“What I still do not understand,” said Eowyn, coming up beside Thorkell bogsveigir, who was leaning over the wall of the main walkway, gazing down into the clearing below, “is why you threw the knife into the water. Why not just take it back to King Thranduil?”

“The knife? Because…” The Beorning shot her a sidelong glance. “Because I thought,” he said, “that if the ears and the knife were missing, you would assume that it was some matter of honour between two builders. It never occurred to me that your March Warden would make a false confession, thus hanging a sign around Cyllien’s neck, saying, ‘Here is the killer.’”

Eowyn laughed. Then, “What was the real reason, Thorkell?”

“For disposing of the knife?” He shrugged. “Thranduil liked her. I thought that finding out just how crazy she was might put him off his stride.”

“And did the Elvenking appreciate your smoothing the path of his sexual life?”

“Why do you think I am standing out here?”

“He will not dismiss you?” Her voice betrayed genuine concern.

“No,” said Thorkell, airily. “He cannot.”

Eowyn considered his reply for a moment; then the truth dawned upon her, and she laughed. “You already have a pardon!” she cried.