[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel’s heart sank with each new low rating. She did not have to be one of the Wise to realize that the juror was not at all impartial – or under the influence of something or someone else, she reminded herself, ever endeavouring to be fair, even when something felt foul.

Now it is a well-known fact that Elves do not sleep, being able to dream and wake simultaneously. (This would make them perfect quest companions, since they could take over watch duty at night, but for one thing – their tendency to sing constantly, which reveals their position to intruders, who can then cleverly avoid encountering them.) In short, the Elven maiden was listening to the performances of her fellow Questers and, at the same time, considering and rejecting her own options.

Should she try to reach Leninia’s emotions by playing a plaintive melody on her hâr-mónicä? But she didn’t feel entirely sure of her newly acquired abilities on the instrument. Or should she perhaps appeal to her buried conscience (ever optimistic, she assumed there was one somewhere!) by singing a deeply religious song? She hummed the tune “If Eru is a Dêi-Jä, Arda is a Dänz-Fluer” tentatively, but somehow that didn’t seem quite right either.

Meanwhile, her foot had involuntarily begun tapping in rhythm to Grrralph’s song; when he finished, she applauded vigorously and waited, hoping against hope that this tune would have appealed to the judge. Observant and astute as she was, combined with the instinctive intuition of the ultimate female, she had noticed that their juror changed when Leninia established eye-contact with him. Perhaps she could counteract by sending him an O-mail message – it was worth a try!

She concentrated on warm, connecting vibrations, emitting them with such intensity that her companions were affected. “Group hug!” suggested Orogarn Two, with an extra suggestive glance in her direction.

Soregum’s head jerked up, his pale cheeks grew rosier, and his hitherto blank eyes began to sparkle. But then a wave of icy coldness encountered the warmth, and as both fought for predominance in Soregum’s already weakened body, a thick fog seemed to fill his mind. Against the war of the wills of two strong women he had no chance. He collapsed into a slumped position in his uncomfortable seat and murmured, “Two points,” hoping that his announcement would end this internal battle.

Disappointment interrupted Merisu’s concentration; she had not been able to break the spell. This foe was too strong for her – yet. But perhaps Pimpi’s youthful charm and Half-Hobbit cuteness would bring a breath of fresh air into the gloomy hall. She patted her shoulder, smiling encouragingly.