Once more sadness seemed to overwhelm her. Had she only listened to Nogmeldir instead of fighting and insulting him. But she should not let these dire thoughts take over. She needed to be strong. She needed to think of a way out of here. Closing her eyes, she remembered her last dance in the Hall of Fire. Thinking of the lovely warm atmosphere there, the gentle music and beautiful dresses, a smile found its way back onto her lips. The next morning she had arrived in Vidurhal and made breakfast for her small and strange family. Of course Tweggi had been the first to wake up. He was always the first to smell food. (There, she could do it, another smile.) The breakfast had been full of laughter - until, yes, until she had brought up her errand again. All the riding there and back, letters going from Imladris to Vindurhal and back - what was all this about? She could not believe her ears when Nogmeldir told her about the captured elf in Goblin Town.
"How can you sit here and just write letters? How can you not get up and do anything about it? We are five here, strong warriors, too! We can go and free him! He might be being tortured even as we speak! Maybe killed? We have to leave at once!"
One unpleasant and fruitless discussion later, Plinnlim had saddled Rochlim again and off they went. Furiously she had been shaking her head as they were speeding down to the entrances of Goblin town.
Her fury was her friend as she went fighting her way past every single goblin that got into her path. She had run through the rocky cave maze that was called Goblin Town for more than two hours, leaving a trail of stinking goblin blood behind her, taking them all by surprise with her fast arrows. And then she had turned around another corner and faced a larger cave with cages dangling from the corner and a large number of barred dungeons. She had finally found the prison.
When she discovered him, her heart missed a beat. Not only because he was in a terrible state - a very terrible state - but because she knew him well. "Hîr Mirdoron!" she had gasped. "Is that really you, hîr Mirdoron?" He looked up at her and his eyes were shining for the fraction of a second. "Plinnlim! You have come! How many of you are there?" He had glanced into the darkness behind her hopefully. "It is just me, hîr Mirdoron. Fast, step back, I will try to lever out this door!" He had stared at her with his mouth open, and then he understood. "You fool! You must flee! They are far too many to withstand them on our own, Plinnlim!"
But it had been too late. They were pouring out from every passage that lead into the prison cave, uncountable numbers of goblins, bringing giant wargs with them. They swung their spiked clubs and yelled and although Plinnlim moved around like a whirlwind and shot her arrows faster than she ever had in her whole life, it was a hopeless battle.
In the end, she had found herself thrown into the dungeon next to the one hîr Mirdoron was kept in. Furious with herself, she had been shaking the barred door - without any success, of course.
Judging from the times she had been given food in the meantime, two months had passed since them. Without daylight, it was hard telling. It felt like years already. Two months without anything happening. And then this morning, when finally something had happened, it had made things worse. They had come for hîr Mirdoron. They had taken him out of his cell and brought him away. Where to she did not dare guess. Hopefully just into another prison cave. The whispered conversations they had had when their goblin keepers had been busy with their own dreadful meals had kept her sane, but now she was facing - what ever it was that would come - alone. And no matter how hard she tried to conjure happy images, memories from the Hall of Fire - she felt again the sadness and hopelessness creeping over her.
