Feud

"Blood, Vengeance, and Death

for Life, Hope, and Love.

When shall it be enough?

When she tells us this."


"Iâr, Acharn, Guruth," (Blood, Vengeance, and Death) barely audible, the words of the curse
slipped through Elladan's clenched jaws as he thrust his broadsword
deep into the pristine gloss of a snowdrift beside the narrow path
across the Hithaeglir. The abrasive crunch of metal on frost accented
the dark decree and the resultant gory crimson smear, stark against the
white crystals, underscored the bitter pronouncement.

The battle was over.

He hissed in combined anger and pain, covering a deep gash upon his
sword-arm with the opposite hand, his countenance reflecting the
gnawing grip of unquenched fury burning in his eclipsed and benighted
soul. Elladan surveyed the scene with meticulous attention, cataloguing
every detail, every spattered drop of blood, every severed limb,
documenting the placement of the oozing corpses of orcs as if the
arrangement held some sign or rede. His sight paused on the torn and
mangled form of one of his countrymen, gutted, organs and entrails
strewn across the ground, an Elf among the refuse of Melkor's beasts.


Elladan's nostrils flared in revulsion to scent the aromatic fragrance
of the bright carnelian pool mingling with the foul and tainted flow
from the vanquished glamhoth. He spat, his mouth sour with acrid bile,
heart and spirit defiled by the image.


Another immortal life
obliterated when none should ever enter Námo's domain.

The attack had not been unexpected and they had planned well in advance
for such troubles, even before leaving Imladris. He and Elrohir had
anticipated just where an ambush might occur, knowing fully the
dangers of the High Pass, and Orophin's cautious scouting had
discovered ample signs of the hidden war party scattered among the
outcrops rimming their foetid caves. Every warrior under the elder
twin's command was experienced in such forays against evil, instruments
of war craft tuned to perfection.

A careful diversion was deployed;
four elves sauntered down the trail as if unaware of the danger, decoys
to draw the enemy out. The ploy had worked well; the predators became
the prey and the skirmish was soon over. The orcs realised they had
lost the advantage of surprise and scuttled back into their noisome
holes. Not before seizing a victory of their own, however, for one of
the First Born had fallen, ripped to pieces by the abominable foes.

Yet it was not from these dire injuries that the Elf had perished.
Piercing his breast, the brightly feathered shaft of an elven arrow
pointed to the cloudless sky.

How came it so, when our skill and intellect so greatly
outweigh these blighted creatures'?

Turbulent disgust lanced through this thought, caught upon the tail of his wrath and rage, inflamed by the familiarity of the scene spread before him and the futility of the actions that had created it. It was always the same, unchanging, as eternal as an Elf's life-span: blood, death, and vengeance. Haw many centuries had passed, the time marked not by Arda's changing seasons or the ephemeral fluidity of human history but by the numbers of orcs killed, the tally of battles fought, and the names of friends and family members no more to be greeted in love and kinship until…when? Was there to be an end at all? He no longer spoke of his deeds as means to achieving a realisable goal, for this vicious obsession was just more evidence of the twisted sickness that marred everything under sun and moon.

Am I a warrior or naught but a killer, like them, hiding my lust for destruction by choosing more carefully what to destroy? Nothing I have wrought has availed her, nor has it healed a single other soul in any land, here or across the sea. The evil grows, it breeds and multiplies more readily than vermin feasting on offal, a sucking leech gorging itself on our blood and fear, a parasite feeding off the hate and anger. I wonder if we are willing hosts. What is it we receive in turn that prevents avulsion?

Elladan's gut constricted in protest but even this was too familiar and he overruled the impulse to retch. This internal tirade deploring his insatiable brutality had become an established component of the routine of slaughter. As always, answers, reasons, purpose escaped his understanding and his anger expanded to fill the void. His vision sliced
through the thin and biting air to lock with his father's and withheld
nothing of his eternal injury from Elrond.

There, the frenzied conclusion arose
from his mind's chaotic reeling between rage and guilt, there stands the
answer.

The Lord of Imladris, hastening to reach his injured son, halted
mid-step, stumbling as if blocked by an invisible barrier, so profound
was his shock to see this expression of his eldest's character. Not
since before their mother's departure had he beheld the twins in
battle, and never had he witnessed this immersion into hatred, this
descent into unchecked savagery. His heart froze to find Elladan
training this virulent emotion upon him. In the quietude that follows
the cacophony of war, in the silence of its harvest of ruin, the
ragged, stricken breath that left Elrond's lungs was louder than the
whistling wind.

"An Cuil, Estel, Mîl," (For life, hope, and love) much louder, Elrohir's antiphon, his half
of the pact they had made so long ago, echoed dully against the
surrounding rocks lining the steep cleft through the mountains. He
moved in a deliberately measured pace toward Elladan, closing the gap
betwixt them, both of body and mind, drawing his brother's gaze from
their father.

"Ir ten far?" (When shall it be enough?) Elladan spoke the next part sadly, his voice transmuted
into the tones of a callow youth, and his boiling blood stilled as he
watched Elrohir's quiet advance.

"Ir he trenar sen mín." (When she tells us this) Elrohir reached him and for a half
second's worth of eternity they shared the renewal of this grim oath.
The ritual completed, the younger twin plunged his sword into the
red-smirched powder beside his brother's and held out his hand, waiting
for Elladan's permission to bind the injury still seeping its vibrant
flux from under the clamped fingers obscuring it.

They were five days out of Rivendell, twelve warriors, one aide plus the Galadhrim
wardens, Elrond and his sons, half way to the bottom of the long descent
of the Misty Mountains, the savage skirmish coincident in time with
Legolas' reunion with his beloved Berenaur. Up to this point, it had
been an uneventful, if incommodious, trip; yet the explosive energy
released during the fighting was not enough to subdue the constrained
tempers of the twin Peredhil Lords.

Elladan and Elrohir had spoken little to their father since the night
of the gruelling interrogation and his ultimate breakdown. Elrond had
likewise remained reticent, unwilling to confront the source of the
renewed disharmony. The wall around his inner soul they had so
diligently worked to breach had been hastily reconstructed, thrown up
in obstinate opposition to their presumption of agency over the
situation.

Elrond had emerged from his bedchamber, surprisingly
refreshed and lighter of spirit after his confession and the much
needed sleep, to find his study empty. He had left at once to seek out
his sons, craving reassurance that their avowals of love and support
had been no dream. He had found them gathered in conference with
Glorfindel, Erestor's Lorien lovers, and the members of Imladris'
Council, discussing the impending journey. Without him.  

All converse had ceased the instant he had thrown wide the heavy double
doors; all heads had pivoted to favour him with silent stares of pained
remonstrance. He had demanded an explanation for such a meeting in his
absence. He had accused them of conspiring against him, deciding his
fate without consulting him, debating what manner of atonement might
appease the Woodland King, adjudicating his sentence before the facts
had been made clear. They had cringed, dropping their eyes and turning
away their faces one by one, and Elrond had felt a peculiar surge of
triumph over this reaction.

Until Elrohir had turned and explained exactly what purpose the meeting
was meant to achieve. Elrond wondered if he would ever be able to
relegate the vivid image of his younger son's aggrieved visage to dim
memory. Would the sting of his words, couched in tones devoid of
emotion and empty of warmth, ever fade away?


"There is no time
for such conceits and vain affectations. Orophin and Dambethnîn
feel speed is vital and are determined to set forth across the
Hithaeglir through the High Pass. We cannot permit them to do so alone,
and thus we were discussing whether taking a contingent of guards
violates the restrictions set forth in the charges. We have concluded
this would be admissible provided our warriors do not accompany us
beyond the western banks of the Anduin. An official communication to
that effect shall precede us to Greenwood."

The Lord of Imladris had stood there, staring blankly at his son,
unable to quite make his tongue produce any sounds, for several
seconds. A swift perusal of the others revealed them to be staring
back, their expressions a collective example of
disillusionment, pity, and embarrassment on his behalf. Indignant pride
flared up in his heart. Determined to maintain his dignity, Elrond had
reassembled his façade of righteous discontent and without a word moved
to his place at the head of the table. The discussion had resumed,
awkwardly at first, as none felt free to speak their thoughts openly in
his presence. Only Glorfindel behaved as he ever did, stubbornly
arguing in defence of his choices for the delegation. In the end,
Elrond had sided with him, in part because his sons were adamantly
opposed and he had wished to remind them of their places. The group had
departed Imladris that very day and he had refused to engage in
anything but talk of the journey and its likely dangers ever since.

Now here they were, survivors of the gruesome attack, and a father's
heart would not be denied. That one of his sons was injured tore at his
soul and Elrond forgot about their impasse until the harrowing eye to
eye communion with Elladan. He could not guess the reason for such
blatant condemnation nor did he wish to squander the time required to
discover it. Spared the intense recrimination in his oldest child's
tormented stare by Elrohir's intervening presence, a shudder worked
through Elrond's body upon hearing their awful pact. Another
aspect of their suffering of which I have been ignorant. His
resolve to bring healing rejuvenated, Elrond gathered his wits, resumed
his pace, and covered the remaining metres between them. Just as he was
opening his pack of medicinal supplies, Elrohir's words again brought
him to a standstill.

"Nay. I will tend him." The younger twin's tone was bitter and hard and
permitted no entreaty. If earlier his voice had echoed now it fairly
rang from the heights, as if one of the Valar called down a stark and
icy command from Aman.

"The blade may have been poisoned, let me…"

"We will manage," Elrohir threw the words over his shoulder without
bothering to turn as Elladan at last held forth the damaged arm for him
to see. "Take care of the others."

The two moved off together and Elladan allowed his brother to settle
him carefully upon a small crag in the jutting outcrop. The sound of
the tearing of the cloth followed; that and the low moan of the wind
through the crevice filled the peaks for leagues in every direction.

Elrond looked upon his sons and knew them not. In the presence of these
two hardened warriors he felt bedimmed and diminished. Control and command assumed his by right dissolved, illusions dispersed by
the evident ascendancy of this self-contained pair. Elrond's gaze
flickered over the small troop of soldiers that comprised their escort;
every eye, fixed upon him though it might be, turned quickly to avoid
meeting his. The Lord of Imladris focused on his sons anew and he
watched Elrohir's efficient attention to his brother's injury. Even
occupied in such a grievous chore, the aura of mastery about him was
undeniable. Beside him, Elladan's calm fortitude radiated strength and
attested to the trust he placed in his brother's hands. Together, their insular concentration bespoke the confidence each
felt in the warriors guarding them while this necessary task was
accomplished.

The uninjured soldiers had repositioned, forming a protective barrier
between the black obscurity of the caves and the twins. No order had
been given or needed. It was instinctive, this drive to preserve the
best among them, an unspoken recognition. Such conferment of respect
and status bespoke a rank requiring no banner, insignia, or token.
Elrond had experienced this before, both as one of the living shields
and as the shielded leader. Clearly, he was the leader no longer, not
here, not in this domain of death and battle. Perhaps not in
any domain.

It occurred to him that perhaps Elladan and Elrohir deferred to him out
of a very different kind of respect. Mayhap their acquiescence to his
authority was granted, a gift bestowed through their love as his sons
rather than acknowledgement of any superior strength and wisdom
he might imagine himself to possess. It was humbling; he felt ancient
and weary. Envy for Elros shimmered through these morbid thoughts.

One of the guards cleared his throat discretely and took a step in
Elrond's direction. "It is but a scratch, Hîren, yet the threat
of poison bids me beg your aid." His hand was pressed against a dark
damp stain upon his side.

"Of course," Elrond was almost happy to have this distraction and
hastened to treat the wounded soldier.

The tension noticeably lessened and the familiar sound of swords being
cleaned and sheathed amid low murmurs of quiet speech arose. Elrohir
tied off the dressing on his brother's arm and retrieved their blades,
wiping away the gore, inspecting them for nicks and gouges, returning
each to its scabbard since Elladan was now hampered by a sling. He
brought the elder twin water and insisted he remain seated. They
conversed in silence if at all and disregarded Elrond's presence as he
moved among the soldiers, ascertaining that there were no unrevealed
hurts to mend. It seemed the agitation of warfare was ebbing. This
assumption of relaxation was premature.

"I cautioned you not to bring him along," Elladan's voice, tight with
restrained fury, shattered the fragile peace. "He was not fit for
battle; can you deny these were my very words to you? You seem thirsty
for innocent blood these days."

The gasp that met these scathing denouncements arose not only from
Elrond but from the entire company of warriors as well. Discomfited as
skittish colts in a lightning storm, they sought to move along the
narrow path out of earshot. The attempt was futile; they would have had
to descend to the Anduin's banks to escape knowledge of the
confrontation.

"He was no innocent, Elladan, and I am not the one who insisted on his
presence. Glorfindel demanded it," Elrond retorted defensively, too amazed by his son's imputation to construct a better response.

"Is Glorfindel the Lord of Imladris?" Elrohir's voice was equally
disparaging, immersed as he was in the foment of his twin's anguish.

"I alone am Lord in Imladris." Elrond's tone was firm and betrayed none
of the shock and hurt these taunts from his sons evoked within his
heart.

"Well, the bounds of that noble station you exceeded long ago," stated
Elladan caustically, "yet if you would claim such authority then this
Elf's death you must own as a consequence of your rule."

For someone must answer, yet I will not!

Sîdh, muindor; le ar'wathannen. (Peace, brother; you are unstained.)


In the silence
following this outburst the wind buffeted against them and sent a stinging swarm
of crystals curling off the drift into their hair and cloaks. The muted
sound as the frozen particles were flung upon the
stone intruded with the pinging cadence of hail striking glass.

The catalyst of the debate lay abandoned in the snow.

Elrond used the interruption to compose himself and his reply, unwilling in his obstinate pride to see Elladan's condemnation for what it was: a cry from a soldier over-burdened with guilt, a cry for absolution, at least of this one death, a cry from the soul of his son.


"You
surprise me; I thought you were the Wood Elf's champion."

"What has Legolas to do with this?" demanded Elrohir warily.

"While it is impolite to speak ill of the dead, I fear your impression
of this diplomat's character is false if you truly believe him
honourable. Callon shared a rather sordid tale with Lindir, a story of
his association with Legolas whilst serving as an envoy to Mirkwood
some time ago. Our household staff are not as discreet as I might
wish and the true cause of this ridiculous charge against me has gotten
out. Callon thought to aid my plight, probably in hopes of advancing his position, stating
he could provide evidence that the Silvan was a willing party to
whatever transpired," Elrond sternly rejoined, for the deceased was in fact the very
Elf to whom Maltahondo had given Legolas in hopes of quietly ending
their illicit affair.

A ripple of uneasiness passed over the warriors and Elrond was well
aware of the fleeting glances they cast his way. He realised they had
heard the gossip about what was happening and why their Lord was
required to answer the charges of the foreign King. It angered him,
thinking of his soldiers discussing his personal life at table with
their mates and friends, and despite the elevated discord, Elrond could
not quell his tongue. He would have them see the truth: Legolas was accustomed to such depravity while their Lord had never before been implicated in anything so base. Who was more likely to have been the instigator of the unsavoury affair?
They will regret their lapse in loyalty and, in gratitude for my swift forgiveness, will swear their fealty anew with greater fervour and stronger dedication.

"Lindir naturally reported what he had heard to
Glorfindel. As you might imagine, an interview with our Master-at-Arms
had lowly Callon volunteering to return with us in order to make amends
for his lascivious and flagrantly twisted relationship with Thranduil's
son."

"He was slandering Legolas?" Elrohir half turned to send his father an
evaluating stare, seeking for signs of deceit; something he would never
have done prior to the letter from Greenwood.

"Slander is a term reserved for stories that are false," droned Elrond,
perversely pleased with the shocked expressions on the faces
watching him.

The air became animated with the intensity of the brothers'
indignant anxiety and crackled in the jagged energy emitted from
their internal communication.


Again! He diverts notice from his actions by pointing to Legolas.


And to Callon, as if the Elf sealed his fate by his association with the archer.


If so, what of Adar's future? His conscience betrays him even while his wit denies fault.


If so, in what role has he cast me? It is my arrow embedded in Callon's heart.


The implications of such a doom sliced through their conjoined minds, dividing them at the point of unity in which the idea resided. They did not retreat to safer ground, however, but pressed to comprehend this new insult to their unclaimed
heart-brother. As was often the case, it was Elrohir who must speak out.

"True or not, we would not wish Callon to pay for past misdeeds with
his life," he barked, turning fully to glare at his father even as
Elladan's hand firmly grabbed hold of his shoulder to keep him still.
"Legolas would not want this either. Nor would I have believed you
avowed such a creed."

"I do not," averred Elrond, surprised by the vehemence of his son's reaction. "His character was redeemable and nothing in his past warranted such a heavy penalty. Whatever his motives, Callon's testimony would have aided my cause. His death abets my enemies' plans."


He gazed on his sons, nonplussed. It was beyond his emotional comprehension, the cause for their renewed defiance, and equally elusive was the true source of his subsequent needling and baiting. Unable to accept their perceived abandonment in favour of someone they did not even know, Elrond punished his first-born children's lack of respectful allegiance and expected them to seek his pardon. He could not prevent the growing jealousy over the twin Lords' ascent to dominion nor quell his resentment for their open challenge to his authority. Yet neither could he identify these flaws and own them, stymied by the knowledge that his first-born had just accused him of causing the lowly emissary's death. Elrond was the one who had been wronged, not they, and it was he who had both right and reason to be angry.

"I would have preferred him to stand before Thranduil and repeat the tale spoken in Lindir's ear. None believe the Sindarin King would defend his forsaken child, condemning our fallen comrade to the dungeons for these indiscretions, there to rot, a victim of passive kinslaying rather than the beneficiary of a mercy killing. Thranduil has no parental feelings for his disinherited heir; it is far more likely that he would use the information to publicly humiliate his son. Thus, Callon's death at your hand, Elladan, serves to protect Legolas from further shame while sending the fornicator to Námo for judgement and exposing your Lord and father to the indignity of public trial."

"That had nothing to do with it! I acted on instinct," Elladan jumped to his
feet and now it was Elrohir who had to make a hasty grab to keep the
two apart. The elder twin met his brother's gaze and drew in a slow
deep breath to calm his soul. It did not help.


It is my arrow! He refuses to take responsibility and names me kinslayer!

Nay, he does not. Nor do I or any other here, besides yourself. Your arrow freed
Callon's feä that is true; but three more are embedded in his body. One of
those is mine, Elladan, and it was loosed but an instant in time behind yours. If you are at fault then so am I, yet I do not hear you casting blame in my direction.

"None could abide his screams and mercy drove our desperate acts." It
was Dambethnîn's soft voice as she sought to comfort the distress
of her mate. The third arrow piercing the deceased had been drawn from Orophin's quiver.

"Valar forgive me, I could not get to him!" Elladan's
words shook with his anger and remorse. I could not bear his terror. They were devouring him
alive.

"Nor could I. None of us could save him."Do not torment yourself, muindor. (brother) Know this: you acted on
the wish of my heart as well.

"You gave him peace, Lord Elladan, and sacrificed your own peace to do so. We honour such strength," spoke one of the soldiers, drawing closer in order to lay a supportive hand on the elder twin's shoulder.


"Though it is a great burden to bear, yet I would ask it, confident of your given word: should Callon's fate be mine, finish me in the same manner," another added.


"Aye, quick and clean. The same compassion we expect from one another, no less would we hope from our Lords," a third confirmed amid the combined avowals of the remainder of the company.

Though this did not release Elladan from his guilt, their firm support lightened the weight of it considerably. There remained only the acrimony between father and son to rectify but neither twin believed such a rift could be bridged. For a long moment there was only the lowing dirge of the frigid wind to be heard as everyone waited for the outcome of the stalemate.

Elrond considered the warriors before him carefully, noting that they had made their decision to stand with the younger Lords of Eärendil's House. Bitterly he recalled Elladan's warning on the night of his confession, that if forced to do so he would choose to act as one of Imladris' defenders rather than stand at his father's side. I did not believe him. His heart told him he could yet reclaim his sons' succour and solace, but his wounded dignity shouted that too much had been said, the accusations too damning, for a quick and easy remission of hostility. With no other recourse, Elrond fell back on the tried and true diplomatic protocols that had always served him when dealing with an antagonist, a designation he had never imagined to bestow upon his eldest.

"Aye, Elladan, your actions were charitable and your motives unblemished by intrigue. I regret my callous words; the darkness of battle shrouded my judgement," he spoke with the cool, unruffled diction so familiar to his councillors. "Mayhap your complaint is valid; I might have forbidden Callon's inclusion. Glorfindel's reasons were sound but his wisdom was perhaps blinded by his anger over the sordid tale. If I relied too heavily on his advise, it is only because he is so seldom wrong."

"That is true; Glorfindel's errors are infrequent," rejoined Elladan coldly. It was not Glorfindel's counsel he supported; he merely wished to deny ours.

"It is not fitting for the evil of this event to linger in our souls," prompted Elrohir, eager to have the dissension excised. Forgive me; I know it was for my sake that you did not act on the Council's wish. But for that, Callon would have been spared.

"Aye. Let all animosity be buried even as we inter our comrade," Elladan finally relented. This crime is not yours to claim. The Council was precipitous and you were right to ask forebearance. I was no more ready for their request than were you.

"Callon did not deserve to die but that was his fate. The end Elladan gave him was kind in
comparison to the one the Enemy devised. Sîdh ar îdh o
Mandos na în." (The peace and rest of Mandos be his.) Elrond concluded the diplomacy smoothly, redirecting everyone's thoughts to the deceased.

At the speaking of this prayer strained nerves minutely soothed and all
repeated the invocation, heads bowed and hands over their hearts. If the remainder of the company prayed for more than the felled ellon's soul it is not a thing to promote wonderment. The stability of Imladris was a constant, the unchanging foundation of their contented lives. The formal reconciliation of their Lord's family was but a thin patch over a widening crack, as slender as a strand of silk tossed across the breach, but the division was concealed and the gap bridged.


As
unobtrusively as possible, Orophin and one of the Noldorin warriors
moved to bury the deceased, wrapping his torn body in a cloak and
carrying it from the scene of the ambush. There was no fitting place to
lay the former spy to rest and none felt comfortable situating the
Elf's remains on the doorstep of the orcs' cavernous dens. A solemn
procession formed up: Orophin and the other bearer, Dambethnîn
and Elrond next, the twins with the rest of the warriors keeping
rear-guard in case the vile demons attempted another sally into the
ravine. Last of all came the horses in single file, gingerly tiptoeing
over the snow-covered trail.

"Uireb cuil úbreithannen;

hroä a feä dammen;

ind uin gûr ristant.

Callon, údartha sí.

Bado a Mandos.

Lasto! Námo le cân.

Post a nestadren le darad ennas.

Údartho sí, údartho.

(Eternal life should not be broken,

body and soul sundered,

inner thought from the heart severed.

Callon, do not stay here.

Go to Mandos.

Listen! Námo calls thee.

Repose and healing await you there.

Do not stay here, do not stay.)

So sang Orophin softly and the others joined the simple hymn, repeating
each stanza in gentle tones of quiet sorrow.

Every one in Imladris knew this Elf Callon was not of a perfect nature.
Complaints had been lodged against him in the past. Elrond had even
placed a judgement against him once for compromising an Elf visiting
from Lindon. Yet the lesser diplomat had recently reformed and
none had spoken ill of him in many loar. (years)

What he had done to Legolas was unknown to most; even Elrond had but
lately learned of it. Yet had they been told the tale, would any of the
party have felt Callon's horrific death was earned? Indeed, the
warriors chosen for this journey were of the highest character,
selected by Glorfindel for their loyalty to Imladris and its Lord,
renowned for their fair-minded attitudes and belief in forgiveness for
past wrongs rather than revenge. They were no more likely to take
vengeance upon one of their kinsmen than were the twins. It was not in
their natures to be pleased over the loss of any Elf's immortal life
and thus was Callon's passing mourned.

At last they came to a broadening of the path as the mountain track
opened into a small green cove, sheltered from the chilly winds and
unsullied by the foul orcs. Before the first dawn, this had been one of
the holy fanes of the unhoused and some remnant of Yavanna's grace yet
protected it. In that place was Callon's body laid to rest, concealed
beneath a cairn.

No more orcs were encountered as their trek resumed and progress was
swift as the snow vanished in the lower elevations. Soon they were able
to continue on horseback and traversed a great deal of the eastern
slope before nightfall. The entourage decided to halt when annûn
painted the sky behind them in pastel hues of lavender and peach. 
A sheltered spot had been secured amid a copse of cedars beside a
trickling veil of a waterfall. The horses were greedily drinking from
the small stream and the warriors had begun to set camp.

"We need not speak of this to Legolas," Elladan said abruptly as he removed the sling and flexed his arm. All
activity ceased at his pronouncement as every eye focused on the Lord
and his sons.

"Agreed," Elrohir nodded. "It serves no purpose to burden him with such
knowledge; Legolas has demanded no recompense from anyone."

"You speak as though you have taken counsel with him," Elrond was
immediately irritated, spurred by the lingering
strife between him and the twins. The closer they grew to the
Woodland Realm the more his concerns centred on what form of retribution the
Sindarin King might demand, while theirs was ever on the disgraced archer.

"In my heart I feel it is so," answered Elrohir stubbornly.

"Yet it is not. You have never met this Elf; how can you presume to
know his thoughts?"

"I have not met him either, but I know my own heart. If such a death
befell someone who had wronged me in years past, I would not want to
think on it," Orophin quickly added his voice to Elrohir's. "I would be
forced to recall everything I wished to forget. I would be concerned
whether I had secretly wished for harm to find that Elf. Guilt would
hound me and I would have no means of freeing my soul of its clutches.
Elladan is right; let this not be repeated outside our circle."

"I wonder if you will wish to remain ignorant of the extent of the Wood
Elf's dallying with your mate," sneered Elrond.

Orophin's face turned dark and stormy and he took half a step in the
Elf Lord's direction. Dambethnîn's hand upon his arm stayed him.
He met her gaze and they drew together, moving apart from the others as
they sought a private moment to console their worried souls. Neither
could deny the presentiment filling their thoughts: Erestor was lost to them in favour of
this unknown Silvan warrior.

"That was not necessary," chided Elladan but he refrained from
leaving his place beside the pool. "Just because you are in error does
not permit deliberately striking against another with your venomous
words."

"It has not been established whether I am in error for I have not
expressed my thoughts on this topic," retorted Elrond.

"You are weighted with fault, whatever your opinion on this issue may
be," seethed Elladan, glancing up sharply as his father approached.

"Enough! This contention wearies us all, Elladan. We must be united in
purpose for the trials ahead," Elrond rebuked him. That he had used
nearly these same words before eluded him.

"Then stop contending against us," demanded Elrohir, likewise relying on words that had served earlier. "We are united; it
is you who stands apart and argues in flawed logic and unveiled
hostility." He stood and Elladan moved to his side. In unison their
arms folded over their chests and they sent him identically chilling
glares.

"Let us state the cause that thus unites us," the elder brother said.
"We seek to make amends for grievous harm wrought upon an innocent, to
remove a stain upon our family name, and to defuse a threat of war
against Imladris. All of these your clandestine acts of trespass
initiated. Is there another goal you wish us to consider, higher than
the ones I have named?"

Elrond gaped, struck dumb to have Elladan reveal this openly
before the warriors. Speculation was one thing, hearing their Lord's
son confirm the story was quite another.

The guards watched, eager to have the matter resolved while pained to
witness the recent accord crumble under the strain of scandal in their Lord's family. Nothing but respect
and admiration had they for the twin sons of Elrond, yet the same had
they ever felt for the Keeper of Vilya. Still, if the gossip was true
the brothers had good reason for their rage, as did every citizen of
Rivendell. Nonetheless, the soldiers could not but hope the news was
false, for never had any of them entertained an emotion other than
pride for their service to the descendants of Eärendil.

The Mariner's son could not decide whether to be incensed or devastated
with sorrow. Anger won the battle, for while he had accepted their
brusque interrogation privately he was not pleased to be berated by his
sons in public for the second time in a single day. They had journeyed
all this distance without loosening their tongues; indeed, he had
wondered over their aloof reserve, not knowing of their discovery of
Legolas' soiled picture among his papers. Elrond had not found the
courage to question them on it, using the excuse of too many ears to
let the matter be.

Yet with every league passed Elrond came to resent his sons' silence
more, for he felt disregarded and deceived. Had he not bared his blighted soul to them and
begged forgiveness, pleaded their support? Had they not pledged to give
it? His heart ached to feel their withdrawal from him but arrogance
quickly transformed the pain into vexation. The fissure between them grew
in proportion to the distance they travelled. With the added stress of
the Callon's death, he was bereft of resources with which to combat
the ballooning animosity. Now his sons would challenge him openly and force
him to admit his disgrace publicly. He again recalled Elladan's ultimatum,
mourning the truth his eyes beheld. "It would seem you have made your choice," he
said mordantly.

Elladan met his father's stricken stare coldly, his brows arched in
surprise. "If you mean we have chosen to face the consequences of your
pitiless plotting with whatever dignity is left for those of our
House to present, then you are correct."

"Further, having abandoned all semblance of genuine honour, having
forgotten the duty to Imladris your status demands, we feel you are not
fit to represent our House," Elrohir continued just as icily, though
his eyes betrayed the grief he felt to speak such words.

"The Council agreed to leave the matter to our discretion and determination. We agreed to grant you the opportunity to regain our trust and your honour." Elladan explained.

"Sadly, what we have observed indicates you are but sinking deeper into this quagmire of self-pitying self-deceit," Elrohir inserted.

"In light of
your continued lack of contrition, your defiant aversion to admitting your errors, and your insistence in foisting both your responsibility and
your acerbic temper upon others, we have no choice but to exercise the trust
and the burden placed upon us. Until this matter with Greenwood is
resolved, Elrohir and I shall serve as Lords of Imladris," concluded
Elladan, knowing well that his brother could never manage it.
Unconsciously reaching for the younger twins fingers, he enclosed them
within his to confirm their solidarity.

"Gwerrianen!" (Betrayed!) hissed Elrond, lips retracting from his
clenched teeth in an ugly scowl, arms raised to his sides in fisted
protest.

"Úbedo gweriad!" (Do not speak of betrayal!) shouted Elladan.
"Beriam bar mín, Nost Eärendil, ar Imladris. Gweriannech
men, gweriannech Arwen, Erestor, ar Ningloriel." (We protect our home,
our House, and Imladris. You betrayed us; you betrayed Arwen, Erestor,
and Ningloriel.)

"Gerim albeth an man le carnen Legolas. Orbân, gweriannech
lín-ind," (We have no words for what you have done to Legolas.
Above all, you betrayed yourself.) Elrohir's voice was low and filled
with sorrow while his eyes would not look upon his father at all. He
tugged lightly on the hand gripping his and led Elladan
back to the pool.

The movement broke the warriors free of their stunned paralysis.
Noiselessly they dispersed, some tending the horses, some patrolling
the surroundings, others setting watch-posts on the camp's perimeter,
the rest setting out their blankets upon the chilly late-autumn ground.
Orophin and Dambethnîn joined the scouts.

The issue decided, they refrained from comment or discussion and
performed the duties Elladan and Elrohir had already assigned them. Not
one stood forth to protest on behalf of the deposed Elf Lord. The
outcome was not wholly unexpected for Glorfindel had briefed them on
this possibility. He had reminded them, quite unnecessarily, that they
were sworn to the service of Imladris and all her citizens.


They were
soldiers, not politicians, and though many of these Elves had fought with
Elrond in Ages past, they were under the command of the young Lords on
this mission. That the twins would now lead them in governance as well
as in war was acceptable and mete; better this than to continue the
unnerving and detrimental altercation. Whatever was amiss, they trusted
the decision of the Council and of Glorfindel; they trusted the
unimpeachable characters of Elladan and Elrohir. If the twins, who must
love Elrond far more than they, would stand against their father, who
should gainsay them?

In the centre of the little clearing, Elrond stood alone, his mind
reduced to numb oblivion, incapable of forming thoughts, trapped in
repetitious recitation of the doom spoken by his children. Ousted by
his own sons when all the evil designs of the Dark Lord could not
unseat him. All he had worked so long to achieve, the haven of peace
and freedom he had built, his island of hope amid the gathering swells
of a malignant sea of black hearts and covetous minds, all succinctly
removed from his control. There was no need to journey on; he had
forfeited everything. What more was there for Thranduil to take?

Above him the night grew, the depth and breadth of the heavens revealed
as shadow covered the earth and the small wonders of Arda were
obscured. The stars began to gleam, yet their light was no comfort to
his soul.

He was lost.

TBC


NOTE: All right everyone, here at last is the next chapter, beta'd and corrected and hopefully improved. If I have over done anything, please just shake your head, roll your eyes and remember that I do tend to do that now and again. It is not the fault of my beta reader, who has worked so hard to find errors and point our weak places and areas where I missed the mark completely. I am so grateful for Chloe's efforts on my behalf and if not for her honest remarks then maybe all the chapters to follow would be as 'off' as this was in spots.


I am ecstatic about the number of people who have taken the time to give me so much positive encouragement and feedback in the Guestbook. You folks are without exception the very best and kindest fans in the Tolkien Slash community! I was very reluctant to delve back into Feud, obviously, and if you read any of the earlier drafts of this chapter it is even more evident. I did not want to think what they are thinking and feel what they are feeling. I hope I can do it well enough to satisfy your gracious patience and perseverance in refusing to abandon me and this story.

We shall have resolution for Legolas and I will not make you wait such an interminably long time for another update. In re-writing this chapter, I was able to engage once more with the characters and hope it shows here and in future chapters.

Thank you for so much strong support, dear readers and reviewers!

Cheers,

Ellen, 09/04/2006