Feud

"What did he want of you, Penraun?"

Dambethnîn draped herself over her dark-haired lover and brazenly helped herself to his left ear. Her attentions coaxed a rumbling moan from his chest as strong arms wrapped round her waist and pressed her close. She smiled as she tongued the reddening tip; Erestor had come home hard and willing.

"Just the usual, predictable whining about the lovely Ningloriel," he mumbled, kissing her neck in quick little wet, sucking caresses that made her shiver. Suddenly she went limp and he caught her, slipping down to the floor to settle her in his lap. Her eyes locked with his, lit with merry mischief, and her lips covered his mouth. "Penbara," he tried to murmur but her tongue took the opportunity to slither inside and interfere in the most delightful way.

"Then he will not be needing you 'til morning. I have little doubt where Elrond will be tonight," a third voice interjected, its source joining the pair of enmeshed Elves on the floor by the glowing grate.

Orophin chuckled appreciatively at the sight, for Dambethnîn had managed to discard her soft silk robe and was now naked in Erestor's lap, legs straddling his hips so that his balls would be nearly inside her had she managed to get the seneschal naked first. The subtle shifting in her back and shoulders betrayed her efforts to achieve that goal. He knelt behind his hervess and began nibbling at her ears, hands working around and between them, one cupping a warm, round breast, the other gripping on to Erestor's hot, hard rod poking out of the half-tied pants. Both his mates squealed in delight.

"Ai! Orophin!" Erestor breathed out harshly and pushed forward to increase the tantalising friction, which drove Dambethnîn's back into their guardsman; his solid erection radiating heat even through his leggings. That made them all shudder out a decadent, needy little whimper. "Bed or Bench?"

"Why not right here?" mewled Dambethnîn, fingers busily unbuckling and unfastening the Noldorin Lord's clothes.

"Nay, I wish not to be burned," muttered Erestor between panting breaths, still rocking avidly into Orophin's steady hand.

"Are you still complaining about that tiny blister on your toe?" laughed he, relinquishing his wife's ear to lean forward and claim a kiss from his husband. "How are you doing, 'Beth? Ready for me to slip off the boots?"

"Aye, all done. Strip him for me, my love." She stood, glittering eyes locked with Erestor's, and Orophin's hand slid down, caressing her belly and stroking her thigh as his tongue followed the gentle groove of her spine, leaving a slick trail from nape to arse, which he bit as she stepped aside. She grinned over her shoulder and wiggled enticingly as she sauntered to a chair and sat, spreading her legs wide, hands demurely overlapped upon her navel.

Her lovers were frozen for a second or two and she could verily hear them mentally contemplating whether to comply with her demand or just pounce on her. Since neither had yet shed their garments, she knew they would obey and grinned as they shared a smouldering look.

Orophin pulled on Erestor's cock, bringing him to his feet and squeezing out a trickle of cloudy liquid from the organ. Then it was all he could do to remain standing as Erestor snatched him close and plundered his mouth in a ravaging kiss, grinding into his grasp and growling. He let go of the rigid penis and took the gaping leggings in hand, yanking them down from the slender hips. He had failed to get the boots off, though, thanks to his lovely mate's tempting display, and Orophin exhaled an impatient grunt as he dragged his tongue away from the sweet stimulation and knelt.

This brought him face to face with the maroon column of ardent flesh jutting from the crux of the seneschal's legs and Orophin could not resist a lick across the tip of the leaking shaft. Of course that was not enough and he had to take the head between his lips and suck.

"Oh yes!" cried Erestor, hands framing the fair face and combing through the pale mane of flaxen hair. When Orophin lifted those deep blue eyes to his, he thought he would come. He would have, except the Galadhrim archer stopped, pinching hard on his root. "Penraeg!" Erestor's agonised yell was loud enough to be heard in Imladris. He had a hard time breathing for a moment or two, dimly aware of his legs being lifted one at a time and the low boots being removed, followed by the leggings. Of his own accord he shrugged out of his robe as Orophin stood. "I shall punish you for that."

"Nay, I think not," smiled Orophin, hastily divesting his mate of the open tunic and it's accompanying undershirt. Finally Erestor was naked. "Glorious," he sighed, running his hands over broad shoulders and along the strength of muscled biceps, nipping playfully at the clavicle, pulling to draw him close, letting him feel the tight, warm leather covering his restrained penis. Hands grabbed him at the waist and the crotch and held tight; Erestor's mouth sealed to his. In no time his leggings were open and his erection freed; Erestor's hand withdrew and joined the one at his hip, crushing them together. Heavy balls knocked against Orophin's and a flare of brilliant violet lit up his brain.

"Now you."

The throaty whisper reached Orophin and he turned, having momentarily been distracted from his fair and beloved 'Beth, to find her hands had changed position. One remained on her stomach but the other was settled over her brown pubic curls, a finger inserted between the parted lips, carefully circling the hidden nub of excited ruby skin within. Now, Orophin was a master at discarding his clothes rapidly but doubted he had ever done so with such speed before. He lunged to reach her, longing to replace that fortunate digit with his tongue, and found he had competition as Erestor shoved him sideways. As he staggered to regain balance, Erestor flung himself to his knees and slid across the remaining space.

'Beth let him burrow between her legs, lifting her hand out of the way to stroke his head, moaning and shifting in the chair to grant him better access. The scent of her secretions permeated the air and coated the advisor's hair. Her head lolled back and she whimpered out a string of crooning endearments. Then she drew in deeply, filling her lungs, and released a yearning cry. "Come to me!" Her eyes met Orophin's and he was there in two bounding steps. She lifted her mouth to his, reaching for his cock. Just a few fast strokes and she let go, a hungry look shining in the gaze that captured him anew.

He straightened and again her hand claimed his shaft, tugging this time as she leaned over and sealed her lips around him. His heart surged, knowing now how she wanted it, knowing she loved him enough to choose this way for their first coupling so he would not need to ask. Orophin pumped vigourously but carefully, mindful of her comfort, and stuttered out a hoarse cry as her fingernails trailed the underside of his sac. "Valar, 'Beth! How I love you!"

She smiled as she sat back, the long red shaft retreating from her mouth with a slurpy little pop. "I know," she cooed sweetly even as she yanked on the handful of ebony hair to lift Erestor's face from her crotch. She turned the smile to him. "We're ready, Penraun; how about you?"

Erestor needed no further encouragement, slapping her hand out of his hair and scrambling up off his knees. He grabbed her hips and pulled her rump to the very edge of the seat, mounting her in a single, powerful lunge as her legs came up and hooked around his back, locking him in. The lovers were silent in their joining; it was Orophin who groaned in a delicious agony of expectation. They waited for him, Erestor braced on the arms of the chair, 'Beth tasting the tart smear of her wet heat on his lips and tongue, fingertips traipsing up and down his spine.

Orophin did not remember moving, but found himself positioned behind Erestor, kneading the tautly quivering flesh of the advisor's arse, teasing the exposed opening, sneaking his hand down the lean belly to explore the place where they were joined. It was all hot and sweaty there where the coiled hair merged: 'Beth's soft and silky, Erestor's wiry and thick. A quick, sharp moan of ardent longing chorused from both and Orophin knew he could delay no longer. He penetrated slowly, spreading Erestor's relaxed anus as he entered, relishing the firm resistance of the constricting muscles. Once he was all the way in, he rested a few heartbeats, waiting for his pulse to synchronise with Erestor's, whose heart already kept time with 'Beth's. The second the three organs sounded a single, thudding pump, he burst into motion.

Erestor yelped and shook, his inner core stroked on the very first thrust, his cock ground so hard against Dambethnîn that he could feel her pubic bone pressing down. As Orophin retreated, Erestor instinctively pushed back, following the motion to prevent the solid intrusion from withdrawing. His penis pulled almost completely out of Penbara before Orophin's next shove drove him back inside. All her muscles seemed to jerk at once and she gasped, clutching to his arms.

"Yes, Orophin, again, hard!" she demanded through clenched jaws.

That was the last articulate thing any of them said as the trio found their rhythm, bodies and souls melded, rocking in a panting, grunting tangle of legs and arms and hair to an incredible conclusion. 'Beth came first and kept on coming, her clitoris rippling with spasms, Erestor's engorged organ stroking it incessantly as Orophin drove into him. Her excitement was infectious and both males could smell the rush of fresh fluid coating the penis piercing her. Orophin caught sight of her eyes, hazed in sublime ecstasy, and just then Erestor shifted, his arse squeezing impossibly tight around him. With a long, low cry he spilled, the sensation magnificent beyond thought, and that sent Erestor spiralling into orgasm.

While Orophin and Erestor rested, they kept 'Beth in a frenzy of erotic delirium, for she remained primed and eager for stimulation. Orophin got his turn to feast upon the swollen bit of jumping flesh buried in the folds of musky skin, lapping up the seneschal's semen, while Erestor suckled at her breasts, biting and tugging until he drew a clear, sweet nectar from the ripe, red nipples. Oh, how that had made her scream and arch and part her long legs. That got Orophin excited so he fucked her, mouth clamping down on the tit Erestor held up for him. After he came, he stayed inside her while he sucked Erestor off, growing hard as he did but refraining from moving. He pulled out of her, presenting his hard, hot erection for them both to see, and she groaned in regretful disappointment. Erestor reached for it but he evaded the grasp; he would not give it to either one, not yet.

Somehow they got 'Beth off the chair, carrying her to the Bench. They fingered her, first Erestor and then Orophin, holding her squirming, writhing body down for one another, kissing and licking and sucking every sensitive region they could access. Soon Erestor was hard again and they took her together, one cock up her vagina and the other up her arse. It took longer to recover but 'Beth kept them both content, seated on the Bench with her, Erestor in front and Orophin at her back, as she listed the various positions they might try, tallying up the benefits of each. It was the warden who made the choice. Orophin seated himself carefully on a thick, slick mithril phallus; 'Beth sank down onto his rigid rod of flesh and blood, and Erestor buried himself to the balls in the Galadhrim archer's mouth, working the lever to the mechanism as they worked one another to climax.

Hours later, when it was finally over, they had snuggled into the hammock and Erestor had prattled on about his journey to the Golden Wood, the recent news from Imladris, all the latest gossip, and had recited his traditional catalogue of complaints against Elrond, Glorfindel, and Lindir. He was happy and content, his manner giving no indication that he was disturbed or conflicted regarding his discussion with Elrond. Not a word did he utter about searching for the disgraced archer.

"You deceived us," said Orophin sadly, recalling that steamy, exhausting night in Lorien.

It had been their last coupling before all this trouble, for Erestor and Elrond had left the following day due to Ningloriel's departure. The Imladrians planned to join her escort for the crossing over the mountains, parting at the ford across Bruinen. It was only to dissuade her that they had travelled to Lorien at all. Orophin had no reason to imagine then that it would truly be their last time together, but he had no doubt of it now. The new bond, a true and eternal one, was evident in his lover's eyes, which Erestor was desperately trying not to let him see.

"I did not mean to," whispered Erestor. He looked to Dambethnîn, pleading silently for understanding.

She smiled from her comfortable seat in the rocking chair, drawn close to the crackling fire though the room was not overly cold for the shutters had been drawn across the open alcoves of the balcony. In her arms she cradled a small babe, only a few weeks old, humming softly to keep him in oblivion. Every now and again he would draw in a loudly shuddery breath, the remnant sob of a lost little soul, for this was Taurant, infant prince of Greenwood and Thranduil's cherished heir. The three lovers were collected in the babe's nursery, for DambethnÎn had been drawn thither by the child's woeful cries. Orophin had followed her and Erestor had come running as soon as the healer informed him of their arrival.

"We know," she soothed quietly, vision flickering to Orophin briefly and back to the seneschal. "We have expected this for a very long time, Erestor."

"I was not referring to your new lover," hissed Orophin, trying hard not to sound like a heart-sore rejected suitor. "Of course you could not know then you would fall in love with the out-cast. You did, however, know Elrond's intentions were less than honourable. You were willing to help; nay, you were eager to help. All that he planned could only do harm to an Elf who had never sought to injure him in any way. To hurt someone who had not wronged you, that is not like you, at least not like my Erestor. That is the deception I am concerned about."

His stern gaze burned into Erestor's, determined to learn exactly what had changed him. Erestor had always been wily and cunning, some would even say devious, but never unscrupulous or dishonourable. That roguish streak of artful duplicity had never been put to the harness of iniquity. Orophin blinked suddenly and physically straightened, unconsciously drawing back. There was no evil in Erestor to see; whatever aberration had afflicted his heart was gone. Instead he found an all-consuming fear and suffocating sorrow. Orophin understood; this grim terror concerned the absent Wood Elf.

He found that it hurt just to look at this opening wound in Erestor's soul and rose from his spot on the floor at 'Beth's feet. Erestor's arm half-rose toward him but that was easily evaded. Two steps carried him to the door to the adjoining parlour and he went through.

"Orophin?" 'Beth's worried voice followed him but he gave no answer. The small sounds of clinking glassware filled the silence and then he returned, bearing three tall-stemmed goblets of amber wine. Erestor took his, eyes down, but 'Beth refused. Orophin let a disgruntled yet resigned expression cross his fair face and sighed, gulping down his wine and then hers in quick succession as he resumed his seat by the rocker.

Realising they both expected him to respond, Erestor sipped his drink slowly. How could he answer what was a puzzle even to his own mind? "I have no sound reason that would exonerate me," he began, finally chancing a peek at the slender, blonde archer. It was with a heart-rattling shock that he recognised the physical similarities between his beloved Pen'rhovan and Orophin. They were of a type: lean and graceful, lethal predators like the great panthers that once stalked the mountain passes in Beleriand. Erestor took another swallow of the wine, wishing it were stronger stuff, and let the alcohol steady his nerves a bit.

"You are right; I did not plan to love Legolas, but neither did I seek to wrong him. There was the Ring." Erestor shrugged helplessly; he knew how pathetic this sounded. "With Ningloriel gone Elrond hoped to make Legolas reveal a means to get into Thranduil's vaults."

"Must we hear this garbage from your lips as well? Elbereth! Do you possess your own mind or are you forced to mimic whatever your Lord says?" Orophin's angry retort exploded from him before he even knew he wanted to say it. He could not reclaim the words now, though, and so refused to apologise, fixing his expression into one of harsh disappointment.

Erestor stared; this reaction was like the Orophin he had first met, so filled with anger and lacking any patience or tolerance. A crawling nausea clutched at his gut, believing he had reversed whatever healing their union had accorded the Galadhrim warrior. He dropped his eyes to his lap, not certain how to repair the damage, frightened that anything he said would make it worse.

"Forgive Orophin's sharp tongue," said 'Beth quietly, for she knew her beloved would not retract them. "We had to listen to Elrond make similar excuses. You should know he accused you of treason against Imladris and betrayal of our bond."

"What?" Erestor raised his head in an instant, furious. "I never did any such thing. Never!"

"Aye, we knew that," Orophin grinned in grim ferocity."You should have seen 'Beth rally to your defence! Oh, and he insulted our fair Penbara, calling her…"

"Do not repeat those words!" 'Beth stopped him. "I never want to hear them, especially spoken in your voice, not even to explain what happened."

"There is no need; I can well imagine the foul things he uttered!" Erestor stood up and paced around the room. "I shall thrash him; he had no right."

"That will not be necessary; 'Beth walloped him quite soundly," Orophin chuckled darkly, eyes glinting when Erestor turned to meet them. "Come, return to your seat and let us hear the tale." He motioned toward the chair and sighed at the seneschal's hesitation.

"What can I tell you that would answer this riddle? I recently had a dousing in this blighted realm's enchanted river and had all my recollection of recent time cloaked in black oblivion. Fear not," Erestor held up a hand at 'Beth's startled cry, "it has been remedied and I think did me some measure of good. I awoke as myself again. When Aragorn and Mithrandir told me all I had done, it was truly sickening. Like you, I could not believe I would fall so low.

"Even now, I remember the plotting Elrond and I so gleefully discussed yet it is as though I am seeing some other Elf with the Lord of Imladris. I cannot understand the coldness that filled my heart. I felt nothing untoward in what we hoped to do. We were not thinking of harming him; at least, I was not. That is not meant to be a means of exonerating my conduct, for what I mean is that I felt nothing.

"It was as if I spoke of setting out to hunt game. I was unable to see Legolas as a person. You know we had long ago decided Elrond had to be his sire? Yet, when my noble cousin stated his intent to seduce this Elf, I did not experience more than a second's worth of revulsion; I did not speak out against that option. I remember only a sense of disappointment, for I did hope to have him. To be honest I rather imagined he would be like his Naneth. She is quite free with her charms as we all…"

"No, she is not," Dambethnîn interrupted sharply. Her tone made the babe startle but she cuddled him close and he remained asleep. "Ningloriel had but three lovers her entire life: the guardsman, Elrond, and Thranduil. Far fewer than you, my Penraun."

Well, that took Erestor aback and he did not realise his mouth was hanging open until Orophin bent forward and gently shut it, a bemused smile faintly lighting his pale green eyes. Elrond's Chief Advisor blushed and shifted nervously in the cosy armchair across from 'Beth. "Right again. It would seem I have been less than observant where Wood Elves are concerned," he said.

"But that is what you thought? That he was promiscuous and low? Did you think him guilty of the charges for which he was exiled?" Orophin pressed, more compassion in his tone this time, trying to find a way toward forgiveness. He reached out and laid a hand upon Erestor's knee.

"I suppose. I reflect now and find that my thoughts were filled with bitterness and my reason inundated with cynicism. I fear I had been growing cold inside for a long time and just refused to face it," the seneschal whispered. "I…never healed, you see. The anger and grief were too painful to acknowledge, so I just tried to…pretend everything was fine."

"And the guilt," reminded Orophin gently."That was the hardest for me to release; I suspect it was the same for you."

"Aye." Erestor swallowed hard, tears coming to his eyes and a raw, tight aching gathering round his heart. "I tried, but did not know how. I am sorry, Orophin."

In a second he was enveloped in strong arms, held firmly against the warrior's lean body as Orophin knelt before him, the familiar scent of honeysuckle wafting from the golden hair where his nose was pressed against the Galadhrim's shoulder. Erestor did not attempt to hold his tears in check, spilling them into the leather travelling tunic as he slumped over in limp defeat, clutching at the soft material desperately.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," murmured Orophin. "If anything, it is I who failed you. I took from you, Erestor, so much of your strength and fortitude. Your generous and gentle spirit, wounded as sorely as mine, gave all I demanded. I used you and you healed me. I beg you will forgive me."

"That is utter nonsense, Penraug," Erestor said, sitting up again and sniffling as he fished out a handkerchief and wiped his runny nose. "If you used me, then I let you and that makes it a partnership. Besides, I used you, too, both of you. I have been hiding in the shelter of your warm hearts for a very long time and neither of you ever begrudged me the room."

"Nay, we could not deny you anything," Orophin paused, a wistful smile hovering around his pale blue eyes as he peered speculatively at his long-time lover's right hand, for there the heavy golden band was proudly displayed for all to see. "You are healed now, Penraun. This benighted Wood Elf has restored your honour." There was a hint of a question in his soft inflection.

Erestor nodded gravely, watching the light of the fire play over the soft yellow metal, lending the ring a red cast. "It is true. Just being near him has been an amazing experience; Legolas is the strongest person I know…"

"As well as beautiful?" Dambethnîn interjected with a mischievous grin.

"Aye," Erestor's smile was soft in return. "I never imagined he would come to love me and the moment I realised he held my heart you could have told me the Wraiths had come to pay a visit and it would not have spoiled my joy. I am terrified of only two things: that I will somehow bring him to harm or that he will be taken from me by violence. We had only just declared our eternal bond when this tragedy arose and he left at once. The trees awakened and set to thrashing the air; I fear he is in serious trouble. If I lose him…"

"Ai!" Orophin drew Erestor close again and held him tight. "No need to invite disaster by giving life to those thoughts," he admonished gently, stroking the seneschal's hair. "He will come back to you and we will stay until he does. We will not let you pine away for him alone."

"My thanks, I do not think I could bear to face the waiting with only Mithrandir for company. He has grown strange of late and his moods most unpredictable, especially where Legolas is concerned. I do not want to go back to our talan until Legolas is here to accompany me. Would you permit me to share rooms with you again? As friends, of course, for I cannot dishonour my pledge to Penrhovan."

"Why should we object to that?" smiled 'Beth, pleased that this moment had arrived. "It is as it should be. You have given us much joy, Penraun, and we love you. You are always welcome in our quarters, wherever they may be."

Erestor looked at her hopefully. "How can you still love me? I really believed you would despise me for finding another soul with which to bond."

"Nay," it was Orophin who answered. "Do you think we never spoke of you when we were parted? 'Beth and I understood you could not give over your feä to us. You guarded it so jealousy, but we had decided not to try and claim it. You were quite safe with us." He was smiling now as well, observing the look of disbelief overtaking the seneschal's visage.

"Then why did you keep me?" he demanded, stuck between feeling intense relief and being upset that they had chosen not to chase after his unfettered heart. Fearfaron had told him so, yet hearing it from Orophin turned speculation into truth.

The Lorien archer laughed aloud and lifted his palm, giving Erestor a teasing slap on the cheek as if to wake him from his self-induced delusions. "It was most pleasurable; do you not agree, 'Beth?"

"Indeed. I thought we all found great satisfaction in the arrangement," she snickered, eyes roving freely over Erestor's comely form. Then she turned serious, glancing down at the child in her arms as she shifted his weight to relieve her circulation. "For me there was something more," she continued quietly. "You know how much I desire elflings. Even one would grant my soul ease. I have sent countless prayers and entreaties to Eru, but all have gone unheeded. Orophin and I talked and…"

"Fought, she means to say." Orophin took over the explanation to spare her from saying the words. It had hurt him so terribly when first the couple faced their barren bond. The things they had said to one another made him shudder now. "We wondered if perhaps there was something wrong, in her or in me. She blamed me; I faulted her. Truly, Erestor, we were on the verge of parting. The pain of this was so great for 'Beth and I could not bear for her to name me the cause. Had we not found you, I believe we would not have found the means to forgiveness, to acceptance."

"You thought I would get you with child?" Erestor was astounded and realised in this instant how much his lovers had kept from him. He was not the only one shielding his heart and soul. The obvious loomed between the trio, for Dambethnîn had never conceived. One glance at her sorrowful eyes revealed her anguish, though lessened, had never completely receded. "I am so sorry, 'Beth."

She sighed, a short quick burst of doleful air, and forced a smile. "Nay, it is nothing you could have mended. I am resigned; I was not meant to bear a child of my own. Perhaps I shall just steal this little one instead." It was said in jest but only partly so and she cuddled the infant close, laying her cheek against his soft downy hair.

It was at that moment that they all became aware of another presence in the suite and looked to the doorway. There stood Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, eyes locked on the elleth cradling his son and heir.

---

"Normally, I am a pacifist. I have not the heart of a warrior and abhor the use of force, even in the defence of my own. Yet I am sorely tempted to make an exception this night. All those I love have been taken from me: my wife and our unborn daughter, my son and first-born child, Analdír, and now my adopted son is gone into the forest to face Eru alone knows what danger. I fear never to see him alive again." Fearfaron stood on the threshold of the dark, dank storeroom and stared down at the huddled form crouching at his feet and clutching at his ankles: Elrond, mighty Lord of Imladris. "The fabled High King's Herald! You do not look so imposing now, grovelling in the dirt." The debased Elf emitted a reedy, wheezing whimper that echoed in the empty room, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight. Fearfaron was not surprised to see him so cowed; not even Talagan could face down the Guardians of the Gates.

"Please do not let them in," Elrond mumbled, the sound rasping through vocal chords worn raw from screaming.

"Who?" the carpenter looked over his shoulder to the empty stable yard. "No one else is here, Brannon Hecilo. Only you and I. Do you know who I am?"

Carefully, reluctantly Elrond lifted his face and opened his eyes, dreading what he might find, and almost smiled in relief to see a figure of flesh and blood, to know the solid mass his hands gripped was not a delusion. He had experienced many in recent hours, each one sufficiently horrifying to make him retch. "You are real, alive," he whispered, clumsily rising to his knees, hands travelling up to clutch at the simple leather overcoat secured about the sturdy elf, not caring that he was a total stranger.

"Of course I am real," scoffed Fearfaron. "The spirits of the vault have other business to attend now. Thranduil, too, has other matters more pressing than your Judgement, it would seem. You are my charge for the time being and I have but one agenda." He hunkered down on his haunches to look the Noldorin ruler in the eye. "Can you guess what that is?"

Elrond recoiled, shaking his head in dumb denial for there was no denying the contempt in those cool brown eyes.

"I am here to make you understand what happened to Legolas. I want you to learn how a strong, honourable Elf can be warped and twisted until he is capable of nothing but self-loathing and shame, so that he can do nothing other than accept every unutterable cruelty perpetrated against him." Fearfaron grasped Elrond at the elbow and stood, hoisting the protesting noble up to his feet. "Be still," he ordered, irritated by the ineffectual squirming. He took a step into the depths of the room and the half-hearted wriggling became a struggle to get free in earnest.

"Nay! Nay! Take me from this place, I beg you! I can see to it you are rewarded well if you but aid me now," Elrond pleaded as he tried to wrench his arm loose and dodge around the tall, lanky ellon. There, just a single pace away, he could see the cool, faint glimmer of Ithil, smell the open air, sharp, icy and dry. "No, by Elbereth! Take me from this place!" Never had he so fervently implored the Valar to heed his supplications.

Like Thranduil's guards, Fearfaron was unmoved by the interloper's entreaties and forced him deeper into the interior, silently kicking the door shut, plunging them into total darkness for a second or two. Then his eyes adjusted and he could see well enough to make his way to the center of the tiny room. There the oaken posts awaited, embedded deep in the rock floor, cast iron rings a blacker outline against the pillars' dim silhouettes.

Elrond gaped at them as his feet dragged along the cold stone surface. His toes struck something even colder on the floor, heavy and dark and spread across his path like some spectral snake, but the loud clank revealed the substantial nature of the chains and realisation dawned: he was to be fettered to these stakes. "What are you going to do? Who are you? I demand to be brought before your Council of Elders!"

"Pick up the chains," said Fearfaron, ignoring his captive's orders and queries. He released Elrond's arm and watched coolly as the deposed Lord staggered back to the door, rattling the latch and heaving at the handle in desperation. "It is already locked, Hiren Hecilo. The key is here in my pocket. Come, your lesson has yet to begin but the sooner we start the quicker it will end."

The Lord of Imladris stared at the darker form amid the lightless air, shivering as he spied the bright flash of anger in the eyes regarding him. He feared to move and kept hold of the doorknob as if doing so would prevent the inevitable. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"

The carpenter sighed, a strident and impatient venting of breath from his body, frowning though his expression was obscured in the darkness. "I have already told you the reason for my visit; I am here for Legolas, who has no one else to stand in his stead and demand justice. As for my name, it is Fearfaron. I am Legolas' foster father."

"I know of you!" Elrond exclaimed. "Legolas keeps a letter from you and read it to me once. You are dear to him."

"As he is to me. It is interesting that you bring up letters, for I have read one composed by you, Elrond. Do you recall the missive you sent here for Thranduil's eyes?" Even in the dark Fearfaron saw the revered elder flinch and was pleased. "I have brought another letter, one that Legolas sent to me at the same time yours reached the woodland King. Obey my command: chain yourself to the posts. Then I shall read you this short note." His hand moved, a sweep of pitch through the heavy blackness, as he held forth the folded parchment. He waited for the shadow hunched by the door to move, but the only activity was a renewed and frantic yanking upon the secure barrier. He sighed again, disappointment evident and loud in the escaping air.

"Lord Elrond, this will not suffice. Surely you are no coward. Recall yourself, scion of Eärendil, and face your wrongs with true contrition. You have travelled here to do this very thing, have you not? Verily, you shall not leave Greenwood until it is accomplished. Legolas deserves no less nor will I accept other than your real and complete redemption. He does not wish for vengeance, you see, but only for healing and a means to spare the younglings pain."

Silence settled in the space between them, punctuated by harsh gasps as Elrond tried to gather his wits and recover his nerve, stunned by the quiet strength of the sylvan elf. There was anger aplenty, yes, but it was underlain with sympathy and tempered by compassionate determination, so different from the brutal ferocity of the King's brothers. The encounter with the spirits had stripped away the armour of aristocratic arrogance that for aeons had prevented exposure of his scarred and wounded soul. The spectre of the dragon and its dour handler had robbed him of his veneer of wisdom, the trio of accusing voices sounding through his head had erased his ability to rationalise, and the truth they had extracted from his unmasked mind he could no longer deny.

For Elrond had come to Greenwood without the mightiest of the Elven Rings, fearing to bring the hallowed object so close to Dol Guldur where Sauron's undead captains would quickly detect its presence. Glorfindel had been right after all; over the long centuries, Elrond had subtly succumbed to the lure of Vilya's unmatched power, bending the present, remoulding the past, reshaping the future to suit his purpose without realising the underlying motive for his actions. What was his purpose? Here his mind had balked, unwilling to emerge from behind the thick wall of self-delusion he had created. What was his purpose here?

The unhoused feär had posed the query repeatedly but Elrond would not answer. Then it had felt as though he was under the weighty scrutiny of Eru Iluvatar and perhaps in some sense that was true. Never had he known such complete and utter terror, so relentless was the interrogation, as the ugly scenes of his dealings with the Tawarwaith played out one by one.

Elrond had watched it all transpire but this time he was removed, an observer, a witness to his cruelty juxtaposed against the purity of Legolas' compassion. His abuse of the Wood Elf was but the beginning and he was forced to retreat in time through all his many centuries with Ningloriel, his ephemeral marriage to Celebrian, his long attachment to Gil-Galad. On and on his history regressed and with each event's re-enactment another layer was scraped away, another chink chipped from the façade of noble strength, until all of it was pared away and only a black, festering kernel of pain and fear remained.

He saw himself there upon the shore of the Great Sea, so small and so alone and so unutterably angry. She had sailed away and left them behind. How could she turn away and forget them, fleeing across the waves to join her beloved Mariner, choosing his companionship over the well-being of her sons? Behind him on the beach Elros was a crumpled mass of wet clothes and sand-streaked black hair, his salty tears mixing with the saline sea, his sobbing lost amid the fretful crying of the gulls and the sonorous rush and retreat of the relentless tide. Something pierced Elrond's elfling heart, a fierce stab like a spear of ice that froze him to the core of his soul, yet he was too young to recognise the birth of grief.

He had longed to give up his spirit and fall to the surf beside his twin, to follow their parents into the realm of Mandos, but it was not to be. Strong hands caught him up, another set fetched Elros and the children were borne away to the warmth and security of their Noldorin captors' home. In the silence of their shared rooms, Elrond turned to his brother and spoke a bitter vow: never to be parted from his twin, never to be taken from someone he loved again no matter the consequences. He waited for his brother to respond in kind but Elros was frightened by his vehemence and would not speak the words. Elrond was alone in his resolve and thus added an unspoken codicil: never to open his heart to such injury again.

But I did love again, even after Elros deserted me, and each time I forsook my vow I was punished; the one who held my heart ripped from my life.

Such pain was too great to experience and survive and so he converted it into anger instead. It was not difficult to find ways to express this dark rage and at first he spent its malignant fury upon Sauron: that was his purpose, the calling entrusted to him by the last of Finwë's descendants to rule in Middle-earth. Yet, at the concluding battle that had cost him Gil-Galad that evil seemed to vanish.

My promise became my purpose.

Beneath that laudable cause lay another too dark to name. He had to find a means to appease the ever-present and growing fury. Casting it off was not even an option he considered for within it was bound all his memories of his parents and his brother, and now Gil-Galad as well. A more accessible target than Sauron had to be acquired and instantly, lest he break his given word to his beloved High King and perish under the weight of bereavement. Thranduil and his cursed House seemed ordained by the Valar to fill the void. It had not seemed so foul a substitution to his thinking, when his conscience managed to make itself heard, for the Sindarin prince's sire provoked the demise of Gil-Galad.

As time passed it grew ever easier to count up the ways Thranduil's House had interfered and diverted the proper course of his life rather than face the mounting misery and despair.

Like Erestor, the Lord of Imladris had not found his reasoning quite so comfortable to maintain in the face of blunt and objective scrutiny. That Elrond's epiphany was forced by the forthright intervention of Thranduil's deceased brothers was an irony the Elven Lord appreciated full well.

Indeed, the very Elf to whom I would give my heart sprung from the same lineage.

It was not love that had moved his heart toward Legolas, however, but the first stirrings of remorse. He could acknowledge that clearly now. Without the shielding light of Vilya's presence, the truth had been impossible to refute but just as difficult to pin down. So many possibilities crowded forward to claim his attention, a thousand plausible causes for his retreat into the protection of his dark and lonely vow. Elrond found that it really didn't matter which of them was foremost or if any of them were. Defining the reasons seemed superfluous to answering that query: what was his purpose here?

"Elbereth, help me," he mumbled, half a sob rising in his chest only to be fought down.

Fearfaron waited in patient silence, aware of the turmoil in his captive's heart. For this reason he had come, for while he was not attuned to Tawar in the manner of Legolas, the carpenter was well versed in every nuance of his adopted child's character. Not for nothing was he called Hunter of Spirits and here stood his quarry before him. This Elf was not a monster, for all the harm he had wrought, any more than Legolas had been a kin-slayer, though Analdír had surely died. He had salvaged the convicted murderer of his eldest child, could he now refuse to do the same for the one who had so cruelly used the son of his heart? "It is as Legolas would wish," he said aloud and saw the dim grey figure twist abruptly toward him.

"Legolas wants me to suffer?" Elrond's voice quavered even as he recalled the way the wild elf had reached out to him. "Nay, I do not believe you."

"That is not what I said. Legolas is not concerned with you now, his thoughts are focused on those he loves. He is determined to save Lindalcon from a horrible and needless sacrifice and prevent his siblings from suffering the loss of their Naneth, even though she is the one responsible for all the horrors that have fallen upon us. Where is your intent focused, fallen Lord?"

Elrond did not answer, for he would not admit to this stranger that every emotion, image, and idea flittering through his conscious mind was centred on himself. He heard the woodland Elf sigh and watched as he bent and picked up the heavy iron shackles. The metal rang out as the links lifted from the dusty floor almost as if they were joyous to have some work to perform. The Elven Lord flattened his body against the door. "What do you want of me, Fearfaron."

"I would have you learn of injustice and I would have you regain your honour. Tell me truly, Elrond, are you innocent of the charges made against you?"

Once more the mighty Lord would not answer but even that was a sign of hope, for it could only mean his heart refused to let him speak a lie.

"Legolas believed it was just to bear the guilt for the lives lost that day in Erebor on the plains before the Lonely Mountain, yet he was never the cause for those deaths. He accepted the Judgement of his people in all its manifestations. I was always in the stable yard when it came time for him to submit to Rochendil's tortures. Did you know that Legolas went willingly into this room? Did you know those lashes were laid down by his own hands?"

In the dark by the door the Elven Lord drew a sharp breath, for he had not known. Memory restored to him the sight and feel of a small, ugly five-tailed scourge buried deep in the outcast archer's quiver. How had he failed to understand the significance of that weapon's presence? Obviously, his thoughts were directed elsewhere and Legolas had kept that titbit of truth buried much deeper than any other. Does this surrogate father expect me to flay my own flesh to satisfy his notion of justice? The idea made Elrond shiver in revulsion.

"Nay, the fear in your mind is supplied by your guilt rather than my intent," said Fearfaron, guessing the thoughts accompanying that reaction. "I have no desire to see you enact that despicable scene for me, Elrond. It is terrible enough knowing he endured it for twelve long years while I stood outside and did nothing to stop him. So you see, I understand the shame you bear, for while your sins are greater I am not without fault either. Legolas kept the whip; even I do not know why for he is not able to speak of it. Perhaps his mate can convince him to put it aside, for it is an evil object.

"I do think you would benefit from experiencing some small part of Legolas' debasement even as I have." Fearfaron nodded, imagining the shocked expression that must certainly fill Elrond's grey eyes. "I have come here several times and knelt between these odious supports, tested the weight of the chains with my hands. It is fitting that you do the same.

"Yet, this place is the end of things, for it took a very long time to bring Legolas so low. The beginning, I suspect, was in Lothlorien. That is where you penned the first letter to Thranduil, one I have not seen, complete with evidence of your affair with Ningloriel and the inescapable doubt concerning the legitimacy of the unborn heir. You stole any chance for Legolas to have a normal life with that single, vindictive deed. In fact, a case can be made that but for your interference, none of the rest would have been possible, including the death of Analdír, my eldest."

Elrond uttered a garbled denial that made the carpenter snort out a derisive grunt.

"Fear not, Hiren Hecilo; I will not hold you accountable as a kinslayer, not yet anyway. Analdír was a fine warrior and we understood the risks of such a calling. We discussed it now and then, for my benefit mostly, for he wanted me to understand why he would choose that life over the honourable, and infinitely safer, trade I wished to pass on to him. Yet should Legolas perish now, this night, due to the aftermath of your intervention, then his blood will surely be on your hands. I suspect the Unhoused Spirits have already expounded upon this point quite vehemently."

"Yes, yes! I comprehend this charge; I accept my blame for Legolas' fall from favour…"

"Fall? Nay, if that is what you think then you understand nothing. Your words imply he had control over the events reshaping his existence and that is false. Even so, there is an important fact hidden in your assessment of his status. No matter how much he was neglected, shunned, used, or abused, Legolas refused to give up. Through it all he has tried to live a good life, to be true to those he loves, to do his duty for his people, to honour his Naneth, to protect our land and our trees. Externally he is much tarnished and roughened, like the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, and like even the oldest trees his core is still fresh and evergreen. Is this not so?"

"Aye, it is true. Legolas came back to lead us from the Wraiths, even after we had treated him abysmally," Elrond whispered, remembering his brief time in the wild elf's company. "I do regret it, Fearfaron."

"Because of the spirits' torments?"

"Nay."

"Then why?"

"Because I did not realise how amazing he is, as you have just remarked. He would have done anything to ease my sorrow and change my despair into joy. I was so stupid, so cold…"

"So selfish, even as you are now," Fearfaron sighed. "That reason does not honour Legolas' courage and fortitude. Your heart has not moved beyond your own loss yet. I was right to come and insist upon a more fundamental demonstration of humility. It would be best for you to follow his example and submit to your punishment. Legolas felt true sorrow for his comrades' deaths and sought to give up his soul to secure the peace of theirs. Likewise, your actions must henceforth spring from a contrite and penitent heart.


"Accept responsibility for the injuries your selfish deeds have wrought and do not forfeit the mercy of Eru," exhorted the Spirit Hunter firmly. "You are here for healing, for you have many responsibilities and much yet to do; just because you have lost sight of your purpose does not mean it has vanished. The Tawarwaith would have cured your ills in a more pleasing manner but this is the path your feä has chosen. Come forward, Elrond. Take up these chains."

In the blackened gloom in the cold, bare room Elrond finally felt the lingering embers of his fiery wrath die out, extinguished as the frigid agony of abandonment afflicted his heart anew; he clutched at the door. An elfling no more, he looked bravely into this ancient wound and saw that he was not alone, not abandoned, not unloved, and never had he been. Indeed, the faces of those who had eagerly given him their hearts to the fullness of their capacity appeared before him. The list was long and not one, not even Elros, had spurned him. Even those who had been enemies were moved to compassion and had sheltered him, body and soul.

In the same way he examined Legolas' much shorter life and shuddered, shame and remorse welling up until it seemed he would be ill. Denied love even before he was born, the Tawarwaith's tally included only betrayal and abuse for nearly all his life. That was my doing and no other's. A sharp breath out and in settled his reeling senses as the fullness of the burden Legolas had borne enveloped him and with it disgust for the callous manner in which he had enhanced it, stripping away the Wood Elf's thin veneer of denial and self-delusion.

We are much alike, he and I, yet the barriers his mind built shielded him from real rejection and condemnation. So then it is only in our grief that we are similar: his for Maltahondo, mine for Gil-Galad. Legolas recognised this common torment, yet when I wished only to give him pain he proffered me solace.

In the light of this realisation blossomed genuine admiration for the Elf he had reviled and the remnant glimmer of his misplaced longing rose. Elrond straightened his spine and took a step toward the Spirit Hunter.

"Would he have learned to love me?" he asked and found the next step easier.

"Nay, not as you imagine it. Yet there may still be a way to forgiveness; he needs to give it as much as you need to plead for it." Fearfaron smiled in grim approval as the Noldorin ruler reached the rugged posts.

The silence that followed was not so dreadful and even the noise of the ringing links was not a sound to fear and despise. With renewed hope Elrond held out his wrists, mindful of Glorfindel's counsel given that day in Imladris at the falls: only by embracing the truth and owning his crimes could he regain the honour he had so casually flung aside. And with it my purpose.

The Elven Lord dropped to his knees before the lowly sylvan carpenter. "Then I will beg forgiveness, if that is what he needs of me. Tutor me, Fearfaron; teach me humility; show me justice."

The snap of the clasp echoed in the hollow space and for a few seconds obscured the soft cadence of Fearfaron's voice as he related the history of Greenwood's Tawarwaith and the Noldorin Lord's part in shaping it. Long before he was finished, Elrond's chin was on chest and his face was wet with tears.


TBC
© 12.25.2007 Ellen Robey

---

Note

Well, I didn't get as far with this chapter as I'd hoped, dear readers, but I promised an update by xmas and I hate to break my word regarding updates. Heaven knows I've done that often enough and I am trying to refrain from such promises now. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though I don't know how you will feel about it. Please understand that I really had to wrestle with the problem of Elrond. It was a great temptation to have him stripped down, chained up, and flogged with a whip just as Legolas was. Yet it couldn't really be justified, not under Fearfaron's hands. Such brutality just is not in that kind-hearted Elf's nature. He refrained from hurting Maltahondo after he learned the depth of the guardsman's betrayal so I don't see how I could make him suddenly turn into a cold and vindictive creature.

And Elrond must be salvaged, after all. He does have much to do and great events to oversee. If we leave him as he is, how would he be able to call the Council of the Ring and convince everyone to attempt the impossible? How could he trust the strength of Aragorn's resolve to deny the lure of the Ring? Would the Elrond we have met here believe a lowly Hobbit fit to undertake so monumental a task? I don't think so, and I also don't believe physical torture and torments would have made him truly regret his deeds but merely reinforced his bitterness and fed his self-pity. So I let the Spirit Hunter do his work his way, and I believe Legolas would approve. Hope you do, too.

For those waiting for Balrog and Aearlinn to be updated, my apologies. I have unexpectedly resumed contact with my father. We have not seen each other in 29 years, so I have been rather in a haze of anxiety and worry. I will get back to work on them forthwith!

Happy Yule, everyone!