never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thranduil,” the Thief intoned with a cordial smile. It seemed there was no end to the new faces in the Basin, and even if he tried it was unlikely he would ever become acquainted with them all. As much as he kept to himself, he did enjoy meeting his comrades. There had been little opportunity in the past several years of his life for making friends, and even if he did not find himself with an abundance of them now, he did his best to keep the ones he had. Sunlight glanced off the surface of the lake, catching Roland’s eye, and he turned to look out across the water. Yellowed leaves floated in the shallows, yet another reminder that autumn was in full swing and the snow was just around the corner. The Thief could feel the stallion’s eyes upon him still, as persistent as the heat of the sun, and wondered what he might have done to warrant such scrutiny. Did he hold a reputation of being untrustworthy, even to his fellow soldiers? Roland shifted under the gaze, but did not acknowledge it. He was used to suspicion.
The Thief couldn’t help but wonder how others found their way into the life; how they could be coaxed, manipulated, or forced into the unforgiving province of lies and betrayal. It was an ugly thing to walk into willingly, and difficult to embrace. Roland certainly had not chosen that particular path himself, and yet it had been so subtle a transition, from childhood charades to professional charlatan. He would forever hold his father accountable for the initial appeal he’d found in secrecy, and the romanticized idea of a life on the run. It was not a lifestyle of luxury, nor could he often claim his work was justified. Not all who trifled with the art of fraud fueled their actions with good intentions.
He had yet to discover just which side of the spectrum his colleague fell on. But Thranduil had confirmed his assumption, and it explained the searching gaze the stallion held him under, as if hoping to find a chink in the Thief’s armour, a crack in his composure, as if they were playing some duplicitous game. Roland found it amusing, that one might think he had so many dangerous secrets to hide. They were united under a common banner, after all, and fought for the same cause. He could not imagine fighting each other when there were more pressing conflicts elsewhere.
Roland watched the water as it lapped at his hooves and slid across the shore, as if he might find the right words to his next question echoed in a reflection of sky and barren trees. Turning his face out of the wind, he leveled a curious gaze upon Thranduil. “Do you have much experience in the field?” He inquired, determined not to make any assumptions before he received a definite answer. He would have liked to know how long solely to satisfy his interest; had he been raised into habitual dishonesty, knowing nothing else, or had he embraced it? But there were some things the Thief simply couldn’t demand of an acquaintance when they’d only just met.
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