Thranduil frowned at the map. The geography was correct, but the lettering uncouth and antiquated. Someone had copied the maps from an ancient original. None of his people would have made such a thing available to men such as Micanar.
The wiley fellow stood before the elven king, his confidence beginning to fade as he realized that Thranduil was learning things from the maps that Micanar himself could not have guessed at.
For Thranduil shrewdly guessed that the source of the maps was no friend of the elves of Mirkwood, and perhaps was allied with an enemy that was old indeed. Finally, he looked at the man and said, "You were on a fool's errand, for you will find no gold in those mountains. Only sleep and death. But I do not believe you."
Now the regal wood elf stood to his full height and bent his gaze upon the prisoner. Micanar knew that he had lost his composure, and in the sudden silence could hear the beating of his heart. He felt trickles of sweat falling from his face and he felt as if he might lose control of his bowels. It seemed to him that the elves might do anything to him and he became most wretched and frightened at the thought.
"Tell me," said Thranduil, and Micanar felt sure that he would, "what you really sought in this place, who you sought it for, and where you expected to take it. Do not lie, for I will know it! Now speak!"
The cavern seemed to whirl around him and the torches flickered ominously about the craven conman. This was not how he had pictured the questioning at all!
He moistened his mouth and prepared to tell the woodland king all the little he knew...
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