all rights to the coin we’ll be gettin’ for the ring.”

The dark-haired thief sneered in disgust. “Do you think I actually *want* the money now? That ring was bought with the blood of an innocent young Elf, and maybe you can still sleep at night knowing that, but I *can’t*.”

“Well then, the boy shouldn’t have refused when we asked for the ring. And I can sleep just fine,” Caedmon laughed. “How ‘bout you, Bregowine?” he called to the tall, powerfully-built man who approached behind Aefic.

Carrying the game he had caught for their last meal of the day, Bregowine walked toward his chief and older brother, with a pronounced limp. Hilith’s arrow had pierced his leg through, and although it had been removed shortly afterward, and the wound cleaned and treated, it throbbed mercilessly.

“I plan to sleep like a babe,” he laughed in amusement, looking intently into the eyes of the younger man as he passed him.

“You *would*,” Aefic spat in disgust, but the other two had already dismissed him, looking up toward the sky. An eerie wind ghosted across the treetops, stirring the dry leaves. And within that sound, another could be heard; the unhurried and powerful flapping of wings. As the thieves strained their eyes against the black sky, all of them felt the passing of a cold shadow over them, and they shivered involuntarily.

“What was that?” Cyril asked, his voice quavering.

“Bird of prey,” Bregowine growled. “Nothin’ to be afraid of.” He turned aside to Caedmon and muttered, “I don’t much like bein’ out in the middle of nowhere on All Hallows Eve.”

Caedmon nodded in agreement. “Just one more night in the wild, brother. We’ll be reachin’ Tregonwell around midday tomorrow. Cyril!” he called out. “Go and fetch more water so we can cook our dinner.”

The lanky dark-haired man looked up at his leader. “Me?” he asked nervously. His head spun quickly around as he gazed into the pitch dark forest just beyond the light of the campfire. If he recalled correctly, that pond was no longer in close proximity; and he didn’t relish the idea of trudging through the tangled trees and bushes to find it again.

“Yeah, *you*,” Caedmon snapped impatiently. “Take a torch, nothin’ will bother you.” He leaned down to clasp a thick piece of branch from the fire, and thrust it toward Cyril. The small thief took it hesitantly, swallowing hard. Bregowine handed him a cooking pan, with the instruction to fill it only halfway. Cyril nodded silently and walked timidly toward the forest, as if he expected the trees themselves to devour him. When at last he disappeared into the foliage, the brothers turned to each other, grinning.

“If he hears so much as a twig snap, he’ll be wettin’ himself,” Bregowine said.

His older brother cackled maliciously. “That’s what *I’m* hopin’ for.”

Aefic sat silently beside the fire, whittling a piece of wood into a nightingale for his little niece. He had discovered some years ago, that he had a natural talent for sculpting wood into pretty much anything he set his mind to. And the fact was, he enjoyed it immensely. That was another surprise. In recent days Aefic had been thinking of how nice it would be to quit this life and devote his time to carving, maybe open up a little shop in a big city. He was losing his taste for thievery, a thought that had been prevalent in his mind since witnessing the brutal assault on the bright and beautiful Elf that they had happened upon in the forest. Cyril had seen him first; damn him, and his hawk-like eyesight! He had even seen the glint of the brilliant gems set in the silver ring, as Legolas walked toward them, deep in thought with his eyes cast downward. When Cyril pointed out the Elf and the treasure on his finger, Bregowine stooped to snatch up a large stone.

“What’s that for?” Aefic asked him suspiciously.

The powerfully-built thief grinned as he hefted the rock in his hand. “Advantage,” he winked before slinking off in a semi-circle pattern to take up his post in the bushes behind and to the left of the young Elf. Events moved so quickly after that, that Aefic was unable to react in time to save the unsuspecting Prince.

Caedmon and Cyril walked casually toward him, as if to merely bid him good day. When Legolas looked up and saw them approaching, he blinked in slight surprise before smiling amiably.

“Good morning, young sir,” Caedmon greeted him with a friendly tone.

The blonde Prince inclined his head slightly. “Good morning,” he responded. “Is there something I may help you with?”

The leader of the thieves turned to Cyril with an “isn’t he sweet?” smile, before again facing Legolas. “Funny you should ask. In fact, you *can* help me by handing over that ring.” He waited expectantly, still smiling.

The Elf frowned and laughed simultaneously, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“You must be joking,” he said. “This ring does not belong to you; it was gifted to me by my father, King Thranduil,” he added pointedly.

Caedmon grinned even wider at that. “Never heard of him. The ring ….” He held out his hand.

The young Elf’s face changed suddenly. Gone was the look of confusion, as one golden eyebrow shot up and his blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I think not.” And he reached toward the top of his boot for the twin knives that he carried on his person at all times. But Bregowine was swifter, and before his fingers reached the weapons, Legolas was struck forcefully on the back of the head by the rock that the thief hurled. With a soft groan, the Prince sank to his knees as his eyes fluttered closed. Bregowine ran toward the group as Caedmon drew back one booted foot to kick the Elf cruelly in the abdomen. Legolas pitched forward helplessly, and lay still as the three thieves descended on him with a barrage of violent kicks and punches.

Aefic found his voice then. “No!” he bellowed at the three, but they were deaf to his cries, too intent on inflicting injury upon the Elf who dared to defy them. Pulling his hunting knife, Caedmon lifted Legolas’ hand and placed the blade against the finger that bore the splendid ring.

“When I say “give me the ring”,” he spat viciously at the unconscious Prince, neatly severing the finger with one slice, “I mean …. GIVE ME THE RING!” And holding the finger aloft triumphantly, Caedmon removed the ring and flung the digit away from him angrily.

Aefic turned and vomited unceremoniously on the ground, at the sight of the unexpected savagery. He was still bent over double, heaving strongly, when he heard Bregowine cry out in agony. Looking up, the young thief gaped at the scene before him. Caedmon and Cyril stared, dumbstruck, as the large baldheaded Bregowine clutched his thigh, howling. A long arrow protruded on both sides of his leg, and Aefic looked behind him, trying to discern where the arrow had come from. Another young Elf, this one dressed in a more military manner, ran swiftly toward them, drawing another arrow to fire. The three attackers cried out in panic and fled, leaving the dark-haired thief behind. Hilith was still a distance away, but was closing the gap quickly. He slowed to a halt when he saw Aefic standing quietly, making no move to flee.

Aefic’s heart hammered wildly in his chest, and he knew that lingering could cost him his life, but there was something he must do. Even from this distance, he knew that the Elven warrior could see him quite clearly.

I am sorry, he mouthed soundlessly. Then he fled quickly, in the same direction as his partners, as the Elf ran to the aid of his Prince.

Sitting beside the campfire now, Aefic was suddenly taken with an irresistible urge. Trying his best to conceal a smile, he worked intently on the carving in his hand. “Do you really think ‘twas a bird we heard flying overhead a moment ago, Bregowine?” he asked casually.

“Huh?” the big man grunted, as he turned away from the conversation with his brother to look scornfully at the other man. “’Course, what else *would* it be?”

Aefic shrugged innocently. “Perhaps it was one of the Valar coming for you. They do not take kindly to the abuse of Iluvatar’s firstborn children, from what I understand.” He glanced at the two brothers quickly, and was gratified to see the uncertainty in their eyes. It was almost *too* easy to plant a seed of doubt in their thick, superstitious heads, but it gave him great pleasure to do so. The young thief watched furtively as the older men’s eyes darted all around, peering into the forest that surrounded them.

“Yer daft,” Caedmon growled at Aefic. The next moment, a jagged shaft of brilliant white light rent the night sky, as a clap of thunder shook the ground. The two brothers started visibly, and Aefic struggled to contain his glee.

It would be poetic justice, if the Valar *had* condemned them. He would gladly pay to watch one of those mighty beings descend from the sky to rend the brutish brothers limb from limb. Their wretched lives had been spent in bullying the weak and wresting from innocents their most prized possessions, and never had they shown remorse for the harm and fear they had caused. But Bregowine was the worse of the two; an almost mindless deviant with a perverted and insatiable appetite, he had known from childhood that he had a penchant for males, preferably small weak males. And the day he told the story of how, at age 12, he had raped his younger brother, was the day that Aefic ceased sleeping with his back to him. In fact, each night thereafter, he waited until he heard the rumbling drone of Bregowine’s snores before he could relax enough to let sleep find him.

Not that Caedmon was much better; his sadistic nature was a constant source of revulsion to Aefic. On many occasions, he had witnessed the blonde thief inflicting unnecessary pain on those they robbed, whether it was by twisting their arms or cutting them cruelly and deliberately with his knife. The delighted glint in his eyes as he did these things never failed to make Aefic’s skin crawl, and it became evident to him very quickly that he had to remove himself from the company of these loathsome creatures. Originally, he had intended to take Cyril with him, since he pitied the hapless thief. The only reason Cyril had become a member of the band, was that he had been caught trying to pick Caedmon’s pockets, and the two brothers thought they could use someone with his talents to their advantage. After seeing how willingly Cyril had joined in the attack on the Elf, though, he had changed his assessment of him. Yes, the members of that charming trio were cut from the same cloth, and Aefic couldn’t wait to be rid of them all.


Deciding that he had given the brothers sufficient cause to be nervous, Aefic bent his head to better see what he was carving. The wind had swelled as the sky began to growl ominously; the campfire flickered and lashed in all directions as it was buffeted by the strong gusts.

His head snapped up when the dark-haired young thief heard Caedmon shout uncertainly, “Cyril?” Looking in the direction of the older brother’s gaze, Aefic could see nothing beyond the wobbly glow of the fire. Until the next vein of lightning illuminated the woods on the other side of the camp, and he saw the tall cloaked figure standing silently.

Waiting.


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