Feud
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Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,617
Reviews:
413
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Dambeth od Erebor [Erebor's Answer]
by erobey erobey@gmail.com
http://www.feud.shadowess.com
http://www.livejournal.com/users/tawarwaith/
http://www.tawarwaith.com
unbeta'd
Dambeth od Erebor [Erebor's Answer]
For all the uncounted centuries following the Great Journey, before the rising of Ithil and Anor was even imagined, the silvan elves of the Teleri clans had dwelled amid the wooded lands east of the Misty Mountains. During these un-numbered days, no difference of great distinction marked the folk that resided in the vaster sections of the huge forest east of the Anduin and those that made their homes amid the more temperate southern seclusion of the wood betwixt the Celebrant and the Nimrodel. Indeed, for all of the First Age as well they considered themselves one people and the meagre leagues separating the settlements around Amon Lanc from those beneath the Mellyrn were insignificant, not barriers at all.
Converse and trade abounded, they defended one another valiantly, marriages went on as before the long march from Cuivienen, the language of one group was the same for the other, and a growing comprehension of the Spirit of the Great Wood marked the cultures of both colonies equally. They were not then divided, Nandor from Galadhrim, for all were Teleri and belonged to the tribes following the leadership of Thingol, until Dân turned back and a large sector of the population joined him, preferring the secure comfort of the forest and all its many blessings to the unknown dangers and trials of the mountain crossing and the lengthy traverse over the unexplored lands beyond.
That a schism developed could not be denied and the explanation of its cause emphasised this loss of unity, varying widely depending upon whether the query was made in Lothlorien or Greenwood.
Under the canopy of the darkening majesty of Mirkwood's mighty oaks and beeches, the Danwaith had a clear notion of what prompted the alienation and a date in time to go with it. The troubles all began when Celebrimbor fell under the influence of Sauron and forged the three elven rings. Then, comprehending at last the twisted Maia's intent, the master craftsman sought to hide the jewelled vessels of latent power by distributing them among the Noldorin refugees of the War of Wrath and the destruction of Beleriand. To Gil-Galad went Vilya, the ring of air, most potent of the three, for it was said the aquamarine gem housed the very breath of Manwë in its depths. Nenya, the ring of water, the ring of adamant, second in puissance, was entrusted to Galadriel, the daughter of Finarfin, banned from Valinor for her dark deeds upon her journey to Middle-earth. The ring of fire, Narya, was sequestered by Círdan the ship-right, an unlikely Keeper for the red crystal.
Though this was considered the weakest ring by the Noldo King and the golden haired grand-daughter of Olwë, it was the small fiery stone that played the greater part in Sauron's ultimate defeat. Carried by the White Wizard, Narya roused the failing hearts and flagging courage of the Rohirrim at Helm's Deep, rallied the leaderless troops of Gondor during the great battle of the Pelennor Fields, opened the spirits of the remnant armies of the free people to the stirring words and commanding presence of Isildur's heir as he charged the hordes of evil at the gates of Baradûr. This burning flame of ferocious determination leaping up unexpectedly in the souls of the Men of the West deflected Sauron's attention from the path of the Ringbearer inching toward the Cracks of Doom.
Before that day, in the year 1693 of the Second Age, Galadriel and her silvan mate fled from Eregion across the Hithaeglir. Their path carried them to Amroth from whom they begged asylum among the people residing in peaceful harmony with Tawar amid the majesty of Yavanna's exquisite creations. Making much of her kinship to the Teleri through Olwë, something she never did before or later, considering herself a Noldorin princess by virtue of her father's lineage, Nenya's Keeper pleaded with Lothlorien's King and won his favour. Did she assure Amroth that Lorien would have the protection of her new acquisition? Was her use of magic learned at Melian's knees the bargaining piece that earned her a place among the cousins of the elves massacred at Alqualondë?
Indeed, so thought Oropher and Iarwain, and neither were pleased with their silvan kinsman's decision. Long the three leaders argued and debated, trying to find a middle ground upon which to base a continued alliance between their peoples. In the end, Oropher could not forget the tally of bodies that accumulated in the Noldo lady's wake, stating her hands were stained at both the first and the second kinslayings, for none had heard what part she played in the destruction of Doriath. For his part, Amroth would not break a pledge already given, for such would be dishonourable, and demanded proofs of the charges that Oropher could not produce.
The Sinda Lord and the Eldest elder urged the Danwaith to pull back from the southern-most corner of the Greenwood toward the dense cover of the central regions. Many did so, yet not all, for the ties to Lorien could not so easily be broken when families would be sundered, mothers from children and grandchildren. An uneasy truce reigned until the Last Alliance. Then, differences were thrown aside and Oropher rode out with his woodland archers beside the host of the Galadhrim collected under Amroth's banner. Oropher was wrong to depend upon the ancient loyalties and ties of kinship, for Amroth's folk did not come to his aid as the Greenwood's defenders were cut down before the Black Gate.
It was not a fact missed by Thranduil nor one he would be likely to ever forget. Indeed, it was a bitter memory festering in the hearts of many of the Danwaith, for betrayal is not an easy sin to forgive.
With their numbers so drastically reduced, the Wood Elves retreated even further to the north and abandoned any pretence of aid to the humans in the central regions or to the remaining settlement of silvans at Amon Lanc. Thranduil considered these elves citizens of Lorien more than of Greenwood and cared not when the destruction of the Necromancer descended upon the unarmed colony and destroyed it. Though he was loath to have the evil tower of Dol Guldur arise amid the smouldering ruins of the elven city, he knew his forces were insufficient to mount a counter measure and run the vermin out. Lothlorien was unable to help either, having suffered significant losses in the war, and while together the divided Teleri tribes might have bested Sauron's glamhoth, trust had been broken and no accord could be reached. Amroth watched in dread as the black spire protruded above the treetops, providing the Shadow an unobstructed view of the Redhorn Pass and any activity around the gateway to the west through those imposing heights.
But Galadriel kept her word, and the vile followers of Melkor's disciple were unable to pierce the cloak of obfuscation she wove around the Mellyrn Taur.
The final break with Lothlorien happened upon the loss of Amroth early in the Third Age, when Durin's Bane wrought such brutal destruction upon the Golden Wood. By the time Celeborn and his Lady assumed leadership of the Galadhrim, the Wood Elves considered themselves distinct from the People of the Trees. Behind the impenetrable barrier of the Lady's magic, the silvans of the Mellyrn had changed. It was a subtle metamorphosis and slow, yet its effects could not be denied, nor were the Galadhrim against it.
They felt blessed by the presence of the beautiful Keeper of Nenya and eagerly heeded her teachings, altered their ways, adapted their culture. Tawar was replaced by the panoply of Aman, an accent as of Quenya entered the spoken dialect, and a fighting style more reminiscent of Gil-Galad's army developed. Tales and legends from Beleriand and Eldamar replaced the fables of Oromë and Yavanna. The Galadhrim increased their knowledge in all things, and while this is an improvement among any civilisation, yet it lent the hidden realm a bit of snobbery as well. They considered they had advanced while their northern cousins had stayed the same, or worse, reverted to even more primitive philosophies.
Emissaries between the two lands exacerbated the Galadhrim's haughty disdain. Tales came back to Lorien of the rustic talans of the common folk compared to their King's rich luxury; the Wood Elves were no more than serfs of the Sinda Lord. The well equipped warrior's under Celeborn's direction scoffed at the silvan archers' use of stone-tipped arrows while Thranduil's Sindar captains had armour fair and rumoured to be enchanted. The Danwaith's worship of Tawar, in spite of their understanding of the glory of the Powers, depending upon superstition, soothsaying and ancient prophecies, and a plethora of barbaric Laws raised contemptuous sneers from their neighbours to the south. The frequent visits and voluble complaining of Greenwood's less than exemplary Queen did little to enhance perception of her peoples' character and moral stability.
Now such attitudes cannot be blamed on the populace at large, for it was undoubtedly true that Galadriel had no respect for either Ningloriel or Thranduil and Celeborn possessed only a slightly higher tolerance for his distant kinsman than did she.
As the company of soldiers under Haldir's command surveyed the bedraggled and bloodied congregation of Wood Elves collected in the Council Chamber, they made no attempt to hide their aversion to such a display of unruly behaviour and undisciplined vulgarity. The very concept of relying on violence and resorting to infighting, brawling like beasts over a scrap of bone, to settle political differences was absolutely repugnant to the refined sensibilities of the Galadhrim. It was no wonder these backward people could not progress, given this propensity to dissension among themselves.
Grouped in pairs about the huge cavern, Lorien's warriors whispered to one another, pointing out deficiencies among the Greenwood's troops and the weaknesses of her self-proclaimed King. The Council of Elders was scorned, for obviously they had no real power and could not command the respect of the citizenry. The notion of the Tawarwaith made the bold visitors' eyes roll heavenward and spawned pitying leers upon the more vocal Wood Elves proclaiming their devotion to this enigmatic warrior-prophet. A stray snickery snort or two at the Wood Elves' collective expense was not checked.
Gradually, the crowd permitted this open arrogance to distract them from the events in the room's centre. At first, they had been pleased, if somewhat embarrassed, for the timely interruption by the noble Lord of the Golden Wood for the Danwaith held the un-proclaimed King of the Galadhrim in high esteem. Amroth may have failed them, but it was Celeborn the Wise who had convinced Gil-Galad to salvage the fierce bravado of Oropher's host before they were vanquished to the very last elf. The Wood Elves long remembered a wrong unrighted, but equally lengthy was their gratitude for gallant deeds on their behalf. Nonetheless, there is a limit to the amount of insolence a people may countenance from outlanders, especially within the august halls of their seat of governance.
Resentment replaced relief and focused an intense emission of angry attention upon the small clusters of Lorien's fighters scattered in their midst. Just as their loyalty to the Tawarwaith was a unifying force among them, so this lack of respect from the soldiers of Lothlorien rejoined the severed factions. It was one thing to dispute among themselves and with their leaders or take action when demanded, but quite another to have their country's internal affairs so openly derided by these friends of the Noldor. That these foreign elves were now interfering in their Council and the fate of their champion rankled. The Danwaith gathered their resolve.
Unbidden by either Thranduil or Iarwain, Greenwood's soldiers reconfigured their positions, surrounding the small numbers of Galadhrim with the menace of their daunting reproach. The Lorien elves found themselves hemmed in, trapped between a multitude of indignantly wrathful silvans, who had already demonstrated their willingness to strike a neighbour down given enough provocation, and the marginally controlled peril of Thranduil's armed warriors. As Celeborn gently probed the young son of Valtamar's knowledge, his elite company regretted their hasty dismissal of their Mirkwood counterparts.
Now it was certain the wily leaders grouped before the dais realised this readjustment of the Galadhrims' impressions was occurring and no one attempted to interfere. Celeborn the Wise understood the need to reunite the Wood Elves and had no desire to allow the influence of Dol Guldur to spread to the very gates of the stronghold. The son of Oropher was a rogue, in his opinion, but a staunch foe of the Shadow and not easily replaced. His armies were well trained and seasoned veterans, fearless and determined to stave off the encroachment of evil into their world. If Greenwood fell, untold numbers of innocent lives would be lost and the remainder taken prisoner by the Wraiths, subjected to tortures and horrors severe enough to pervert the very nature of the feä. Then, Lothlorien would be next.
Thranduil likewise preferred the coherent support, even if born of stubborn pride rather than sincere respect, of his lowly subjects to the mutiny so recently suppressed. He did not really care what Celeborn's motives might be, it was plain enough the kinslayer's mate was not prepared to abet the overthrow of Oropher's House. Even Iarwain did not want the Lady of Light overseeing Greenwood's affairs, no matter how much he might wish for Thranduil to vanish. For Radagast, such machinations were a bore, but he merely gave an internal sigh, for thus had Iluvatar designed the First-born, and the wizard would not gainsay his Maker's purpose.
Thus, Thranduil once more had his leadership validated and came just short of gloating over it.
"Then," spoke Celeborn, "this emerging prophet and the condemned archer are one and the same elf?"
"Indeed," spoke Thranduil, noting his visitor's perplexed expression. "The outcast kinslayer has become the peoples' champion. And neither is their opinion unwarranted, for the Tawarwaith has displayed a deep commitment to ridding our homeland of the Darkness that ever looms, while diligently seeking to alleviate the disgrace placed upon his fallen comrades. I allowed old grudges to obscure my comprehension and initially believed Tirno was part of a foreign endeavour to weaken my Kingdom. While it has been proved such was the intent of Imladris, no assistance to such treachery would Legolas lend, and he has come to further harm for his loyalty. I believe his actions today were prompted by loss of reason due to overwhelming sorrow. He has become obsessed with completing the Tasks of Release and will brook no rescinding of the Judgement."
The King blatantly played to his peoples' emotional attachment to their wild, unacknowledged prince, and they fairly loved him for it. This was exactly what they wished to hear, and if he had not yet claimed the Tawarwaith as his offspring, surely it was but a matter of time and the proper moment that delayed the proclamation. The ugly image of Thranduil holding the dripping dagger receded under this new portrayal of contrite and grateful appreciation for their Tirno.
Lindalcon's jaw gaped to hear these words and he was literally struck dumb by the audacity of such speech and the willingness of the population to accept it.
"For my part, I have no wish to further hamper his heroic efforts in Greenwood's defence and would fain ally the unconventional warrior to my Realm. Even more, through the tragedy of Erebor has arisen the delight of my heart: my new-born heir and his sister. A father feels the need to express gratitude, thus was the sentence to be lifted. Yet, all this may become moot, for Legolas has chosen a path that leads only to his certain death."
"The Guardians of the Gates!" a female cried out in misery, and the congregation gasped and moaned, chattering in anxious fragments of speculative terror. Likewise the Galadhrim grew uneasy and shifted in discomfort, whispering together, for the tales told of this King's sorcery were legendary. But among the Greenwood's warriors few believed it likely the unhoused ones could hinder the Tawarwaith, and argued this opinion emphatically.
"Is this true," Celeborn blurted as his eyes grew wide in shock, "the rumour spread far and wide of captured souls that seek to steal the body of any that venture uninvited to your vaults?" Honestly he did not expect Thranduil to freely admit that such was the case.
"It is," spoke Oropher's youngest boldly. What use was there in denying what the outcast's absconded hroa would reveal soon enough? "I have need of their protection, for the concept of the Dark Lord sending some well disguised spy into my homeland has long been a concern of mine. I have not his Ring, but he does not know that. Long has he yearned to learn what I do and do not possess, one way or another." Thus the King justified his use of powers usually reserved for the Maiar and satisfied his peoples' desire to understand his insistence that the vaults should not be searched.
"The ultimate disposition of unhoused feär falls under the auspices of Námo; this is the will of Iluvatar. By what right have you done this thing?" demanded Aiwendil in horrified outrage. Gossip was open to doubt, hearing the Sinda's own voice confirming the tales so tacitly, as though such a procedure was a common means of protecting personal property, demanded censure.
"By the right of responsibility, both to these lands and its people, by the obligation of lordship and by debts of blood owed unto my House. Eru gave us this Middle-earth and then permitted the Powers to abandon us, never explaining the purpose of our dual halves: imperishable flame cloaked in fragile flesh. Iluvatar has forgotten the folk of the forest and the Valar cower in their palaces amid the perfection of Aman."
The Wood Elves murmured their agreement with this reasoning; no help could they depend on even among elf-kind and to expect the Lords of the West to aid them was unimaginable. For all his flaws, Thranduil had stuck by them when he could have abandoned the forest folk at the end of the Second Age.
"I have taken whatever measures necessary to ensure the safety of this Realm. Do not pretend ignorance of the source of vitality in the elven rings, wizard! My methods may be different but the result is the same, for the identical substance supplies the strength of these various implements. You do not chastise Galadriel or Elrond for manipulating such tokens, why should the Wood Elves be left to suffer the cursed Shadow, exposed and vulnerable? Are the moriquendi so much less dear to Iluvatar's heart than the Noldor?"
"Nay, do not make such bold challenges to the One; all, First-born and Second, Aulë's children and even the voiceless things of the world, all are beloved of Eru. And your supposition is incorrect; the elven rings harness and magnify the Music itself, not individual notes within it," argued Aiwendil.
"And how can that be done? I say to you, no Song can be sung without the single tones combined to form its melodies. You should simply ask Galadriel what is held bound in Nenya's crystal planes; that is if you trust her to be truthful in answer!"
"Daro! I will not hear my beloved defamed and mocked by anyone!" warned Celeborn.
"I beg pardon," said Thranduil, turning to his kinsman with a deep bow. "I meant not to imply the Lady of Light would choose to misspeak, merely that she may feel it best to remain silent, believing that the fewer beings in possession of such knowledge, the better will matters be for all."
"It is so," admitted Celeborn, and bowed in turn. "I hold no grudge against you. As to the nature of the gems; even I do not have insight into this, though I was in Eregion when Celebrimbor wrought them. Nor have I deemed it necessary to press Nenya's Keeper for the information. You believe fallen souls are housed therein?"
"I do, most likely Noldor kinslayers and oathbreakers, for such is the way in binding. A blood debt must be owed. For such, incarceration is generally preferred over facing Námo while their sins are still fresh. If I do not have the right to determine how a debt owed to my House shall be paid, then who does have it? The Valar care not for the sundering of child from parent, brother from brother. It is of no importance to them, the suffering of Eru's children, and they do nothing."
Again the citizens resonated approval for such sentiments. Long had the silvans settled such debts in their own manner without need of consultation with the Powers.
"You are wrong, Thranduil son of Oropher!" claimed Aiwendil. "Furthermore, you have perverted a holy and compassionate liturgy, meant to grant peaceful rest to wandering feär, into a selfish scheme to garner greater control over the hearts and wills of the silvan people. This is a serious error! You dare to place yourself level with the Valar?"
"I do dare it, for if I am lesser than they in substance I am easily their better in devotion to my duty. I am not the one who has deserted these lands and forsaken her people. If Námo is so jealous for these lost souls, let him come and claim them!"
"Such profane speech will needs be answered! In your prideful rationalisations, you have taunted the Vala second only to Manwë! I caution you, Thranduil, to undo this atrocity against nature!" boomed Aiwendil furiously, his grip upon his staff firm as the top end gave off an incandescent glow of crimson heat.
"You do not hold jurisdiction in Greenwood, wizard! If Eru sees everything, then let him be my judge rather than Námo. Still, should the Powers care to chastise me for my beliefs, it shall be easy for them to locate me. I am here, now, and so shall I be until the end of things. Greenwood shall never be defeated nor the Wood Elves neglected to fend for themselves while I still breathe!"
"And you believe the way to ensure this is to set a sentient shield about your horde?" Radagast asked in dry disapproval. "That is safe while everyday Orcs let silvan blood to nourish the Greenwood's roots and darker grows your forest."
"The wealth of the Woodland Realm is needed for her defence!" Thranduil thundered, face stained a florid scarlet under the implication of personal avarice.
"Peace!" Celeborn cautioned in a voice steeped with the timbre of disappointment over his kinsman's blatant manipulation of forces he failed to respect and appreciate. "I do not wish to discuss the worth of the Keep's contents. I would hear the condition of this outcast warrior. Radagast, would you please go check on his health, and of the two elves who went to his aid?"
The wizard gave a curt nod to Celeborn and a dreadful scowl to Thranduil and turned to go, but before he had taken a step bustling agitation among the soldiers still milling near the interior exits garnered everyone's attention.
"That will not be necessary, Lord," a female voice floated out from this zone and all heads craned to see the healer's re-entry into the Chamber of Starlight. Abruptly she halted and with undisguised disbelief stared at the numerous elves sporting ripped and ruined garments, bruised and bloodied faces, favouring sore arms or ribs, or pressing soaking handkerchiefs over crooked noses to stem flowing nostrils. "By Elbereth, what has happened?"
"Gladdie! Is Legolas well?" implored Lindalcon and hurried to her as she approached.
"Nay, not well, but when has he been thus over these last twenty or so years? Fie, even longer has it been that he has suffered deeply! He will recover from the injury to his shoulder, however."
"And the spirits?" queried Iarwain.
"I know not," the healer shrugged. "They were not there once I entered. I had to secure light and supplies first." But she shuddered over the memory of their hair-lifting presence enveloping her even from the stairway landing above the anteroom.
"What do you mean, 'not there'?" demanded Thranduil in alarm. "They cannot leave without a host to bear them! Where is the outcast?"
"In the Vestibule with Fearfaron," she answered warily. "He is resting, for blood loss was significant. I left them only to secure blankets and reassure Lindalcon of his status."
"Valar! Did you not perceive a change in him?" the King demanded but turned to Celeborn before awaiting the reply. "He is possessed, even as I feared! That is why I set guards over my private apartments."
"He did not appear unusual in any way, to me," declaimed Gladhadithen uncomfortably. In reality, however, she had no idea how to determine the state of a being's soul. Her expertise involved the hroa, not the feä.
"Let us not make assumptions without evidence," remarked Aiwendil. "I can easily determine if he has acquired any unwanted 'guests' and force them out if so."
"I will accompany you," asserted Lindalcon firmly.
"Nay, remain here. I promise to return as soon as I am sure of the matter. You must handle the other issues," the Istar instructed the chagrined youth.
"Aye, go quickly, mellon," urged Celeborn and Aiwendil hurried after the healer's lead, for he had not been in the bowels of the stronghold before. "Why would these unhoused ghosts seek to harm your family?" the Lord of Lothlorien asked of his kinsman pointedly. "If you are their Keeper, would they not seek to punish you instead?"
"Manwë's Wind! Do not be obtuse!" the King railed, terrified both to have the souls' identities become known and for his elflings to suffer. "I can defend myself against this forest warrior easily enough while my innocent babes are helpless. The spirits have no wish to lose their host but every desire to avenge themselves. What better way than to destroy those I love, for surely this would put an end to my existence also."
"I realise your distress is great, yet I would request your refrain from derogation. I am here out of concern for you and for your people," Celeborn's voice was frosty and brittle.
"Fine, fine; as you say," the monarch brushed the reprimand aside, more concerned over his offspring. "I must go and determine that Talagan is apprised of the situation and has every entry to the apartments well covered." Thranduil did not wait for any acknowledgement and indeed was already striding for the exit as he spoke.
This left Celeborn, Iarwain, Haldir, and Lindalcon alone in the centre of the room amid the uncertain and uneasy populace. Before they had time to do more than raise a low hum of indecipherable conversing, the Lord of the Golden Wood seized the opportunity to increase his knowledge.
"Tell me of Erebor," he asked the young elf gently, "at least, as much as you can."
Instantly the onlookers quieted.
"I know next to nothing and far too much," replied Lindalcon moodily. "I see my father's struggle and his gruesome end, but nothing of Legolas' part in it."
"In reverie you endure this?" Haldir was immediately sympathetic, having experienced similar torments after his parents' deaths.
"Aye. My father's feä wanders and seeks me, tries to impress upon me that the real story has never come to light, emphatically leaves behind the notion that he will never be free of his cursed limbo until the full account is made. I understand Legolas' worry for our siblings, but I feel he is mistaken in how to protect them."
The March Warden opened his mouth to address this statement, for he found Lindalcon's view much as was his, and he had been terribly wrong. Before he could begin, he was cut off by the Eldest.
"True, for no one can rule the fates besides Manwë, and even he is subject to Iluvatar," averred Iarwain sagely. "We gathered this day to hear Maltahondo's testimony of events from Legolas' perspective, high above the battle ground on the isolated ridge. Mayhap we should proceed as planned." The cunning councillor was eager to have a turn at interrogating the corpsman without the Sinda monarch present, convinced all the former guardian had relayed to him earlier was a farce.
"Aye!" Lindalcon gave a brisk nod to emphasise his concurrence. "Let us have Malthen's speech."
"Agreed, I think most would have this witness testify," Celeborn said, turning to the assembly searchingly. His gaze found the battered soldier though he was scarcely recognisable as the disciplined guardian that shadowed Ningloriel's every move while in Lorien. "Maltahondo, come forward and relate what you have to add concerning the mistakes made at Erebor."
Every eye turned to seek the corpsman, still huddled dejectedly near the far wall of the cavern, nursing his bruised abdomen and staring blankly upon the visiting Lord through one dark brown orb, the other being sealed shut under purple lids swollen tight due to contusion. Stilted was his progress as he moved out toward the dais and strange was the deja vu he experienced as the crowd parted to allow his passage. He reached the centralised knot of relevant figures and paused awkwardly.
"Forgive me, Lord Celeborn, but I can make no statement to this Council," the warrior's words were barely audible as he folded down in a painful bow.
"Nonsense! You will speak!" commanded Iarwain.
"Legolas bade me be silent; his wish I shall respect."
"Oh that is rich!" sneered Lindalcon. "Dare you utter the word, considering your acts?"
"Aye, for once do as you should for our Tawarwaith!" shouted an angry silvan archer as he tried to get through the crowd and reach the contemptible elf.
"You are foul! Orcs would not claim you for kin!" a Sinda soldier shrieked, pointing.
"Speak of your treachery, we already know you are behind it!" this from one of Talagan's own lieutenants.
"Silence! Be at peace!" commanded Aiwendil, returning from the Vaults at this juncture. He moved swiftly through the crowd and resumed his place at Lindalcon's side. "Enough violence has transpired here this day. Think on what serves Legolas in this contention and cease at once."
The soldiers grumbled but could not argue that the wizard was right. No wish had they to undo their communal vow to protect the fallen prince from additional humiliation and degradation.
"How fares our Tirno?" demanded a silvan citizen.
"No invasion of his being can I detect; he is in complete command of all his faculties and his hroa. The carpenter is watching over him."
A raucous outpouring of gratified exclamations filled the room as the Woodland folk professed their relief over their champion's disposition.
High above them in the uppermost chambers of the mountain fortress, Thranduil burst into his wife's rooms, short of wind for having run the stairs by twos and threes, frenzied over the low wailing emitted from his tiny son's weary body, for the infant had begun crying anew. The King found his family gathered in the consort's study. There Talagan was seated on the floor before the fire, trying to distract Gwilith with a board game as Meril paced the room, the bawling heir tight against her shoulder.
"What is amiss?" she queried immediately, shocked at Thranduil's dishevelled appearance and bloodied face. Talagan had said nothing about the near overthrow and the apartment was too far above the ground level Council room to allow her to hear what went on within it. More than worry over her mate lit her eyes, for she feared the guards were there to prevent her departure rather than to protect her children from dangerous intruders.
"Ada!" cried Gwilwileth and leaped from the floor to race into her father's outstretched arms. "You are hurt! What happen? Orcs coming here? We going into the black tubes? Where Lindalcon an' Limlas? Tauron not stop crying and I want him to!"
"Nay, sell dithen [little daughter] do not be afraid; no Orcs are coming here. I had a clumsy accident, that is all. It is not so bad, not really; just a bump and a cut, nothing more. Tomorrow both will be healed." Thranduil tried to console his fair princess, gathering her close against his shoulder so he could tuck her copper ringlets under his chin and squeeze her tight. His eyes sought Meril's over their first-born's head. "How is Taurant this day?"
"As you may observe, he is miserable! Indeed, he will not nurse and though he wails, yet he is listless and weak. Whatever is going on in the Council is not to his liking!" the Royal Consort hissed, but her eyes betrayed that the aggravated tone of an affronted heart carried in the words was a sham.
"I believe you are wrong," murmured Thranduil, and a strong pang gripped his heart to see his beloved nearly quaking for terror of what he planned to do to her. She truly believes I would allow harm to befall her. How little has she appreciated my love to think this possible. "The Council is setting right the hasty assignment of guilt at Erebor. A charge so grave should never have been decided on the field under the conditions that day. The Judgement will be lifted, but that is not what frightens my son."
"Why is Talagan here?" Meril demanded shrilly and her distress raised her children's anxiety ten-fold. "It has to do with the outcast; I know it! Who will bear the blame for Erebor if not Ningloriel's child? What tales have been told within the starlit chamber below?"
Gwilith's head pivoted between her parents in dread, for never had they spoken to one another with such rancour before, and with a tearful whimper she hid her face against her father's shoulder and wept.
"Hush, hush now, Echuiross!" he consoled the toddler soothingly and gently rubbed her back, shooting his mate a scathing glare of reproof. "All will be well, do not fret! Talagan is here to make sure everyone is safe, that is all. There was a rumour of some malice afoot, but no harm can find you here while my worthy friend guards the rooms."
"Aye, worry not; I will stay and ensure personally that none save you shall enter," asserted Talagan. "What news of Tirno?"
"Aiwendil is trying to determine this as I am here checking that every precaution has been made."
"So, you accept that I was right all along," Meril could not help tossing her head in indignation. "It is his arrival you dread, is it not?"
"Nay," Thranduil stared at her with icy fury. "It would not be him. I am convinced Legolas has no desire to harm his brother and sister. There are others, as you are aware, who would not be so kindly disposed."
At this Meril caught her breath and clutched her babe closer against her breast, eyes and lips wide in amazement. Never had she heard Thranduil speak the outcast's name or claim him so openly.
"What wrong, Ada?" Gwilith implored, her brother's name spoken in these terms of dissension generating fresh panic. "Limlas come here?"
"Nay, hen lend [sweet child], not this day. Another time, mayhap, for Limlas is resting and the healer has sent Fearfaron to watch over him. He is not feeling well today and got hurt, too." Before he had finished speaking, Taurant suddenly ceased his wretched lament and expelled a whispery sigh prior to lapsing into sleep. Thranduil shared a smile of encouragement with Gwilith and set her down upon her feet again. "You see? Taurant is trying to tell us not to worry. Everything will be fine, sell nîn. [my daughter]" He bent to give her a final hug and kiss before facing his trusted captain. "Remain on guard, mellon brûn [old friend]," the King commanded gravely.
"I will," Talagan replied and held out his hand to Gwilith, guiding her back to their hearth-side game.
Thranduil advanced to Meril and she recoiled a few steps before mastering her dread, resuming respiration when her husband only stooped down to lay a light kiss upon his youngest's crown of fluffy gilded locks.
Thranduil graced his wife with a final mournful glance and left the room. Silence reigned in the deserted corridors and he met only his most loyal guards as he descended to the lower levels. Once within the central hallway leading off from the Council Chamber he was able to discern voices and the topic of the conversation prompted him into a run. The hearing had resumed in his absence.
"That is well," remarked Lindalcon as soon as the volume of speech fell lower. "Yet we must hear the truth finally. I bid you, Maltahondo, to reply to our questions not with the plot agreed upon between the King and yourself under the duress of incarceration and punishment. Answer what is real, what resides in your memory of that day. Please."
The quiet desperation in Lindalcon's voice moved everyone to compassion and several voices bolstered his request.
"Impudent upstart! How dare you impugn my methods of discovering the facts?" growled Thranduil, bursting into the chamber just as the youth's defaming words met the free air of the space. He shoved his way brusquely through the throng to reach the former usurper and once more found Haldir blocking the way.
"Far! [Enough!]" groused Aiwendil and lifted his staff to forestall further argument between the King and his consort's son. "We will cover that charge at some other time."
"We shall do nothing of the sort, for I shall address it now!" Thranduil's eyes flashed with livid wrath over the Istar's presumptive dismissal of Lindalcon's effrontery. "Is this Greenwood or Rhosgobel? Here the will of Oropher and the Council of Elders holds sway, not the Brown Wizard or the White Council. None have leave to over-rule what has been sanctioned under our sovereign laws."
"That may be, yet the Messengers of Aman will not be hindered by any Realm, be it of elves, dwarves, or men," Aiwendil replied staunchly. "This controversy must be untangled, to this you must acquiesce having called for the hearing this day rather than wait for less turbulent times, and lesser grievances must be set aside until it is accomplished. If in my eagerness to advance this cause I have given offence; then I humbly beg pardon."
Thranduil's jaw was set and his glare unrelenting, but he could hardly retort when the Maia's words were accurate and ended in apology. He wished for the completion of the trial, more so than any other present in the room, and so after mulling over the formal words of atonement he gave a slight nod.
"Mayhap you are right," he ventured to say more calmly while simultaneously regarding Maltahondo with open loathing worked upon his noble features. "Lindalcon's opinion is of no consequence, after all. It is more important to be done with this false Judgement. What of Legolas and the unhoused ones?"
"He is not possessed. No indication of them could I find, and he is safe in his foster-father's care. A most extraordinary tale Fearfaron reported, yet that must also be saved for other venues than this."
The King's vision snapped back to the Maia's face upon hearing these words and saw within the piercing remonstrance of those ebony eyes that the wizard understood all. A deep breath he drew to steady his reeling senses, for if the Tawarwaith was not inhabited and the three feär were no longer in the Vestibule, then Legolas must have determined how to free them. Thranduil blinked, stupefied, for while there had been blood aplenty to coat the key, he could not comprehend how the outcast would know the emancipating words.
Celeborn and Haldir exchanged concerned glances over the strange concentration between the two and Celeborn cleared his throat.
"Another feat of valour to add to the Tawarwaith's list of exploits, then, alongside the tale of baiting the Wraiths and the luring of Orcs to their deaths in great fields of pits. Aye, such stories have reached the ears of the Galadhrim," he nodded as murmuring surprise, definitely pleased and proud, whispered through the room. "But Aiwendil is right; let us have that narration another day. For now, let the guardsman make his case."
"Consider your words carefully, Maltahondo," threatened the Sinda Lord, "but speak you must."
As for Malthen, he had not been paying attention to the unspoken conversation between his Lord and the Istar, for he could do naught but stare into the sullen features of his comrade's only son. He had respected Valtamar and counted him a friend in life. Indeed, Lindalcon was so much the image of his father now that it was impossible not to feel a sharp stab of regret for the horrid end that warrior had courageously faced. A deep compassion for the grieving child left behind, orphaned, fatherless, forced to give up his true calling in exchange for the privilege of his chosen brother's company, filled the disgraced guardsman. He understood that Lindalcon was cognisant of his affair with Legolas and despised him for it, yet despite this the youth had risked injury to extricate Malthen from the violence of the incensed warriors, and likely saved his life.
Thus is his character consistent with his physical appearance; in all ways he favours Valtamar.
The corpsman made his decision, reluctant to disobey his former charge but finding himself in agreement with the councillor's apprentice. Lying about Erebor would grant no guarantee to the youngest siblings' happiness.
"I will tell you what I recall, but I fear it is very minor. I have not the remedy for this puzzle."
Maltahondo took a deep breath and held it a moment, noting how loud was its expiration within the absolutely soundless room. Every ear was attuned to his slightest utterance and all attention documented each nuance of movement and demeanour.
The Wood Elves collectively refrained from suspiration as the seconds swiftly raced away, awaiting at last the resolution of the most terrible event endured among them since the tragedy of the Last Alliance.
"We were concentrating on the canyon floor, watching for any chance to bring down the Goblin King. Legolas was so tense he was shaking, though that may have been rage, for he watched as our troops were being obliterated. Our company was reduced by a third in mere minutes. I think…I believe he wanted to kill those goblin guards, but he did not."
"What prompts such a speculation?" asked Iarwain.
"It is intuition; long have I known Legolas." the guardsman winced as a deriding snort arose from among the soldiers. "Plus, he cursed vilely as he watched the battle, and twice fought the urge to loose his arrow. That much I can attest to without compunction. He truly believes he should have acted, and in failing to do so caused the warriors their lives."
"What do you believe?" queried Celeborn.
"It was not his decision to make," Malthen shook his head. "He was untried in battle before that day, though he fought well enough under the shelter of the trees. He did all that was in his power to do without defying the orders and plans of his commander. Perhaps if I had counselled him, he may have chosen a different course. But I did not. I did nothing."
"That is a lie!" shouted Thranduil. "I charge you under the strain of your oath as a warrior and the blood-debt that binds you to Legolas' service to speak the truth! Admit it! You caused the fall of rocks that struck him just at the moment when victory was at hand!"
"Gwarth! [Betrayer!]" bellowed a silvan swordsman. "I name you Morn-gûreb! [Black-hearted]"
"Aye, confess your wrongs that day, for we know worse about you!" a Sinda spearman concurred and in no time the whole of the Greenwood's troops were clamouring for the banishment of the detestable guardian.
"Peace! Peace!" called Iarwain stridently. "Let the inquiry continue! If he is false he will reveal himself; if he is guilty the Council will punish him."
"Be cautious of whose cause you abet, Elder," Thranduil warned. "This is not an elf worthy of your protection."
"I understand the source of your abhorrence and desire for vengeance," noted the Eldest as he calmly met his liege lord's infuriated expression. "Yet still what happened on the ridge is separate from these other crimes. Only one issue may be resolved at a time if justice would be served."
"Justice!" Now it was Lindalcon who sneered at his mentor in undisguised indignation. "When has this Council ever treated Legolas justly? Nay, we must hear it all not to satisfy some lofty concept which you daily denigrate by plotting and scheming solely for your own benefit. Mention not your interpretation of fairness here! Maltahondo must be allowed to continue in order to dispel the tormented misery of the Lost Warriors, and of Legolas."
The rumbling hum of the citizens' agreement reinforced Lindalcon's vehement statement and Celeborn raised his hand wordlessly to signal silence. When the assembly hushed, he turned again to the witness.
"How do you plead to your King's charge? Did you cause the failure of Legolas that day?"
"If by that you mean did I wilfully attempt to divert his aim and mar his skill, then nay; of that I am not guilty," the corpsman proclaimed.
"You cannot believe him; his very breath manifests deceit!" claimed a shrill female voice and Ben'waeth stepped out of the crowd and strode to the centre of the conflict. "I will swear here and now that he has defied his oath to Ningloriel and to her son, despite the doom such dishonour bodes! He is wholly devoid of conscience!"
"Be silent!" urged Thranduil, wild-eyed for fear she was prepared to disclose the defilement of the outcast for all to know. Well did he appreciate this elleth's predilection for gossip and nosiness, and her long acquaintance with Meril. And once begun, there was no telling how much her narrative would divulge or whom she might implicate with her loose tongue.
Celeborn's eyes narrowed as he surveyed this exchange, sensing at once that some darker secret lay buried which the King desired to keep hidden, so burdened with dread was Thranduil's manner. A brief scrutiny of the Eldest, Aiwendil, and Lindalcon told the silvan Lord that these three likewise were aghast to have this unforeseen source of information come forward. What more Legolas might have suffered Celeborn could not imagine, for he had already departed the borders of the Golden Wood ere the message from his grandsons arrived at Caras Galadhon.
"I will gladly remain quiet," Ben'waeth snapped back, hands on hips as she glared up at the monarch defiantly, "if you will ask him. Go on! Ask him if he has ever betrayed Ningloriel! Demand his account of how he cared for her child!"
Once more the congregation subsided into tense silence as focus pinpointed the King and this servant of his House.
Thranduil was spared from responding to this challenge, however, for Maltahondo groaned aloud and buried his head in his hands, swaying as though he must collapse upon the floor.
"It is so," the muffled syllables slipped between his fingers. "I was no guardian to either of them. I have deepened the debt owed by my lineage a thousand fold, for I was charged with the care of innocents and betrayed that trust. I do not seek to hide my shame. Willingly I will face whatever punishment my actions warrant, even if that be death."
"Stop trying to minimise your doom by this pretence of contrition! It is far too late in the day for such ploys to work!" Lindalcon balled his hands into fists and had to be restrained by Aiwendil to prevent an attack upon the corpsman. "I yanked you from death by pummelling for one purpose only, and that was to hear your version of Erebor's battle. Now you have turned everyone's mind from that horror and I will not suffer it! I lost my father and I would know why!"
"So be it!" ground out Malthen through clenched jaws, still covering his countenance in mortification for his deeds. Minutes passed by as he attempted to regain composure and continue his elocution. At last he drew a heaving lung's worth and lowered his hands from his tear streaked visage.
"I do accept the fault for the losses at Erebor, for this reason. I was not paying attention to the ridge at our backs, as was my duty. I was charged not only with supplying Legolas' ammunition but with his protection should our position be compromised. In this I most certainly failed, for I did not see the enemy that loosed those rocks."
"Are you saying it was not your hand that initiated the cascade?" Iarwain asked a second time, for the Record.
"Nay, I did not. Yet I was negligent in permitting any foe to get that close and placed the mission in peril. Indeed, my lack of vigilance ruined any chance of Legolas' success, and ultimately resulted in those needless deaths, for I say to you honestly he would never have missed that shot otherwise. Nor could he recover fast enough to repeat the move under the attack that followed."
Thranduil exhaled a relieved sigh, for this would suffice. No one else could dispute Maltahondo's claim, for no other had been present. Meril's name would never be linked to these egregious atrocities and none would hold Legolas accountable for the deaths any longer.
"Hold, I recall that Mithrandir stated no goblins had reached the ridge," said Lindalcon, perplexed.
"What?" Thranduil stared at him, dumbfounded. This was not the source of such argument he would have expected. "A wizard has not the sight of eldar nor was the ridge his principle object of observation. Mithrandir cannot be certain; he may have missed the moment when the vile spawn of Melkor slinked into position, unheeded."
"Indeed?" asked Celeborn and his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked about amid the throng, searching. "Where is Mithrandir? I had assumed he would also be here for he has a way of turning up when crisis foments."
"And so he is," confirmed Aiwendil. "He and Aragorn are watching over Erestor, awaiting his recovery in the Tawarwaith's talan."
"Aragorn! Here?" Celeborn was astonished for the Dunedain's presence had been completely obscured, not only from his perception but from the oracle of Galadriel's mirror as well. More, he was rather shamed for having completely forgot about the seneschal from Imladris in all the excitement of the unsuccessful coup, unhoused feär, and the ensuing hearing.
"What ails Erestor?" demanded Haldir, likewise eager to correct the oversight of failing to learn the advisor's whereabouts. "I am brother to his mate and would know of this at once."
"Really? Of which; I hear he has three," sniped Thranduil derisively, though he knew full well Haldir was the brother of Orophin. He was pleased to see evidence that he had got under the cool March Warden's skin as the Galadhrim warrior turned the unmistakable shade particular to boiled beets and took a step forward to answer the slur, only to have his Lord's arm block his advance. The Sinda monarch ignored Celeborn's admonishing scowl.
"Erestor was subjected to the Enchanted River and this is my doing, though I never intended such a disaster. He lies deep in slumber until the magic wears off. No other harm should result. Except he may not have all his memories intact when he awakes," explained Lindalcon disconsolately.
"My Lord, I would like to go verify this with my own eyes, for Orophin and Dambethnîn are beside themselves in agitation over his fate," pleaded the March Warden.
Gladhadithen, Aiwendil, and Lindalcon simultaneously recoiled in misery to hear these words.
Celeborn noticed and passed an inquiring gaze to the Istar, who sighed and shook his head.
"The seneschal will be fine, Haldir," Radagast said in soul-weary tones. "Mithrandir will send Aragorn to tell us should he rouse before the Council concludes. Be at peace for his welfare; he has not been ill-treated. At least, not more than he deserved."
"What are you implying?" demanded Haldir angrily.
"Daro!" ordered Celeborn. "I trust to Aiwendil in this matter and so shall you. There is nothing hinted; he has said the seneschal earned some of his misfortune and so it may be. Until it is proven false, I accept the wizard's evaluation. There let it rest."
Chastened but disgruntled, Haldir relented and let the issue drop, sending the Wood Elves' King a smouldering look promising suitable retaliation for the insult to his brother at the first possible moment.
"Another unfortunate tale to relate, but at some other time," droned out Iarwain. "If we might return to the Erebor situation? I feel confident that enough evidence has arisen to cast doubt over the validity of the Judgement pronounced upon Legolas. If there are no objections, I would confer with my fellow Council members that a decision may be announced."
"So noted!" declared Thranduil gleefully, grinning at Fêrlass.
"Nay!" called out Lindalcon. "Nothing has been explained! I have not heard who this enemy is that wrought my Ada's demise. This hearing shall not conclude until that is revealed."
Now once more all fell under the cloak of worried assonance as the raw pain of the warrior's surviving descendant overshadowed the relief to have their champion cleared.
"Lindalcon, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether the Judgement was warranted, not necessarily to uncover the cause of the rock-fall," Iarwain reminded calmly. "We may yet investigate the possible factors responsible for your father's death, but that is separate from the retraction of the Tawarwaith's conviction."
"There may be no way of learning what you seek, Lindalcon," warned Aiwendil carefully. "If the perpetrator was concealed during his cowardly deeds, how shall anyone testify to his identity?"
"Nor does having this information guarantee that your Adar's feä will find rest," added Haldir softly.
"True," agreed Celeborn, "yet completing the picture often allows the heart to stop reliving the scenes. If we can aid Lindalcon in doing that I am sure none would object to a little more effort. There may be evidence that has escaped notice because it did not appear worthy of mentioning. Oft is it the case that error is the result of something so ordinary that it goes overlooked." He graced Thranduil with a piercing stare, for he was certain the Sinda was holding back, and transferred the same discerning scrutiny to Maltahondo. The corpsman dropped his eyes at once, unable to endure the unspoken accusation.
"Verily, there is something more," Celeborn fumed in vexation and paced across the floor before the dais a few times.
"I tend to agree, Lord, but no others among our folk were there," Iarwain concurred morosely.
"Ah!" Haldir exclaimed, "the humans may have seen what happened." He had suddenly recalled the woodsmen in the courtyard, patiently waiting their chance to speak on Legolas' behalf. As the trial had not seemed to require it, their presence had been neglected.
"Mortals!" Thranduil audibly groaned. "What can they behold that elven eyes could not? This is a pointless waste of time, besides they reside in Laketown and to call them hence would engender a delay of at least five days."
"Not so, for two of those worthy fighters migrated to the woodsmen's settlement in the central forest near the Gladden Fields. They are outside with the rest of my warriors awaiting the opportunity to speak. Even if what the say is not definitive, what harm can come of it?" demanded Celeborn testily. "If there is any chance they witnessed the ill-fated event, it behoves us to hear it. Do you prefer having an un-named enemy dogging your troops and hindering your best archers?"
"Please, I would hear these humans' words," pleaded Lindalcon, turning to Aiwendil to affirm his request.
"Let them enter, Thranduil. No doubt they feel a connection to Legolas, too, for he has been their champion all these long years of his exile. Would you turn away a chance to strengthen ties with those that dwell on the fringes of the forest?" Radagast asked.
"Perhaps it would be wise to allow this additional testimony. If we do not let them make their statements, forever will there be those who claim this trial was biased and justice befouled. What the eldar decree has about it the brand of eternity; let us then take care in what we propose for the Record of our history." Iarwain offered his thoughts.
"Far! You were not careful when you made the Judgement," hissed Lindalcon. "Why did you care so little for the facts then? Valar! I resign my apprenticeship, for I will not trade my convictions for the false gilding of personal status. Give me a bow and a sword; let me defend those that I love for no greater distinction could I desire."
"Well said, mellon," Haldir gripped the youth's shoulder in support, for he felt a strong affinity with Lindalcon's lot in life. "Yet now let the woodsmen come forward and mayhap some peace shall return to your dreams."
"Fine! Bring forth your human friends," snapped the King. He was growing increasingly resentful of all the foreign interference in his Realm's affairs. "If this will speed the process and allow the Council to render their decision without qualms, then let it be so." It mattered not; they could not even be aware of Meril's existence.
Solemnly the Men walked through the columned arches of the Chamber of Starlight, preceded by two of the Galadhrim, grimly determined to show forth their worthiness and do right for their peoples' sake and for that of their feral atheling. Heavy on their hearts was the serious nature of the proceedings in which they would take part, and the sense of stepping into a place apart from the rest of Arda, yet strangely central to its well-being, could not be shaken. Daunting it was to stride unwavering amid this host of First-born, a forest of elegant forms, faces fair and bright-eyed but stern, staring upon them in silent evaluation, marking them as they passed.
The woodsmen could not help but note the tattered disarray of recent strife, and strived to keep their astonishment from showing in their eyes. They had no wish to incur the disfavour of this throng of cantankerous Wood Elves by displaying their curiosity and morbid fascination over the troubles in the community. Well aware were they of the cutting words many of the silvans used to disparage them: intruders, usurpers of their lands, or even agents of the Darkness spawned by Dol Guldur.
Yet never had Tirno spoken thus and instead came to them as a servant to further their cause when truthfully his arrival had been as a saviour amid their most dire extremis. The Tawarwaith's persistent defiance of the evil to the south had granted new vigour to failing hopes and thwarted courage. If one elf alone in the wilds refused to surrender, what Man, aided and supported by his peers, could fail to stand and fight, even did he possess but a fractional measure of Legolas' fortitude? While the Tawarwaith dwelled within the forest and pressed to take it back from Shadow, there remained a chance Mirkwood would someday slough off its shameful appellation and become again a green and giving world for all that called it home.
Now these humans had seen the armies of the elusive woodland folk at Erebor and marvelled then that such graceful physiques of long lines and slender frames could house so fierce and aggressive a fighting force. Likewise they had been impressed by the majesty and might of the Galadhrim battalion with which they had ridden into the Wood Elves' stronghold. Yet those were soldiers, and among warriors accustomed to face death and destruction such mettle was a common trait. Here amid the common folk of the Woodland Realm the Men beheld this identical, understated capacity for lethal force as an ominous, ambiguous alert of the nervous system warned that even the weakest among this multitude could break them utterly should they so wish.
With laudable self control, the woodsmen refrained from reaching for one another's hands.
Soon enough they arrived at the dais and found themselves before some of the most esteemed figures in all of Middle-earth: Radagast the Brown, their ever-present healer and unofficial soothsayer; Celeborn the Wise, a figure relegated to myth and legend of times long past revealed in life to be both honourable and bold; Iarwain, an elf alive since the awakening of all Eru's children who had hunted Orcs with Oromë and feasted on the kill; Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves and master of magic, stealer of souls, brutal, cold, and undefeated in battle.
The Men knelt before these distinguished and imposing people, keeping their vision upon the smooth granite, where they startled to see the unmistakable smear of drying elven blood and their Tirno's own dagger. Warily they traded fearful glances and felt their pulse rates double.
"Arise and be welcome, we are grateful for your desire to participate in the Council of Erebor," intoned Thranduil with majestic but hollow tones so that they knew he did not mean these words.
"Thank you, Lord, for allowing our humble presence here," one Man said just as falsely and earned a grin from Haldir for his defiance.
"I am promised you have some news of the battle?" queried the King, ignoring the March Warden.
"We were both at Erebor for the Battle of the Five Armies, Lord. We have heard that Tirno is under some sanction for his efforts on that day. We wish to state for all our people that he does not deserve such punishment." The second Man spoke out boldly and met the wintry gleam in the piercing cobalt gaze of the King, if only for a minute.
"Yes, we have heard previously from one of your messengers of the gratitude the villagers extend to the condemned archer. Tell what you saw not what you feel; had either of you a view to the ridge where the sniper was positioned?" demanded Thranduil.
"I did," said the first woodsman, fidgeting slightly from foot to foot as his eyes darted to Radagast for support. A nod from the wizard and a benevolent smile encouraged the harried Man and he continued. "I was situated across the valley almost directly level with the Tawarwaith's nook. I saw his movements clearly and can tell you he did not show himself to the soldiers below."
"And how can you claim that? If you beheld him there so might others. Besides, at that distance your vision is not keen enough to be certain of identity."
"Nay," the human was shaking his head vehemently. "I could see him only because I had assistance in doing so for I own a sighting tool common among the Men who sail the sea. With it I could descry every detail of the elf and will swear it was our Tirno I beheld. He was still as the stone and only the flaxen hue of his hair allowed me to spot him, even knowing I should be staring right at him!"
"Indeed? Show me this object," demanded Thranduil. He had a small collection of these made in Ages past by Men of Numenor and was always eager to add another to his catalogue.
The Man reached to his belt and unhooked a long thin tube of battered and tarnished metal, tapered at one end and set with clear crystals at both openings. He extended this to Thranduil.
The Woodland King took it up eagerly, turning it over and inspecting it carefully, deftly opened it to its full extent and tapped the polished, transparent curved, crystal on the larger end. He raised the narrower side of the devise to his right eye and aimed the tube toward the courtyard beyond the open colonnade. With a small grunt of half-contempt he lowered it and slid the inner cylinder back in place, extending the spy-glass back to the human.
"Crudely made and the lenses are both poorly ground and imperfectly aligned, but it will do. I accept that you could indeed make out sufficient detail to identify the archer," he said. "How came your kind to knowledge of its making? You are not of the race of Numenor."
"Nay, Lord," the human bowed his head, hoping to hide the rosy colour that flushed his face. "My folk were but simple fishermen before we wandered north. The making of such things we understood not, but its value to our craft was certain, and such items can be bought."
"Humph! Corsairs, more like," sneered the Sinda King, "and stolen rather than purchased, I would wager."
The Men scowled darkly but made no retort.
"But who told you to look for an elf there?" asked Celeborn, sending his kinsman an exasperated glare. He was determined to have the full account with minimal acrimony. "Surely that was a secret communication among his commander and colleagues."
"Aye, Lord, but the whistled code was not unknown to the ravens, and many were there that day. As for me, I have Aiwendil to thank for understanding some of their calls and screeches. I discerned the sounds they use for 'Wood Elf' and 'archer' and 'half-high'. I strained to see what they meant and could make out nothing until someone moved on the crest just above and then the wind caught Tirno's hair and fanned it like a banner."
"What? Who was on the crest, Goblins? Wargs? Did you see the rock-fall?" Lindalcon shot out his questions with impatient velocity.
"Only elves were on the spur, positioned along every available crevice up and down its sides," answered the second Man. "One took position above Tirno's ledge."
"And unwittingly sent the debris over the edge. I believe he was leaning out trying to get a better view of the action in the canyon," continued the first. "He pulled back quickly, as though the ground was giving way beneath him, and the rocks came pouring down."
The room erupted a spurt of volatile and excited remarks as the citizens and soldiers alike disputed over this unexpected testimony.
"Ai! This is maddening!" cried Lindalcon in despair. "Could you not recognise this warrior, then, if you had that seeing tube? Look among the soldiers and tell me which it was."
"I mean not to distress you, young Lord, but that elf is not here. We checked when first we entered the hall," the second mortal informed him.
"Then he or she met death on the battle plain and the debt was paid that day," said Malthen.
"Nay, that cannot be, for otherwise my father would not remain lost," countered Lindalcon.
"Tell us what you can by way of description," urged Iarwain, "Was it ellon or elleth?"
"He means was the warrior male or female," translated Radagast amiably.
"Aye; we know enough elvish to comprehend that," groused the first woodsman. "Definitely male, dark haired and fair as are all the Wood Elves, but I think mayhap he was Sindar…"
"Or half-breed," commented the second Man by way of revenge for the King's unnecessary denigration. Instantly his indignation wilted under the wave of bristling outrage this epithet invoked among all the elves present. "That is to say, of combined ancestry," he whispered and fell back to his knees.
"…for he was taller, bulkier, as a swordsman or spearman would be," his comrade continued as if no interruption had occurred, and in their eagerness to have the identity of this miscreant the populace let the insult pass. "Yet he had only a bow and quiver which he did not utilise, thus I thought it was very strange for him to take a position requiring a long range weapon."
"Aye, for after causing the crest to crumble, he did not reappear upon the spur, at least not near at hand. We did not see him again," the apologetic voice of the second concluded.
"Rochendil," said one of the Sinda warriors and Thranduil almost jumped. This was not a name he had expected to hear.
"Aye, that had to be the horsemaster, for everyone else is accounted for and he was left to hide the animals and prevent their destruction. He oft stated only a bow was beneficial in his task and never carried sword or spear," another commented.
"Well the horses were not quartered on the spur," another remarked, "so why was he up there in the first place?"
TBC