Feud
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,618
Reviews:
413
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,618
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.
Ben Gladhadithen [According to Galdhadithen]
by erobey erobey@gmail.com
unbeta'd
http://www.feud.shadowess.com
NEW!! http://www.tawarwaith.com NEW!!
http://www.livejournal.com/users/tawarwaith/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/tawarwaith/
A/N: this is for giggle, who has reviewed so often! Much gratitude, mellonen.
And Feud now has yet another website! Check out
www.tawarwaith.com!
For advance notice of chapter posts join the yahoo group for Feud. Tired of waiting for the review page here to load? Leave comments at the
LJ! Reviews finally answered at this chapter's end, so sorry for leaving them off the last chapter. And thank you to everyone who has ever read even one chapter of my work, whether you review or not I appreciate the interest shown.
Ben Nestaron [According to the Healer]
"I was only an elfling when Oropher and his sons led the Sindar into Greenwood, and a mighty force they seemed to me. We did not keep horses under the trees before then and to see these imposing warrior elves, seated tall and proud astride their sturdy chargers, cantering across the Old Ford from out of the Hithaeglir, banners waving from ash-wood shafts of spear and pike, armour gleaming and noble crests upon their bosses, was a heart-stilling sight. The cavalry's thundering hooves threw up a screening spray of sparkling water that dazzled the eye under the noonday sun like beads of silver and crystal tossed into the air!
"It looked as if the ranks were unending, for the host rode four abreast and stretched from the centre of the ford back onto the knees of the mountains, and following behind them came a multitude on foot. The disciplined warriors flanked and guarded the citizens and ox-drawn wagons bearing their provisions and personal goods. Onward advanced the van toward the tree-line, a continuous, living column of invincible magnificence.
"Our silvan archers filled the limbs of the beeches just inside the cover of Greenwood's shadowy half-light, for we knew not if they came as enemies or as comrades," spoke Gladhadithen, the tranquil antiphony of her melodious voice returning to envelop the three elves camped before the Vaults on the vestibule floor.
Three trips up and down the dreary staircase she had made, gathering what she could find in the way of comfort for the Tawarwaith under her care, having conferred with Aiwendil and agreed Legolas was in no state to return to the Council and endure the stressful recitation of Malthen's testimony. All trace of blood was gone from the granite, for she had quickly soaked it up and tossed the soiled rags into the scullery's ever-blazing hearth, replacing the crimson splatter with an insulating layer of woollen blankets that separated the wounded elf's body from the cold, unyielding stone. Next the healer had sought out a fur-lined cloak in which to wrap her shivering patient, taking away the torn and ruined tunic to be burned as well.
On her way back through the kitchens, she paused to throw off the gore-sullied brown physician's esgal (cover, apron) traditionally worn over her garments and snatched a fresh blue one from the cook's pantry. A quick scrub of her hands and a swift run of a comb through her tresses returned her to the customary crisp, professional appearance she fastidiously maintained. It would not do for the Realm's principal Nestaron [healer] to go about mussed and mired with evidence of her calling plain for all to see. Before exiting the pantries, Gladhadithen had procured a bottle of strong spirits and hastily compiled an appetising assortment of sweet pastries and nuts. Finally back in the vestibule, she had located the small brazier Thranduil kept in the upper chamber of his treasury and dragged that out into the anteroom.
In mere minutes the resourceful healer had transformed the gloomy, forbidding cave into a cosy, inviting nook; a safe shelter from the harrowing events reordering the wild elf's world in the Chamber of Starlight above. Gladhadithen sat cross-legged before the radiating warmth of the small stove, opposite Fearfaron and her weary charge. She took a small sip from the bottle of lavender alcohol, having forgot cups, and passed it to the carpenter before she continued. No word did she utter of the violent demarche that nearly unseated the Sinda Lord, nor of Celeborn's unprecedented arrival did she speak. The affairs of state and the Erebor debate she ignored, instead embarking upon a reminiscence of her young years, for Fearfaron had relayed to her the true nature of the terrifying spirits even as he informed the wizard. If it surprised her that Legolas had secured their freedom, she did not give sign of it.
"We were aware of the incursion two days before the Sindar reached our trees, for border guards spotted them the instant they emerged from the mountain pass and sent word back to Iarwain. I was but 40 years of age then, and certainly no elfling should have gone along with our archers to watch from the eaves at the valley's verge. But, I was a curious one, and already learning the ways of herb-lore and the workings of the hroa. With the sense of personal responsibility only a child can muster, I believed my assistance was invaluable even though I could hardly do more than brew a soothing tea or crush the ingredients for my mentor's medicinal concoctions. If there was a chance a healer's hands might be required, I did not want to let any suffering linger when my presence might allay it.
"Not one to beckon trouble, however, I made sure none of the adults learned of my proximity to the momentous events! I climbed all the way to the top of the canopy and watched the soldiers approach, in one part hoping they would turn and head south following the course of Anduin toward Lothlorien, the other half longing for a closer look at these foreign, exotic First-born. For all I knew, they could have been Calaquendi returned from Aman."
Legolas was sprawled against his foster-father's sturdy chest, snugly ensconced between the lanky ellon's long legs and clasped close within the encircling comfort of the carpenter's arms. Limp and drowsy, head tilted back in repose upon Fearfaron's shoulder, he peered at Gladhadithen from under down-dropped lashes, faintly smiling as she slowly drew him into her vision of the Greenwood as once it had been. The sonorous pitch of her gentle words filled the room with the familiar cadence bound within the structure of all grand tales, whether told by elves, Men, dwarves, or even Hobbits. Willingly he succumbed to her enchanting spell of recollection and followed the winding turn of her thoughts back into a time before his existence was even a dream among the trees.
Fearfaron took a swallow of the potent liquid and held the vessel to Legolas' lips, tipping it enough to give him just a taste. He understood that the healer hoped the drink would grant his adopted son some relief from pain and warm his thinned blood, but did not wish him to lapse into unconsciousness so soon after the emergency was past. Indeed, the talan builder could still feel the trembling that ran through his son's depleted body despite being swaddled in an exquisite cloak of black, velvety panther pelts that had not seen service since Oropher's death. He wondered where Gladhadithen had found the article as he absently caressed Legolas' uninjured arm.
"Oropher rode a dun-coloured mare with mane and tail of inky strands so lengthy the fringe of hair on her neck, even braided with ornaments of mithril that tinkled like bells in a breeze, fell longer than its breadth while behind her the ground-sweeping plume soon became soaked as she paced through the ford. Her muzzle and ears were also dark and each leg looked as if she had stepped knee-deep into tar. Her forelock shone with coloured jewels and was also plaited, for otherwise I believe her vision would have been occluded so thick was the thatch of coarse tendrils between her ears. I imagined she must surely be the mate of Nahar, for her gait was proud as well as swift and the boldness of her heart fairly blazed from the liquid depths of her chestnut orbs. I heard the Sinda Lord call her Emmelin [Yellow Bird].
"Now your Miny'adar [grandfather] was no less impressive, and truly I thought he was Eldar, an emissary from Oromë come back to learn how the Danwaith fared, bringing wisdom and strength to ease our tribulations. Never had I seen an elf this tall and broad, for such were the Sindar then, even as are the remaining elders from those days, though the stature of later generations has lessened in the mingling of our peoples."
Legolas' heart leaped to hear Gladhadithen speak thus, as if it was the most natural thing for him to have such ties of kinship and the right to feel justified pride over so esteemed an ancestor, yet it was only when the words found life through her voice that the full measure of this new reality settled within his comprehension. For so long the shame of not knowing the fundamental relationships bestowed through his father's lineage had tainted his existence and darkened perception of his place in Arda. He found he was breathless with amazement. Oropher, beloved of the Silvan and Sindar alike for his devotion to Tawar and his staunch sense of duty, who had salvaged the people of Neldoreth from the destruction of Beleriand, sought to re-unify the sundered brethren of the Teleri, and boldly challenged the evil of Sauron at the Last Alliance, was his Miny'adar [grandfather].
"He wore no helm and his hair was the colour of golden pinewood just beneath its hide of knobby bark. Three thin braids tamed the flowing locks at his temples and two thick four-part twists gathered the filaments behind him, for he was an archer and would not have the distraction of wind-blown strands hampering his vision or tangling in the bowstring. His weapon was in his fist rather than stored upon his back and the quiver of arrows across his shoulders was but half filled as though he rode from battle. It was so; we later learned there had been trouble in the mountains and some of his folk had perished there.
"Travel worn and stained from the skirmish his raiment was, no doubt, but it was clear the manufacture was of finely woven silk and rare furs from game never seen east of Hithaeglir. Indeed, he was wearing this very cape that warms you now! A long sword was belted at his hip; its scabbard dotted with white and green gems while the hilt of it was capped with an expertly faceted, translucent tourmaline. High boots reached over his knees and a fine shirt of gilded chain overlaid a sturdy jerkin of hard, tooled leather, protecting his vital organs. No gloves burdened his fingers' deadly gift but his vambraces were wrought to match the body's armour. Now this archer with such noble bearing sported the colours of the Danwaith, breeches in nutmeg and tunic of jade, and this amazed us all for it was as if he belonged to us, somehow, before we even knew his name.
"At his right rode Tramborlong [Heavy Fist] and on the left were Thurin'aur [Hidden Flame] and Thranduil, so obviously his sons for the resemblance was keen. Upon the eastern bank of Anduin, the four alit and disbanded, each attending a portion of the multitude, establishing a bivouac upon the meadow-lands. Under their efficient command and with laudable co-operation, the Sindar soon established a neat and tidy array of pavilions, all perfectly aligned in rows as straight as an arrow's shaft, and each group of tents had a cheerful fire blazing. Just at tinnu, Oropher and his sons mounted up once more and turned to the trees."
Gladhadithen ceased and reached out for another sample of the sharply biting liquor, smiling through merry eyes when Legolas frowned over the lengthening interval of the interruption.
"Ai, do not stop! What happened?" he demanded.
"This you know," she shrugged one shoulder coquettishly. "Iarwain welcomed the Sindar Teleri back among the Wood Elves."
"Nay, that cannot be all to the story," Legolas complained. "Was there trouble at all? Were you spotted amid the branches? Did you meet Oropher and his sons? What was he like, Miny'adaren? [my Grandfather]" And Legolas smiled shyly upon possessively pronouncing this word for the very first time.
By now Gladdie was chuckling warmly, for she was quite pleased to have distracted the Tawarwaith from his dire fate, even if only for a short while, as he delighted in hearing his family's history told to him. She spared the carpenter a happy grin as he gently squeezed his foster son in joyous commiseration.
"Aye, there is more. Patience, Tirno!" she admonished. "Fearfaron, I do not think Legolas has eaten even a single bite from that basket, has he?"
"You are right, as usual, Gladhadithen." The carpenter smiled as he shook his head, seeing where she was heading with this question. "In fact, it is past midday and neither of us have taken a meal since yesterday."
"Oh Valar, will you coerce me by promising more narration only if I agree to swallow down a tart?" fussed the Tawarwaith.
"Nor have I," she commented, ignoring Legolas' outburst. "I really must insist that we break fast now, especially you, Legolas. How about a blueberry scone?"
High above them through nearly three-hundred metres of igneous intrusions and four levels of delved and excavated caverns and corridors, the elves crowded into the Chamber of Starlight gave no thought to hunger or thirst, for the events at Erebor had taken an unexpected detour. The implication of Rochendil in the expert sniper's failure had the room's occupants embroiled anew in raw emotion and discontented argument.
"Nay, it could not be so, for his Hervess [wife] was killed in the aftermath of the rocks' damaging rain," said Iarwain incredulously.
"Mayhap he did not mean for it to happen; it was all a terrible accident," a silvan female offered.
"Still, he was not given orders to desert the horses and those were no where near the battle," countered a Sinda lieutenant. "All the animals were hidden away amid the rubble between the western spurs beneath Thorin's Back Door. There was once a secluded cove in the mountainside there, ruined by Smaug, but in this case his destruction was a boon for us, limiting approaching enemies from both the south and north. Rochendil had no reason to leave his post."
"Aye, whether it was unintentional or not is meaningless, for his presence on the crest was the cause of the Tawarwaith's failure. The horse-master was the guilty one and should have accepted his fate," a silvan archer posited.
"True, we demanded no less from Tirno and he was then Greenwood's heir."
"Valar! Rochendil destroyed his own mate!"
"And Adaren [my father], then allowed Legolas to take the blame! He even tortured him for it and yet that traitor incurred no punishment! I cannot abide this!" Lindalcon could not contain his agitation and paced distractedly back and forth in front of the dais.
"Not so, for we banished him to Valinor for his evil perversion of Chastisement. I am certain his sentence is fitting," reminded Iarwain.
"Indeed, I would not spare too much grief over his absence here today," affirmed Aiwendil. "The Will of the Valar is remorseless and all but eternal. Whatever penalty Námo deems correct, I doubt Rochendil is likely to find peace for many andrann [100 Valerian Years, each equal to 144 solar years.]."
"I do not believe it! If he is under censure in Aman, why is my Adar still trapped here? Nay, there is something amiss!" cried Valtamar's son as he came to a halt before the wizard.
At this the crowd increased their grumbling for it was impossible to hide how unsatisfying Aiwendil's assurance of justice was to their minds.
"Who can say what the Valar would consider an appropriate sentence?"
"And Lindalcon's point cannot be ignored; what of the Lost Warriors?"
"Aye, and how could the Valar allow the dreadful suffering and abuse perpetrated on Legolas, innocent of any wrong in the deaths of his comrades?"
"Nay!" rebuked Aiwendil. "It is not the Powers who have ratified these abhorrent Customs and Laws among you! You cannot have it both ways, saying the Valar ignore the Wood Elves and refuse to act while also impugning them in the deeds done within the gates of this city! The harm inflicted upon Legolas was wrought by the hands of his own people."
The population's discourse subsided as the impact of these words settled in their collective conscience. The Wood Elves had shown little concern for their talented sniper's misdirected destiny until it benefited them to have a brave and stalwart champion committed to their defence, and none could deny this truth.
"This is a dark day for Greenwood." An anonymous voice uttered this summation of the public consensus.
Silent and sombre the Lord of the Golden Wood and his March Warden listened to this depressing discussion, sharing their growing chagrin in furtive glimpses between equally concerned grey orbs, for they were fully informed on the details of Rochendil's part in Legolas' sentence. Galadriel's interrogation of the Mirkwood miscreants had yielded this name as belonging to the principle tormentor of the fallen archer over the long years of his banishment. Their news would not be greeted with benevolent tolerance. So grave was their demeanour that they failed to note the anxiously morose expression colouring the King's contused features.
Thranduil held his tongue and scarcely breathed as his gaze wandered from marking the various speakers to resting with disquieting intensity upon Ben'waeth. The last thing he wanted was for her to join this troubling exchange of ideas and opinions. Too well he recalled Meril's bosom friendship with this inu and a startling thought had presented itself. The apprehensive father worried whether Ben'waeth might be privy to the connection between Rochendil, his wife, and Erebor. That he had not pursued this line of inquiry before attested to the disordered distraction of his thoughts raised by his emerging grief over Meril's lack of faith in their love. Thranduil's compelling concentration caused the stronghold servant to fidget and he relaxed slightly when she eventually retreated behind a knot of quarrelling warriors.
"Hold, can you be certain this elf is truly Rochendil? The Man's description is not very detailed and many a warrior is forced to drop sword and spear in favour of knives when fighting becomes eye-to-eye," cautioned Celeborn, for he was hoping the ellon's identity might yet be mistaken. "Could there not be another elf of the woods given this agnomen?"
"Nay, he is the only one. It is not a common appellation among the Danwaith," stated a silvan archer. "From the Sindar's arrival in the forest until his banishment, no other served as caretaker of the chargers."
"And though to you folk my years seem short and my vision poor, yet never have I seen a swordsman stop in the heat of battle and unbuckle his belt and scabbard, discarding them without thought," retorted the human, "and I am thinking none of you have either! This elf had neither girdle nor sword, he was not with any of the troops, and he fled when the deed was done."
"Aye, that was Rochendil, for he was never eager to be in the front lines," a warrior scoffed.
"As to looks, he is Sindarin and of Thranduil's height, hair the colour of oak bark and eyes to match placed close together and deep-set. His face is long and lean, with a straight nose and full lips. Seldom does he smile and he is often short of patience with edhel, holding devotion only for the horses," added a swordsman from Talagan's old company.
"I still cannot fathom what purpose prompted his desertion of his duty," grumbled Iarwain, for he knew not the connection between the Royal Consort and the humble soldier. This was not the sort of warrior he had envisioned would be allied to the suspect inu. "How do we truly know it was he with only these insubstantial suppositions? Many elves meet this description. How is it none of our own noted his presence on the ridge?"
"We were not standing around taking attendance, Elder!" snapped Thranduil. "We were fighting for our lives."
"Excuse me, my Lord, but someone did notice he was not with the horses," a subdued feminine voice spoke from amid the silvan soldiers and all in proximity to the sound stepped aside to reveal the source. It was Ben'waeth.
"This is not the place for idle story-weaving." The King clenched his hands into belligerent fists as she hesitantly shuffled forward. "You were not there and I will not permit you to speak for another. If there is anyone in this room who did observe the horse-master's actions, I charge that elf to reveal him- or herself now!"
For a lengthy span of seconds not a breath stirred or a nerve quivered; all remained frozen in anticipation of additional revelations, but no one ventured from the cover of anonymity to answer Thranduil's mandate. Finally, the tension subsided and an uneasy, low decibel susurration again flowed upon the ambient air.
But Iarwain held the lowly elleth's eyes and pondered her sudden interruption. Although she presented elevated distress, he could not fail to sense her determination, for she did not turn from his inspection; rather her doe-brown eyes fairly implored him to understand. Clearly, no elf with this knowledge is in the chamber, but that does not signify no such person exists. The counsellor searched the room as if taking a mental tally of the soldiers present, and in a jarring flash he comprehended whom Ben'waeth sought to implicate.
"My Lord, not all the warriors who fought at Erebor are here. Now that Aiwendil has ensured there is no threat of a possessed elf harming your children, please send for Talagan."
If the stone of the mountain might be described as a still, unmoving mass of unfeeling matter, the living beings crammed inside its hollowed core projected a fitting impression of being comprised of the self same stuff so immobile were the fair forms. Everyone's perception fixed upon the King, awaiting his reaction to this subpoena of his life-long friend. That this was an unimagined occurrence was plain for all to see in the blank gaze of confused denial plastered upon the Sinda Lord's stern countenance.
Thranduil recovered his shock with admirably swift fortitude, giving the briefest signal with his hand for the captain's second in command to fetch his superior. His eyes found Celeborn's and transmitted the heavy leaden dread the Counsellor's request cast upon his heart. Talagan was to the King as a brother, regardless of his hot-headed nature, the last alive in all of Arda who had been at Thranduil's side through the tragedies that claimed every member of his immediate family. To surrender the captain to the harshness of the Council's Judgement would be another rending torment upon a soul already scarred by overwhelming loss.
The wait was interminable but at last the warrior returned, downcast in embarrassed defeat for Talagan had refused to follow, holding to his Lord's command to safeguard the prince an princess until Thranduil rescinded the duty. The King had to go retrieve the captain himself, and loud was the clamour of speculative discourse over the re-calling of this primary witness upon his departure. It was Talagan, after all, who had condemned Legolas on the spot and reported his failure to Thranduil.
A lesser delay preceded the re-entry of the two Sindar fighters, pacing briskly into the chamber from the interior corridor, the King leading with stoic gravity moulding his visage while the captain, disconcerted wariness revealed within his candidly bewildered expression, followed. Their arrival initiated the total abatement of further voiced conjectures amid the populace.
"He is here, Iarwain," Thranduil said coldly, "now ask your questions and be done with this hearing."
"Truly, I welcome your queries, Elder; I am not seeking to obscure my faults." Talagan spoke quietly but with sufficient distinction to make certain his words would be audible to everyone. "Already have I stated, in this room and before the assembly of our people, that I hold myself responsible for the errors committed by the elves under my command at the Battle of Erebor. If it is the Council's wish to render Judgement; I am prepared to accept this sentence."
"We are not here to impeach you, captain," Iarwain began.
"And why not?" demanded Lindalcon hotly. "Is it only silvans of lesser rank that must abide by the Laws of the Danwaith? I say if this Sinda acted in collusion with his traitorous countryman then he must bear the same punishment imposed upon Legolas!"
"Aye! Someone must reconcile the life-debt!" This resounding shout fuelled a heated bloom of irate interjections.
"Banish him!"
"Nay, upon his shoulders lay the yolk of completing the Tasks of Release!"
"Imprison him in darkness!"
"Give him Tirno's dagger!"
Despite his courageous statement, Talagan's gut churned and his soul quailed to hear this list of punishments, for among them one he must endure. Still, he held himself with dignity, determined to obey his heart's demand to rectify the injustice his rash reactions inflicted upon the outcast archer.
"Dîn! Sith! [Silence! Peace!]" called Celeborn and raised his hand as his daunting glare swept the room and chastened the surly mob.
With many a scathing glower upon the King's trusted compatriot, the Wood Elves subsided into querulous grumbling.
"Hannaden [My thanks], Lord Celeborn," Iarwain bowed politely. "I wish to put before you but one more question, Talagan. Do you recall if Rochendil remained at his post among the horses or whether he may have joined the forces defending the southern spur?"
"The horse-master?" blurted the warrior, quite surprised for this to be the matter that had wrought the realignment of Thranduil's features into such severe and harsh lines. Talagan's brow wrinkled as he thought back over the events of the day. "Aye, Rochendil did enter the fray; a most unusual event. Somehow he must have heard the whistled command to organise a decoy for the goblin guards, for I did see him running along the crest toward the valley. I believe he was trying to get to Andamaitë and prevent her participation. He was too late. What does this signify?" The captain shifted his sight between the King, the Elder, and the visiting Lord in perplexity.
With a groan of bitter frustration Lindalcon cast himself down upon the stone step of the dais and bowed his head to his knees, hands entwined within his chestnut mane pressed against his temples. Aiwendil joined him and sat alongside, wrapping one arm over the young elf's shoulders, as Haldir spontaneously moved to Lindalcon's left and supplied a steadying grip upon the silvan's rigid shoulder.
The Wood Elves could not find their tongues, uncertain whether this admission should be received with gladness or disappointment. It was evident the Sinda warrior had no idea of the importance of his speech, thus no claim of conspiracy, either in action or dubious omission of pertinent details, could be sustained. The captain's responsibility did not extend beyond that which he had already confessed. The peoples' dissatisfaction was as deep as that of Valtamar's son for, while the troops benefited from Talagan's millennia of experience and his loss would be nigh impossible to fill, now there was no one at hand upon whom to foist their guilty wrath.
Thranduil and the Elder exhaled equally expressive breaths, one in relief and the other in irritation. Their eyes joined for a brief but intense exchange of flinty loathing for the other's response.
Lothlorien's Lord grimaced as he absorbed all of this and gave a minute nod to Haldir. Both sighed dejectedly. The time was come; the enlightenment that had drawn the Galadhrim from the safe seclusion of Lothlorien must be revealed.
"Based on this report of Rochendil's appearance and actions, I am aggrieved to confirm that we sheltered an emigrant from Mirkwood who bore such a name," said Haldir quietly. "Undoubtedly, it was this very elf."
"What?" shouted Lindalcon, head uplifting to gape at the March Warden with features as bleak as a cloud-blanketed sky of dingy grey. "Rochendil dwells in Lorien?"
The chamber once more resounded with noisy acrimony as everyone began shouting for the foul elf to be extradited forthwith.
"No longer," Celeborn held up his hand for silence. "Rochendil departed Lothlorien before our party rode forth. Eleven refugees entered the Golden Wood seven years ago and asked for citizenship."
"How came the Lord and Lady to grant this?" interrupted Thranduil. "Was no effort made to learn what drove them from their home?"
The King could barely contain his horror, equal to Lindalcon's affronted astonishment, and hoped his accusing words might distract the crowd from their thirst for vengeance. For now this spectre of disaster arose anew and the vision of his House destroyed returned; Rochendil in custody would present a potent and substantial threat to the well-being of his children. He had no doubt the horse-master would gladly implicate Meril if he were to be returned to Greenwood and charged with these misdeeds, hoping to draw attention from himself or lessen his sentence by doing so.
Or even just out of spiteful nature, refusing to suffer alone. This elf is an abomination among Eru's Children, securing his pleasure from another's agony. Such a one would care nothing for the consequences that would befall Taurant and Gwillith if he names their Naneth an accomplice in this heinous crime.
"All were warriors and gave as reason for their relocation dissatisfaction over losses in the Battle of Erebor. We had no reason to suspect they would be involved in any injurious activity and welcomed the addition of seasoned fighters to our ranks," Haldir shot back, eager to defend the elves' presence in his homeland, for it had been his recommendation that yielded the Lord and Lady's sanction. The unwitting part he had played in this ugly mess was unsettling to his soul.
"Indeed, the folk of Lorien are certainly trusting of strangers. Never would such be allowed in my Realm, for too easily might spies infiltrate the ranks of my troops by such means," commented Thranduil. "Your oversight gave shelter to a convicted oath-breaker and his cohorts."
"And deeply do we regret this," Celeborn interceded, denying Haldir the opportunity for rebuttal, "assuming this is the same elf. Galadriel was warned of the soldiers' vile practices upon one of their own through the Mirror and under subsequent questioning the truth was revealed. However, Rochendil had already fled rather than face Hervessen's [my Wife's] soul combing."
"By Elbereth, we must hunt him down and force him to answer for these atrocities!" fumed Lindalcon. He arose and approached Thranduil. "I insist we send out word to the other elven realms of his treachery and even to Rohan and the settlements throughout Eriador. Let this coward not escape to find a haven among the Noldor or the mortals."
"It is not necessary to broadcast our tribulations among the entirety of the free peoples on Arda," countered the King. "He will not go to Imladris nor look for aid among humans or dwarves. Rochendil will be travelling to Mithlond."
"Aye, that is likely. Yet he knows we are aware of his sins and probably expects you to send notice to Círdan. He may thus be forced to seek shelter amid Men. Would the woodsmen be willing to aid this elf? Do the rest of your people understand who he is?" asked Aiwendil of the human with the spyglass.
"We have not the gift of reading hearts as is known among the First-born, yet I have heard here that even this talent is not unfailing. How then shall my folk determine this cunning liar's true nature when he evaded discovery among the wise?" he said.
"I think he might be on his way to Laketown or Dale. The people there will welcome one of the veterans from the Battle of the Five Armies. If he is skilled with horses, he will have no trouble earning his keep among King Bard's cavalry," said the second woodsman.
"My Lord, I suggest we draft a writ of detention and send this to both Mithlond and Dale," said Iarwain. "We can send two small contingents of warriors to search for and return him to the stronghold. If this is the elf guilty of Erebor's tragedy, then he has compounded his crimes by shifting culpability to another and participating in Chastisement. Such a depraved element among us is most disturbing!"
"Agreed, see to it, Counsellor," Thranduil concurred. He had his own ideas concerning the miscreant's fate and was sure the silvan soldiers chosen for this mission would not need too much encouragement to force Rochendil to take his own life, especially if they tracked him to Erebor. There had their comrades fallen and within the system of Nandorin lore, the battle ground yet craved a final watering with immortal essence. "And I believe that we have established both that Legolas was not responsible for his errors in battle and granted Lindalcon knowledge of the culprit's identity. Will this now suffice to conclude the hearing and lift the sentence against the archer?"
"Most definitely," averred Iarwain with a slight bow to his King and a meeting of eyes with his fellow counsellors. "No conference is required; we find the Judgement of Erebor to be false. Let the Record of our history show that all fault is removed from Legolas; the banishment is lifted and he is hecilo no more."
"So noted," added Fêrlass and thus was the ponderous responsibility for the Lost Warriors' Release lifted from the Tawarwaith.
A subdued jubilation swirled through the crowd, for while all were pleased to have their champion returned to full citizenship among them, the victory was tainted by the weight of the evils the wild elf had endured over the years of exile, none of it earned. The knowledge that the real perpetrator had not only escaped reprisal but enacted those very torments upon the misjudged archer galled. The Wood Elves' Laws had failed them, their faith had proved fickle, the King's boon companion and most trusted captain had eagerly laid the blame on an innocent, the elders had not even tried to pierce the fog of misconception obscuring the truth, and too quickly had the populace accepted the rendition of facts expounded by their leaders.
Ample was the volume of accountability for Legolas' misery and nearly everyone shared in the guilt for having promoted it.
TBC
Odd words, seldom seen?
agnomen: a name that also describes some characteristic of the individual.
antiphony: chanting or singing in two parts such that one voice (or choir) is answered by its counterpart (in this case Gladdie's echo).
contused: bruised
Reviews!
Seshyangel: Thank you so much for the compliments! Now regarding Elrohir/Legolas, I do not think I am prepared for that! Too many really good stories out there, I would not feel mine could compare, especially Eressë's, which you mentioned. I do plan to give a glimpse of Taurant and Gwilith as adults in the epilogue. As to Thranduil, well he will not be as cruel anymore, but nice he isn't in this story. BUt he will make the effort to repair his realm and that includes finding a way to accept Legolas. There is now a mailing list so notice can be received. FF.net, I don't know if they will let me back. The second time I was dropped, I had not even loaded any stories up yet, and was only planning to put the G/PG ones back up over there. We'll see. Thank you again!
Giggle: What can I say, thank you is just not adequate. So this chapter is dedicated to you and starts off with your namesake. We'll have the second half of her little story in the next. I am so glad RL has become a little less stressful! Thank you for taking the time to post these reviews, it warms my heart! Your insight on the characters actions and interactions is a great help, and I really appreciate you!
Ash: Yes, finally another post! Have been abysmally slow, and now I find I have made this huge goof in the last chapter and had to repost that one. Oh well! Balrog will be back, soon I hope, just trying to get Feud done and out of my system. Lots of writing going on in my head for Balrog and I am really ready for the lighter side that story lets me take with the characters. Balrog is like step one on the way to Not Yet. I am doing ok and hope you are too. I am liking this LJ thing you have got me onto!
Nightbreeze: Thank you for reviewing! And I agree with you! Deserves to have his heart broken.
Shanna: My thanks, mellon! You wonderful to give me such kind reviews!
JastaElf: thank you for the kind words! I am sorry the waits have been so long, I will try to do better. you are right, Thranduil is not happy this name has come up. And now he knows Ben'waeth has much to say. She is probably going to have a rather difficult time of things very soon. If I were her, I would ask to go back to Lorien with Celeborn and company. Thranduil has to be dying to know how she had this vital bit of information, and Meril will be absolutely horrified for this elf to speak. As to Balrog, I do plan to get back to it. I am not sure how soon. I love that story and have loads of fun writing it, so much that it keeps me from Feud. and I just HAVE to finish this story! After that, Balrog continue.
Seshyangel: Oh yes, Thranduil will not be the same after all this winds down, but that might be a good thing!