[Lalwendë]

As the ship drew to a halt, Tarn’s stomach lurched, not with sea-sickness for he was well used to the waves since his days on the whaling boats, but because he knew another battle was coming. He wondered for a moment what was coming over him; he had never been afraid of a fight before. It was the sight of that stone, he knew, that was holding him from wanting to fight. All he wanted to do was to touch the artefact, to find out what was so special about it.

He looked about to see where Marreth may have stowed it, and if he could sneak back down below deck; surely he could look about for it while battle raged? Tarn decided he would go and search fro the stone, but as he moved off, he heard Marreth shouting his threats at the Elves and he saw with dismay that he held the stone.

Tarn’s eyes were fixed upon the Palantir, as were those of several of the sailors; they were seemingly transfixed, and the spell was only broken by the appearance of the captive Elf. All eyes moved towards her as she came slowly forwards in her tattered robe. She stepped onto the plank, vulnerable and fragile. Tarn almost thought for a moment that he would rather have the Elf maiden than the stone, but then this new bewitchment was shattered by the appearance of several furious Elves, armed to the teeth, who came swarming over the side of the ship.

Instinctively, Tarn slipped back into the shadows as far as he could. He saw the Elf who had pummelled him before and grimaced. He would normally have stepped out to face his new sworn foe, but this time he did not want to be seen. He was still in pain, and he knew only too well the fighting skills of this Elf. Tarn needed to use his cunning this time. He found a length of rope and wrapped it around his shoulder; he had an idea of how it might be used, and smiled to himself, pleased that this thought had come to him. Looking inside his coat, he found his knife and checked to see that the blade was filthy before he hid it in the palm of his hand. He was ready for one last fight.