They had thrown the thief into a dank, dark cell, devoid of any decoration save a hole in the corner that Dalen assumed was for relieving oneself, judging from the stench that wafted out of it.

He sat down in the opposite corner and gathered his cloak about himself, as if it could keep him safe. At least they had let him keep that. They had taken everything else though. Even his rope. He sniffed, attempting unsuccessfully not to let it bother him. How dare they take his rope.

Days passed into night, and eventually Dalen lost all sense of how much time had passed. Not that he cared, really. Nobody would come for him. He had no friends, no family who had would vouch for his somewhat questionable character. He'd rot. That was a fitting way to go for one with such a miserable life, he supposed. At least they fed him. What exactly it was that they fed him, he did not know. It was a sort of oatmeal, but it was entirely flavorless and only left him feeling hungrier after he ate it.

One day(he was entirely unsure what day; by now he had stopped counting), he heard the door to the guardhouse open. It wasn't mealtime though. He had been fed only a short time earlier.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he hurried to the door of his cell and peered through the small window that had been installed in it. Two guards were escorting another prisoner, a thin wisp of a man, down the corridor.

"Lads, this is all just a big misunderstanding," the prisoner laughed nervously. "Who in their right mind would pose as a soldier just to get into a nobleman's party?"

One of the guards grunted. "Who said you were in your right mind?"

The prisoner shrugged. "Fair enough. But I would at least like to speak with the governor, is that too much to ask? Whoever catered at that party simply must be complimented in person, and I need to ask him who it was."

"Enough out of you!" The other guard exclaimed, roughly shoving the prisoner into the cell opposite Dalen.

"Well you needn't be so rough!" He called after the guards, brushing off his shirt in overly dramatic frustration. After letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned and leaned against the door of his cell. Noticing Dalen, he gave the thief a disarming grin.

"Caught you too, eh?" He sniffed with an heir of dignity. "What'd they get you for?"

"Too many things to list," Dalen grunted.

The newcomer leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he peered at Dalen in the dim light. "Wait! You're the one on the posters! The thief!"

Dalen fought back the feeling of pride that he felt at being recognized. "Aye, that's me."

"I'm Arminas. Arminas Aegnorion. Gambler, seeker of fortune, and seducer of beautiful women, at your service," he preened, making a sweeping bow.

"So a con-man," Dalen replied, unimpressed. He knew their type. They frequented the same establishments he did, but they preyed on the innocent in more subtle ways... Playing with rigged die or trick cards did not give Dalen a good impression of them.

"Such a crude term," Arminas replied with a coy grin. "And besides, you're a common thief! Neither of us are very... Upstanding."

"Speak for yourself, pretty boy," Dalen rolled his eyes. "I'm just misunderstood."

Arminas chuckled as he drummed a slender finger on one of the bars of the cell door. "Aren't we all though, aren't we all... Still! Upstanding or not, I foresee a long future together in this fine establishment designed for the detention of ruffians such as ourselves. So I say we start it off on the right foot! Tell me about yourself!"

Dalen irritably took a deep breath. Why must this man be so... Energetic? And nosy?

He challenged the blond-haired man with a sarcastic smile. "Alright, fine. What do you want to know? My birthday? Do you want to shower me with gifts? Or perhaps you'd like to know the sad story of my childhood..."

Arminas, quick on his feet, responded in kind. "Oh yes, sob stories are the best! Do tell."

Dalen sighed. He'd have to take a different approach to this.

"How about you tell me about yourself first," he countered.

Arminas smiled, as if he was secretly hoping for the opportunity. "Gladly! I am a man of Dale, twenty years of age. My mother died when I was young, and my father was a guard. I became a guard myself when I came of age, and they tasked me with escorting caravans."

"And what unfortunate circumstance put you behind those bars?" Dalen asked disinterestedly, leaning against the cold stone wall.

"A dalliance with the sergeant-at-arms' daughter, as it were," Arminas frowned, waving his hand with a dramatic flair. "It seems I was not worthy of her attentions."

"Hardly a punishable offense," Dalen replied with a laugh. "Besides, it's well known that she has a lack of... Discretion, when it comes to men." He noticed that the story this Arminas fellow was telling was entirely different than what he had heard him tell the guards, but he decided to let it slide for the moment.

"Oh it wasn't that!" Arminas asserted. "It was the small sum of gold that I took when I left!"

"Ah," Dalen nodded. "Makes sense. It seems we have several things in common, then."

"Oh really? Pray tell." Arminas sat against the wall and put his arms behind his head.

"Well, I too am from Dale. And I am in this situation partly due to the sergeant-at-arms' daughter."

"So I read on the wanted poster," Arminas grinned. "It seems to me-"

Just then the outer door slammed open and two guards marched in. "You two. Time to go."

===============================

Dalen blinked groggily, his eyes attempting to adjust to the bright sunlight as he was led outside. It had been a while since he had seen the sun, and it seemed to him that it was brighter than he remembered... but that was most likely just his mind playing tricks on him. As he took in his surroundings, his eyes widened and his heart began to race with fear.

At the end of the road in front of him was a rickety platform, and all around it was a throng of shouting and jeering people. At the top of the platform was a lone bucket, and alongside of it was a large stone brick. A headsman's block, Dalen realized.

"Please, no, this is all a big mistake, I can explain-"

"Explain it to the headsman!" One of the guards growled as he gruffly shoved Dalen onto the cart. Arminas was already seated, although he seemed unphased.

"Don't be so scared, thief," he called out over the din of the crowd. "I've been in this situation several times! It's never as bad as it seems!"

Dalen cast a bewildered glance at the other man. "You've been beheaded before??"

"Ha! No, but I've been in the cart on the way before," Arminas replied with a laugh. "I've always thought beheading would be better than hanging anyway!"

Dalen gulped. "I'd rather keep my head, unrobbed of oxygen, thank you."

"Then you should try drawing and quartering! I'm pretty sure they don't do anything to your head with that."

"It's what they do with the rest of me that'd worry me," Dalen replied. He was beginning to feel queasy just thinking about it.

As Dalen was led up the rickety stairs, he noticed that one of the Gondorian soldiers was watching him intently. His eyes were a piercing green, and they studied Dalen so intensely that it felt like they were gazing into his soul. It unnerved him.

Aside from the eyes, however, there was nothing unusual about him aside from the raven-black hair that cascaded out from under his helmet. Most guards wore their hair cut short, as it was more practical. But something that Dalen could not quite place seemed off about this particular guard. And it wasn't just the hair or the eyes.

Before he could figure out what exactly it was, his attention was diverted by the headsman, a massive man wearing black leather armor and a mask. He was leaning against a large battleaxe that clearly hadn't been cleaned last time it ended someone's life. Dark bloodstains still decorated the blade... the headsman probably left them there intentionally.

Dalen took a deep breath. He had been close to death before... but this... well, this felt more certain somehow. There was no way out of it this time, no convenient escape.

Arminas shot him a confident glance. "I've only just met you, and already I feel that we're growing close!"

Dalen smiled weakly. "This wasn't exactly the ideal bonding activity I had in mind."

Two other prisoners were first in line. The headsman grabbed the first one roughly by the arm and shoved him down against the chopping block.

"Any last words?"

The prisoner, an older man, nodded and grinned madly. "Excelsior!"

The headsman swung down, cleanly severing the man's head from his body. He gave the lifeless corpse a gentle kick and it fell to the side.

"Next!"

The second prisoner met the same fate. Dalen was next.

"Any last words?" The headsman asked in an almost bored voice as he pushed Dalen against the block. Dalen nodded.

"Can I stand and speak them?" He inquired, hoping the headsman wouldn't count those as his last words. The headsman shrugged and pulled Dalen to his feet.

"First of all," he began, unruffling his tunic. "I'd like to say thank you to the people of Cair Sirion! You have all been most accommodating, leaving your doors unlocked at night has made my life so much easier! You've fed and clothed me for quite some time now... you didn't know it, but you did! Further, I would like to-"

As he looked around, he made eye contact with the green-eyed guard. He was almost imperceptively shaking his head, as if trying to tell Dalen to stop. Dalen raised an eyebrow, but continued.

"I would like to also say thank you to your sergeant-at-arms, whose daughter is quite lovely!" A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and the headsman pushed Dalen back down. A distant voice in the crowd that Dalen recognized as that of the sergeant-at-arms yelled shrilly, "Kill him!"

"Enough out of you, thief," he growled as he raised his axe. "Time to go."

The axe began to fall, and Dalen closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn't feel it. But the blow never landed.

A radiant light lit up the entire platform, blinding Dalen and making everything appear white. He felt a hand grab his arm and a voice whispered, "Come with me if you value your life!"

He could hear cries of confusion and fear as he descended the stairs. The light began to fade, and as he regained his vision he could see that the one holding his arm was none other than the green-eyed guard.

"After them!" The headsman shouted. Dalen cast a glance over his shoulder to see a dozen guards begin pursuit, swords and spears in hand.

"Follow me!" The green-eyed guard exclaimed, pulling his helmet off and casting it to the side. He nimbly leapt onto a ladder and scaled it. Dalen, not having any other options, followed.

"They're going to the rooftops! Cut them off!" A voice cried out from behind. Dalen followed the guard, surprised at his speed and agility as he leapt from roof to roof. He could hear the thumping of the soldiers' feet as they pursued, but he knew that they would not be able to keep up.

He launched himself into the air and cleared a gap between two buildings, and as he did he could see soldiers with bows lining up below him.

"Fire!" One of them cried. Dalen could hear the arrows whizzing by as he narrowly evaded them. The guard he was following seemed to have otherworldly senses, dodging the arrows before they even got close to him.

The clatter of armor and steel boots could still be heard behind them. Dalen risked another look over his shoulder, and to his dismay he saw that two of the soldiers were gaining on them.

"We need to lose them!" He shouted to his new companion as they ran. The guard nodded, and as they reached the next gap between houses the guard dropped instead of leaping across. Dalen followed suit, and they found themselves in a dark alley that was full of people. Having momentarily evaded the pursuers, Dalen pulled up his hood, hoping that he could somehow blend into the crowd. The guard, however, had disappeared completely.

Curse it, now what? Dalen thought to himself as he navigated the packed alleyway. He was free, but they were looking for him now. He'd have to make his way out of the city, and fast. But first he'd need new clothes.

He soon saw a market stall that was selling various clothes. He began to case it, looking for weaknesses and watching the trader to see how alert he was. Hmm... Already committing more crimes and you haven't even been free for ten minutes. Why am I not surprised?

He watched the stall until the trader started talking with a customer. Now was his time. He meandered over to it and casually walked past, snatching a tunic and some trousers as he went. That was easy, he thought to himself as he looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody had seen him. He was clear.

He disappeared into another back alley and quickly changed, donning the new clothes. They were actually far nicer than his old ones. Convenient.

He put his old cloak on over them and pulled up the hood, his face obscured by the shadows it cast. He was just beginning to step out of the alley when a dark-cloaked figure leapt down from the rooftops in front of him.

Dalen shouted in surprise and staggered back, tripping and falling into a pile of rubbish. "Stay back!" He exclaimed, holding a hand out defensively in front of him.

"Relax, thief," the cloaked figure said, pulling his hood back to reveal the guard that had rescued him. He was no longer dressed in the armor of a guard. Instead, he wore midnight black plate armor and had two exotic daggers strapped to his belt. He produced a sword from the folds of his cloak and held it out to Dalen.

"You'll need this," he said matter-of-factly. His voice was deep, and somewhat devoid of emotion. His face, upon closer inspection, was narrow and handsome, and thin dark eyebrows arched over his stormy emerald eyes. But that wasn't the most striking feature.

He had the pointed ears of an elf.

"Who, if I may ask, are you exactly?" Dalen asked, standing and brushing the dust from his clothes.

The elf raised an eyebrow. "I do not see why that would be of even the slightest importance to you right now. But I am called Caledorn, if a name is what you seek."

"Are you... Err... That is to say... Are you an elf?" Dalen stammered, nodding pointedly at Caledorn's ears. He didn't want to be rude, but, well...

"How observant of you," Caledorn snorted. "Now enough talk. We are both wanted men now."

"Not exactly, if what I asked is true then you're a wanted elf," Dalen replied wryly.

Caledorn looked up at the sky in annoyance. "I'm already beginning to regret saving you..."

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