"Mercy!" cried Micanar from the cell, with just the right inflections of fear and trepidation. "Have mercy on me! I never wanted to join this search! It was forced on me! Spare me and I will tell you everything!"
The jailer sent a messenger to king Thranduil, and summoned two more elf guards to escort the prisoner before unlocking the door. Micanar played his part well, pleading with them not to hurt him, and groveling like a beaten cur. His wrists and ankles were chained, and he was made to shuffle into the presence of the king.
Thranduil's expression softened a bit when the repentant Micanar reentered his throne room. To all appearances he was the perfect picture of a dupe fearing for his life, kneeling with head bowed, hardly daring to raise his eyes to the powerful elf king before him.
"Micanar, you will be free to leave my kingdom, so long as you never return, if you will answer my questions completely and truthfully," Thranduil said. Micanar raised his head in a posture of relief and thankfulness, leeting his eye with a steady gaze. "I will do as you command, O king. What would you ask of me?" Micanar said with complete composure, his earlier unsteadiness gone. He could not wait to answer the king's questions...
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The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane. ~~ Marcus Aurelius
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