Feud

It was strange to come upon the stronghold of the woodland King by night and find it dark and sombre. Normally the limbs of the trees sparkled with the gleam of a thousand lanterns, the footpath bright with the glare of torch-fire. Wood Elves loved the evening as well as the day and spent Ithil's hours with the same combination of joy and fortitude that defined Anor's tour across the sky. Beyond that, silvan and Sindar alike were drawn to spectacle and Talagan was accustomed to arriving home amid a throng comprised of well-wishers, curiosity seekers, friends, and detractors. The captain scowled, sweeping his gaze through the network of branches as he walked. The pathways and the courtyards were empty, lamps hung from their branches unlit, talans and flets remained veiled, and the only sounds were those quiet stirrings of the nocturnal denizens of the forest.

That, and the incessant wailing of an infant somewhere deep in the cavernous fortress.

This reaction was opposite to what he had envisioned, considering the people's interest when he had dumped Erestor into the dust. Whatever dire events had precipitated the Greenwood's agitation had apparently affrighted the populace so much that none would venture forth. Not since the disaster at Erebor had the silvan folk been so reticent. He shuddered; the place radiated a dour and apprehensive mood the like of which he had not felt since his return from Morannon at the end of the Second Age.

With Haldir at his left matching him stride for stride, he led the Lords of Imladris into a deserted courtyard on foot, for all had dismounted hours ago, their horses near exhaustion from the lengthy journey and the mad race down the Elf Path. Now the chargers plodded along in the rear, a second company, heads low and gait stumbling. Right up to the great open arch of the council chamber they all marched, but no welcome shout rang out and no one came forth to greet them. The tall torches mounted on either side of the entrance supplied the only illumination in the compound. On the ground beside them, their shadows danced to the drunken rhythm of the wavering flames.

In common achord, the escort stalled before the entrance. The space beyond was bleak, leaking a wavering, anaemic lustre into the empty blackness as footfalls announced the approach of two who were not elf-kind. A young page peered out, leaning into the night as if loathe to venture from the protection of the cavern, and the next instant disappeared inside.

"What can this mean?" Haldir worried. "I would not have thought Thranduil would fail to indulge this moment of triumph. At the very least I expected to be met by Lord Celeborn and Iarwain."

"Where are Greenwood's people?" asked Elladan, for he had imagined a great crowd of onlookers eager to witness the arrival of the debased Noldorin Lord. Before anyone had time to answer, both Mithrandir and Aewendil crossed the threshold and stood before the group.

"Mithrandir," Elrohir did not try to disguise his relief to meet a familiar and steadfast ally.

"Suilad, mellyn," the wizard said and his tone expressed a weary discontent that boded ill. "I will not say 'mae govannen' for it would prove my tongue false." His eyes searched the surrounding faces until they found Elrond's. "So you have come. Are you here to make amends, to heal the wounds you have inflicted?"

"I am here to answer the charges of the Mirkwood King," said Elrond darkly, but his bold stare was not so self-assured when gazing upon the disapproving visage of Olórin.

"We will represent Imladris," Elrohir stated firmly, "and correct any wrongs within our power to mend, may Manwë bear witness."

"Nobly said, yet this time silvan judgement will not fall upon the shoulders of the innocent," the Brown wizard intoned dolefully.

"Innocence is a rare commodity in these darkening hours of a waning Age," scoffed Elrond. "Especially in a place like Mirkwood."

"All the more reason for it to be cherished and protected," admonished Gandalf angrily, "an idea that you once took as your personal motto, a tenet by which you have fostered untold innocents from infancy to manhood. Recall yourself, son of Eärendil!" the wizard commanded, though he did not have his staff in hand.

"I have not forgotten, Gandalf. I am the one who held true, the one who stayed to bear the burdens of that esteemed House."

"Enough!" Elladan's ragged exclamation prohibited further remarks.

A foul silence followed, cold, carrying in its ether a taint of malevolence. The Galadhrim warriors fidgeted, as uncomfortable in the eery emptiness as they had been within the crowded council chamber after the failed uprising. They subtly withdrew from Lord Elrond and his sons, leery of the unwholesome atmosphere collecting around them.

"Where is the King?" asked Elrohir, his voice hard as the frozen clay beneath his boots. "Let us face this test and learn our doom now, the sooner to affect whatever relief to Greenwood we may."

"Thranduil is within the throne room. We are not permitted entrance for the proceedings are dire and such a thing has never been observed by outsiders," Gandalf grimaced, disgust for the primitive ways of the Wood Elves evident. Not since cradling Legolas' broken body the morning after the Judgement had he felt so sick at heart.

"Nay! We cannot permit that," Elladan announced, stepping closer to the Maia. "It is our right to hear the evidence first-hand."

"You two are not charged with any crimes and the closed hearing does not concern Elrond," explained Radagast quickly. "It is wholly an internal matter that has so subdued the populace. We are here to see to your quarters until that issue is resolved."

Talagan cursed under his breath and paced away from the group and back. He did not like the sound of this, for the Judgement of Erebor had been resolved before his departure. Whatever threat had loomed over Greenwood due to that unpleasant debacle was removed, or surely should have been. The wailing of the child worked through his consciousness and he swore again. What ails the prince now if his brother's honour is restored? The answer was in his mind but he had need of confirmation.

"Wizard, you withhold much. What has happened here? Speak!" he demanded, not caring which of them replied.

"The true architect of the murderous acts on the plains of Erebor has been named. Meril now faces trial before the King and Council," answered Aewendil.

"Noss od Oropher dannen!" (The House of Oropher has fallen!) Talagan hissed out, followed by a long string of coarse obsceneties. He drew his sword and shook it at the bleary black sky, exhaling an incoherent shout of impotent rage to billow through the unseen stars. He cast his weapon upon the ground and ran inside the fortress, forgetting Elrond in his wrath over the dread outcome this latest crisis must provoke.

As he went in the page stumbled out, obviously shoved aside by the tall Sindarin captain, and was steadied by a different warrior and his comrade. The trio gazed upon the assembled elves and wizards with apprehensive indecision, uncertain to whom they should report in Talagan's absence, before stepping up to Mithrandir and bowing low.

"We are charged by King Thranduil to take Lord Elrond into custody," said one soldier as he straightened.

"Nay, I will remain with my sons," countered Elrond. "I am no criminal."

"You will go with them," Elladan commanded, his voice dispassionate and calm.

He and Elrohir had expected such a demand. They had discussed the possibility with Glorfindel and their councillors before leaving the valley, unanimously agreeing to permit incarceration as part of the penance to be paid. His father's haughty attitude only solidified Elladan's resolve, for the Lord of Imladris remained unmoved by either remorse or pity. We will not leave him in their care too many hours. He reassured Elrohir's faltering spirit.

"You cannot mean that!" hissed Elrond, backing away slightly as the guards came forward, flanking him right and left, laying hands upon him. He glared first at them and then his sons. "You would commit your father to the keeping of his enemies?"

The younger twin met his livid gaze briefly, communicating plainly on whom the fault for the circumstances lay. He then assessed the guard, who was studying him intently. It seemed more then curiosity about twinning, so searching was the examination. He raised his brows in inquiry and the warrior blinked, dropping his eyes at once.

"Your pardon, Hiren, but have we not met before? You are familiar to me," said the soldier respectfully, confusion in his bewildered tone.

"Nay, I have no memory of you, sir." Elrohir paused before continuing. "I would know where he is to be held," his voice was firm despite his worry. "Lord Elrond has yet to face his accusers; nothing has been determined regarding the verity of the charges. Let not punishment be dealt before a sentence is passed."

"It is not a dungeon cell, if that is what you fear, but a plain and simple room where he may be alone with his thoughts, so to consider the actions that have brought him here," assured Aewendil. He looked upon the Elven Lord with dismay, seeing the Shadow gathered tight around him like a cloak against the winter wind. "Where is your heart, Elven Lord, did it die with Elros so long ago?"

"Why do you ask this now, if you suspect such, rather than pose the question when its answer might have prompted some aid?" countered Elrond bitterly.

"I was not on these shores," stated Aewendil, "else I would have done."

"You rank yourself more compassionate than any other, then, for the thought never occurred to my kin," the Lord of Imladris' words were thick with both scorn and self-pity.

"Daro, Adar!" Elladan snapped, embarrassed to have such things spoken before Thranduil's guards and the folk of Lorien. The Galadhrim refrained from speech but had not withdrawn more than a few paces, even Haldir stayed to witness the sordid scene. "Erestor never left your side, by your own avowal. Yet this is pointless badgering on your part, Aewendil of Rhosgobel, and jeering is beneath the dignity of your Order, I would think."

"Indeed it is," Gandalf intervened as tempers threatened to flame beyond control. "Lord Elrond, I beg you to comply willingly and forestall the use of force. There are terrible events unfolding now; the magnitude of the malice precipitating them dwarfs the petty jealousy that inspired your spiteful deeds. It may be that your plotting has been forgotten; all Thranduil's thought consumed as it is by this new tragedy."

"Ai! The children!" Haldir cried softly, his head dropping low as he murmured prayers for their safety, painfully aware of the distraught and unceasing fretting of the infant prince. "The Tawarwaith was right."

"What does this mean?" asked Elrohir, alarmed, for he did not know the significance of the named culprit. Mithrandir quickly explained and both twins immediately added their prayers to the March Warden's.

"What of Legolas? Is he with Thranduil and the sequestered court?" Elrond dared to inquire, his voice edged in hope and hunger.

"Nay," said Mithrandir. "He has left the city, searching for Lindalcon, an Elf unknown to you, for the youth is Meril's first-born and also her accuser. Like a brother he is to the Tawarwaith."

"Iluvatar, vile progenitor of this folly, follow thy servant into the Void!" Now Haldir cursed, a sharp and bitter denunciation of Eru that shocked his friends deeply. The look of rage and regret that twisted his fair features caused even his own warriors to draw back. "Alae, Lindalcon, what have you done? Where and when, Mithrandir. I must follow and lend what aid I may, though little hope do I envision for a fair result in this foul chain of events."

"Peace!" exhorted Aewendil, offended by the Galadhrim commander's blasphemy. He advanced upon Haldir and it was well for Lorien's captain he did not hold his staff that night.

"We know not when the young one left, before dawn certainly," Gandalf's hand restrained his fellow Istar's menace. "Legolas learned of it through his foster father, though all the palace has been in chaos since the writ was discovered at the door of Iarwain's chambers. Needless to say, he departed at once, alone as is his way, but what direction is left to guesswork. Aragorn took a company of soldiers out right behind him and we were forced to put Erestor in restraints to prevent him from dashing madly into the trees after his mate."

"Aragorn!" Elrond exclaimed, jolted from his thought of Legolas at the mention of his fosterling. For answer he received only a harsh look filled with disdain from Aewendil.

"That is the reason for the distress of the trees, Hiren," one of the Mirkwood guards added, ignoring the interruption. "The young usurper has gone after his Adar's murderer and Legolas has gone to stop him, for the youth has little knowledge either of combat or the forest beyond the bounds of the realm. The Tawarwaith fears he will fall to Orcs or spiders, or worse should the Wraiths discover him first."

"I will not stand for it! I count myself responsible in part for Lindalcon's rash heroics." The March Warden ground the recrimination through his clenched teeth. Now with the absence of Talagan, Haldir assumed control, turning to his soldiers. "Take the horses and have them stabled, procure fresh mounts and what supplies may be found, and gather Greenwood's forces. We ride."

"Greenwood's forces have been sent forth," said Gandalf, "thus you find the place deserted. One company after another has formed up and departed, for word has come back throughout the day and night of many Orcs gathering and skirmishes breaking out all around the city. In the war room you will find the charts and maps the others used, but I cannot say that any of it will be helpful."

"We will go with you," Elladan announced as he and his brother moved to join the Lorien warriors hustling to obey the orders of their captain.

"I forbid it!" Elrond shouted. "Your allegiance is to Imladris, to me. You will not abandon your father to chase after that outcast." He leaped from the lax grip of Thranduil's guards, meaning to grapple Elladan and hold him fast. He found Elrohir in his way.

"Dare you speak such hypocrisy with so much arrogance?" Elrohir breathed a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Did you not forsake your family and your people? Indeed, your very honour you discarded to seek the self-same elf."

"Nay! I held to my family and my people to the despair of my own well-being. How can you see it otherwise? If I have renounced anyone it is myself. Do not go from me now!" he grasped the younger of his sons only to find himself shoved back into the waiting hands of the
woodland warriors.

"Daro, Adar!" Elladan commanded once more, pulling Elrohir to his side. "We will act as our consciences direct. You do not truly want Legolas dead, even if you do not see this now. Be grateful we are here to compensate for your lack of reason."

"And compassion," added Elrohir. "Ada, do as Thranduil bids and accompany the guards. We will return as soon as Legolas and his friend are found." The younger twin turned to Haldir. "Our swords, mellon."

Elrond gaped, completely at a loss over his sons' decision. He watched in helpless denial; they would not go and leave him to be locked away like any common thief. They would not turn their backs on him. They would not ride out and let him face Thranduil alone. Yet as he watched the brothers accepted their arms and did exactly that, without a backward glance, striding quickly after Haldir to secure new mounts. In mere minutes the courtyard was empty save for the wizards, Elrond, and the guards. The Lord of Imladris looked to them, summoning up the most indignant and austere expression of disapproval he could produce, completely unaware that it was a pale imitation of the daunting demeanour for which he was legendary. He did not fail to comprehend the dawning of pity in the piercing eyes of the canny wizards. The shock of seeing it washed the false bravado from his features.

"You will not be left on your own for long," instructed Mithrandir gravely. "Put the solitude to use and benefit from the lessons such introspection may teach. There is someone here most anxious to make your acquaintance, though I cannot say if you will appreciate the visit."

"If you mean Thranduil, be assured I do not quake at the thought of confronting him," Elrond boasted, not as sure of his resolve as he hoped he sounded. In truth, he had no desire to meet the Sindarin ruler alone and unarmed.

"I do not mean Thranduil," Gandalf spat back sourly, calling up the memory of Legolas' agony during the night of grieving and with it numerous justifications for giving equal hurt to the Elven Lord. The soft pressure of Radagast's hand upon his forearm brought him out of his vivid ruminations and he drew his features into a horrific scowl of utter repugnance. "I am done with you, Elrond of Rivendell. I cannot say what I hoped would happen upon this meeting, but you have not mitigated my fury nor allayed my fears."

"Instead, remaining near you pushes us beyond the capacity for charitable consideration," Aewendil interjected. "Call us not 'mellyn' again until you show yourself worthy of that friendship."

"We will not back you in this confrontation," finished Gandalf. The Istari turned in unison and strode back inside the cavern.

The page resumed the watch at his post inside the portal and the guards shifted subtly, turning the Noldo Lord to face the rear of the stronghold. Sharing a glance between them to strengthen their courage, they marched forward, lungs resuming their function once their charge fell into step as well. They followed the curve of the garden wall but did not enter in, heading for the stable yard and the barracks beyond. As they progressed, the sound of Haldir's warriors galloping through the postern and into the woods briefly met their hearing and as quickly receded.

Eventually the light from the torches diminished until it was no more than a faint glow behind them. Their breath fogged the air around their chins, a shimmering ephemeral mist greedily absorbed, hoarded to manufacture winter's desiccated frost. The deserted grounds stretched ahead in distorted obscurity, the features of the landscape transmuted into shapes and forms that described a hint of peril in false repose.

Elrond at first attributed the uneasy tribulation building in his soul to the presence of the silvan people, hidden all around them in their treetop talans. That or the undeniable sentience of the ancient forest. Perhaps the two concepts are not distinguishable or separable.

Yet even lacking as he was in knowledge of Greenwood's culture, he could discern the barrier here between Thranduil's fortress and the crowding trees. To keep them out or to seal him in?

To his right, Orod Im'elaidh (the Mountain Amid the Trees) rose up, obliterating the skies and surmounting the tallest trees. Scattered round its skirts were low buildings of wood and daub for housing the warriors, livestock, weapons, and supplies. Everything seemed in order but order was not of necessity benign. Too long had he lived to ignore his insight, and Elrond's instincts were alert to some undefined danger that was wholly new to his experience. The soldiers turned slightly and he found himself headed toward a long black flank of the mountain, facing a point where the solid rock melted into oblivion, a gaping hole cut into the stone.



"Hold, what is this place?" the Elven Lord demanded, struggling against hands that gripped his elbows and pressed at the small of his back, not shoving but not yielding either.

Whatever he had expected to endure during his inquisition, this was not part of the imagined scene, this small, dark, dirty storeroom smelling of foul seeps that usually stained the ground after battle or coated the walls and floor of a dungeon cell. Fear gripped him. Inexorably closer he was drawn, simultaneously compelled and repulsed by the entrance, a yawning rectangle of black obscurity. Something sinister had happened within; the frigid air reeked of it and Elrond balked at entering a room so steeped in evil.

"You must enter," said one guard quietly.

"Nay, take me to Thranduil at once!"

"It is the King who commands it. This is the place where you will wait."

"Am I to have no trial, then? What madness is this? I will not suffer confinement in so foetid a tomb!"

Elrond fought them, jerking against their unbending solidity, scrambling his fine boots in the gritty dust to gain purchase enough to free himself. They stopped moving and merely waited, holding him tight and secure, not attempting to subdue him or harm him or propel him forward, until their indifferent complacency finally attracted his notice. He stilled, breathing hard more from the engulfing dread the room exuded than his futile exertion. From one to the other, Elrond stared at the warriors, seeing now that they were neither wholly sylvan nor Sindarin, and understood why the folk of Mirkwood referred to themselves as simply Wood Elves. They looked back upon him, nothing of their thoughts revealed in the bland expressions.

"Ready now, Hiren?" said the one on the right, but his inquiry was genuine rather than fraught with gloating mockery.

His companion said naught, merely waiting for their prisoner to comply. Neither one enjoyed this allotted task yet it had fallen to them and so neither would they fail to see it through. Small it was but vital, that verily defined it, and while there was little glory in guiding a prisoner to his doom, a veneer of pride remained to them for being so entrusted.

Thus was the lot of warriors under Thranduil's command. Many orders given were unpalatable to accomplish, their aftermath ill-suited to the the confines of the conscience, but to be in Thranduil's favour was like basking in the sun. He was as generous in repaying loyalty as he was brutal in punishing treachery. He forgot neither a deed well done nor the slightest affront, be it thousands of years in the past. They had made their choice half an Age ago and more, affirming it during the recent strife; they would serve their King.

"Please, what is this place?" Elrond was pleading now, no longer trying to disguise his terror behind tones of feigned superiority.

"It is not a good place, Hiren," one warrior sighed as if the vile taint of sorrow and torment emanating from the storeroom pained him to exhibit, as it did. Admitting its existence shamed him, displaying it to outlanders was mortifying, but he could not deny the justice in revealing it to this particular Elf.

"Our Tawarwaith endured much suffering here and here our King demands you to be held," the other appended.

"If I refuse to go in?"

"You cannot refuse. I think the room has been kept this way just for you. Be thankful the chains are there to see only and not to hold you bound."

At this statement a strong premonition of despair overtook Elrond, nearly a vision it was, vivid with the fullness of the humiliation and degradation certain to be visited upon him. Upon him personally and not upon his House or his children or his realm, this was to be a punishment endured alone. For the first time since the day the formal charges arrived in Imladris, Elrond was isolated from everything he knew and everyone he loved.

Hecilo.

He stared at the bleak hole in the stone, swallowing in revulsion as a memory arose: his fingers running over a myriad of criss-crossed, layered, and over-lapping scars, marks in flesh that should never be marred. It was in this room, then, that those grotesque wounds had been laid down upon Legolas' body. Panic gripped Elrond and sweat, rank with the stench of his own dread, broke from the pores of his upper lip. Wars he had fought, wounds he had taken, but Elrond had never faced torture, but once.

Once, he had been hunted down and captured. Once, he had been shoved into a cold, empty cave, shut away, alone, parted from Elros for the first time since their genesis. He could neither hear him nor feel his thoughts and the isolation initiated a break with reason, believing his brother was dead. What transpired during the interval of separation Elrond's mind refused to present, even now. Events leaped from the heart-stopping shock of solitary existence to their reunion, kneeling on the floor of some drawing room or study, sobbing brokenly, clasping each other close, wordlessly supplying mutual comfort as a tall and princely Elf looked on. A tug on his arms jarred him back to the current situation. He stared at his captors' placid faces.

"What will happen here?" he shuddered involuntarily and braced his feet upon the ground, desperate and determined. "Why do you not answer?"

The black void loomed.

I will not go in.

The woodland warriors took a solid step forward. Elrond's feet skidded through the dirt.

"What will happen here?"

The air became heavy, rolling out of the room frigid and cloying like a fog off the sea, enveloping him, tasting him, poking its ghostly fingers into his psyche, the weight of its substance animate and aware.

"I will not go in there!"

The soldiers stoically resumed the journey, forced to drag the noble Elf the last few steps. They refused to meet his wide and wild eyes, ashamed for him since he could not muster the emotion for himself. He thrashed against their hold and kicked out at their legs, but they were well prepared and he could not escape. He shouted the names of loved ones to rally to his aid, a horrendous and deafening din to which they made no reply. He went limp under their hands, a dead weight pleading mercy, beseeching any form of punishment but this, promising wealth untold, renown, and fair lands in exchange for freedom.

It meant nothing to them. With a mighty heave they shoved him through the opening and slammed shut the heavy door, throwing the bolt with a grating rasp.

He pounded against the barrier for a time, alternately demanding to be set free, begging for light, imploring for his sons to come. No one heeded him. He ceased yelling, realising the guards had left long ago, and huddled on the floor against the wooden planks, for he was not alone. He recognised them, for they wanted him to remember who they were. In confusion he attempted to bargain, not understanding what they wanted of him. In the end, Elrond had no means to combat them, understanding little of unhoused spirits. A long, piercing, shriek rent the night, a sound made by a body struggling against the prying invasion of a foreign soul, rising in pitch and volume as the battle peaked, wavering, dying into echoes absorbed by the stone.

TBC