Feud

Baul Gellui (Triumphant Torment)

The cold assaulted him with winter's passive violence, stealing his breath and forcing him to hasten, arms circling his chest with protective insulation, hands burrowing into the underarms, eyes squinting against the voracious and frigid air. Erestor meant to circle around through the garden to the side entrance into the Chamber of Starlight but just before he ducked in a figure rounded the curve of the mountain and he paused, recognising Feärfaron, and waited, eager to learn if he had word of Legolas. The grim ellon was shaking his head even before Erestor could pose his questions, for his hope was in his eyes.

"We will likely hear nothing more tonight or even on the morrow, for the trees are deep in sleep as the freeze worsens. Even Tawar cannot raise them in such conditions and the one alert already rendered is all we can expect." Feärfaron sighed and reached out to settle an encouraging grip on the Noldo's biceps, much as he would do for Legolas. Realising that, he offered a bemused smile to the seneschal, for somehow he had adopted this one as well.

"I must try, then, and escape the wizards' ban and go forth to find him," said Erestor. "Do not oppose me, Feärfaron, for I know you want him back as much as I."

"Aye, but I have known him longer than have you," reminded the kindly carpenter. "He would never forgive me if I permitted you to leave the safety of the city. I can do nothing less than add my edict to Mithrandir's: you are to remain in the fortress until the fate of your kinsman is decided."

Erestor's brows rose up; he had all but forgotten Elrond's arrival. "Where is he?"

"The storage room."

The seneschal could not prevent the gasp of shock this answer initiated. Though he had been in the fortress many days, he had not had courage enough to enter that vile place. Well he knew its part in Legolas' history but Erestor felt no desire to visit the setting where his beloved Pen-Rhovan had been so cruelly defamed and debased, shame and self-hatred incised into his flesh. Now he would go, eager to confront his cousin and make certain Elrond was duly impressed with the harsh reality of Legolas' life in Greenwood. He moved to step past Feärfaron and at once the carpenter's hold tightened and snatched him to a halt.

"He is to be redeemed; that is Legolas' will."

"Legolas is generous to a fault and mayhap there is nothing of my cousin's former nobility to save, yet I mean only to speak with Elrond."

Feärfaron studied his law-son's eyes for truth and found it. With a brisk nod he released Erestor and went on his way, heading for the comfort of Annaldír's bedroom where both his sons had found rest and refuge. He could do nothing now but wait and pray.

It was but a short walk to the humble oak barrier behind which Legolas' darkest torments had been staged. Nearing it, Erestor tried to put himself in his heart-mate's place, attempted to feel what it must have been like to go willingly to such torture. Though he had brought Pen-Rhovan to peace over it, Erestor could not suppress the nausea and rage that filled him when he imagined the wild elf taking up that whip and flaying his flesh with it. He reached the door and threw it wide, expecting it to be locked, and the heavy boards slammed against the stony wall with a loud report. In the dim light, he saw a kneeling figure startle and cower in the reverberating noise.

"Who is there?" Elrond's voice was high and laced with fear, the smell of his terror strong, the sound of his respiration audible.

"It is I." Erestor entered and left the door open, making his way in the faint illumination to a shelf upon the far wall. There he found a lamp and flint and lit a flame to light the place. He raised the candle high and surveyed his cousin, marking the chains that held his wrists bound to the posts, arms outstretched, face downcast in mortification. "Look at me, Elrond." He waited but the defamed Lord refused, giving a half-hearted shake of his head. Erestor uttered an impatient noise and set down the lamp in order to close the door. He turned the latch and noted with satisfaction how Elrond's spine twitched in response.

"What…what are you going to do?" asked Elrond, daring a swift glance at his old friend. He caught the light of the new bond at once and his mouth dropped open in amazement.

"I just need to hear you admit your errors," Erestor answered, drawing near. "I am pleased to see you confined as Legolas was. To whom must I express that appreciation?"

"The carpenter. He is some kind of Spirit Master," mumbled Elrond. "He said Legolas would have me returned to Imladris restored to my former status, yet I find that impossible to imagine."

"Why say such insulting things to me? Do you not know he is my mate now? You try me to the limit and beyond! Ai! But for Legolas' strong conviction would I not use this opportunity to inflict a penance such that you would never forget it? Truly do you deserve it!" spat Erestor, furious to hear this odious Lord malign Pen-Rhovan's compassionate spirit.

"Aye, yet I meant no insult; my words were poorly chosen. I only meant it is difficult to envision that I will ever be the same again. Listen to me, Erestor; I have seen the depth of my descent into dishonour and regret every iniquitous act. The Wardens of the Gates so instructed me; be thankful your chastisement has been less gruelling."

"Is it so?" Erestor surveyed him keenly and suddenly stooped low to meet his kinsman's eyes. "What can you know of the castigation tendered to me? Spirits have visited you while the Valar have shaken me in their teeth like a hound with a hare."

"And yet rewarded you." A quick flash of jealousy ignited in Elrond's heart and he gave it voice. "The bond is plain to see; how did you manage that with two others already linked to your soul?" Erestor's reaction was swift and painful and Elrond's cheek stung with the force of the slap that landed there.

"Do not speak to me thus," hissed Erestor, rising. "I was never bound to them and well you know it. It seems the Spirits did not excise all the spiteful rancour from your heart. I know what prompts such words; you desire him. In the covetous contours of your twisted soul you want to punish me for receiving the grace of his love."

"Preposterous," scoffed Elrond but his eyes could not bear his cousin's stare.

"Nay, I know all about it." Erestor's voice took on the perilous timbre of a predator's growl. "I have heard the lies you spread throughout Imladris regarding my reasons for being here. Treason! You dared speak the loathsome word in conjunction with my name and not in private, old friend, but to the council, to Glorfindel! No one has served Imladris as whole-heartedly; no one has been as loyal to you as I. Who was it that cared for your grieving heart after Gil-galad's death? Who else has been beside you to share the deepest secrets of your soul and still named you friend?"

Elrond said nothing, his face averted in belligerent defiance, fingers rigidly wrapped around the chains at his wrists.

"Speak!" shouted Erestor and struck again, knuckles boring into a soft, unguarded eye. "When have I wronged you? What was my crime?"

"Never! Nothing!" The skin at the corner of the lid split as Elrond howled his answer, head snapping back with a jarring explosion of scintillating stars. "Saes, Erestor, I was not in my right mind when I made those accusations. Rest assured, every one of them will be retracted and your honour restored. Saes, say that you will forgive me and call me friend still." Elrond pleaded, real remorse in his voice. He dared a glimpse into Erestor's face, wincing beneath the furious glare focused upon him.

"Forgiveness. I am so angry right now I dare not say yea or nay to that," Erestor shook his head in disgust, aggrieved to have succumbed to such strong emotion, and stepped aside for a moment to collect himself. "We share the same blood and yet you turned against me while I alone stood before the King, his council, and all the populace of Greenwood attempting to answer for our misdeeds. The expressions on their faces, Elrond! Never have I been regarded with such contempt. Never have I been so deserving of it."

"I am truly sorry, mellonen; I should have been the one to absorb their just anger," Elrond consoled, struggling to focus through the uninjured eye as the other quickly swelled shut.

"Aye." Erestor faced him once more, not entirely displeased to observe the battered countenance Elrond presented. "Yet I am glad I was there instead of you for the trial was horrible for Legolas and he could not have borne it had you been present to witness his abasement. Thranduil told them all, Elrond. Before everyone he revealed what sport we made of the Tawarwaith, how he fell victim to our seductions. I still cannot comprehend how you conjured the venom penned into that vicious note. What made you do it? Had you not hurt him enough?"

"Nay! The letter was used as evidence?" Elrond had forgotten that missive in his encompassing self-pity. Now he ground his teeth in futile repudiation of his vindictive action.

"Worse than that. Aragorn destroyed the document and so Thranduil forced Legolas to admit it himself. Standing there, watching this, I could not deny any of it; indeed, by my ineffectual attempt to cast doubt on Thranduil's words I ended up confirming them. Nor could I be at Legolas' side and help him through it because of my own part in these black deeds. The betrayal I perpetrated on Legolas is so terrible it makes me ill to recall it."

"Aragorn has seen that? Ai! What he must think!" Elrond moaned, head low upon his breast.

"Valar! Can you not get past your own circumstances for even an instant? You should be asking if Legolas has knowledge of it. Can you still refuse to feel the depth of humiliation your actions inflicted upon him? By the stars, I will not have it!" Erestor roared, quite beyond reason as the scenes of the hearing replayed and he witness again his beloved wild elf's mortification. Enraged, he inflicted another blow, the dull thud of his fist against Elrond's cheek bone echoing in the confined space, the cry of pain and surprise following just as loud. Breathing hard, fingers curled into ready weapons, Erestor leaned close, wild-eyed and fey. "Tell me, what do you most fear will happen here, mellon?"

"What? Erestor, please, I am prepared to answer for my crime but this abuse is uncalled for," Elrond protested, heart rate increasing as the menace in the seneschal's tone escalated. "I want to make amends."

"Bah! Empty is that proclamation, spawned as it is by fear instead of contrition." Erestor lashed out again and bloodied his cousin's nose. "Nor are words sufficient to reveal the real horrors Legolas endured, particularly those performed in this room," Erestor scolded. He folded his arms before him and gazed in speculative appraisal upon his long time friend, pleased by the unstemmed flow draining from the exalted ruler's nostrils, the gaping mouth noisily gulping air. "And I know you well; you are always ready to ply pretty words to convince others of your sincerity. Such does not serve Legolas' purpose." He strolled around Elrond completely and then smiled a dark and vengeful grin as he slowly unsheathed his dagger and held it up, suddenly wishing it was the one that had so long teased Legolas with the solace of death.

"Wait!" Elrond gasped and thrashed in his chains, the noisy clanking harsh and mocking. "You would not pierce the flesh of your cousin and Lord!"

Erestor did not reply, darting forward and taking firm hold of Elrond's tunic. Faster than the eye could follow, he passed the blade through the elegant fabric from neck to hem, quickly doing the same down the length of each arm. The ruined garment fell away to the floor and the seneschal treated shirt and undershirt to the same destruction, ignoring Elrond's panting breath and panicked eyes. When the famed Lord of Imladris was bared to the skin, Erestor stepped back and nodded in satisfaction as the cold worked goose-pimples upon the exposed flesh. Yet it was not enough, for Legolas had been forced to strip down completely whenever he entered this room. Erestor crouched on his heels and sliced the leggings from waistband to crotch, front and back, relishing Elrond's alarmed cry and roughly snatching the destroyed garment from each leg. Then he stood and glared down at the Elven Lord naked and vulnerable before him.

"Aye, that is better," he said, nodding with satisfaction at Elrond's unsuccessful attempts to shield his genitals from view and recover some semblance of dignity. "That vile Ailinyero made him undress under his lecherous leer. At least you are spared so grotesque an encounter."

"Erestor, please…"

"Nay! Beg no boon from me, Elrond! If I had that disgusting whip I would put it in your hands and demand you endure what Legolas inflicted upon himself." Erestor fought the urge to land a forceful kick in the Lord's groin, turning and pacing into the depths of the chamber and back. Yet his efforts failed and he planted his booted foot solidly against the exposed balls, watching with malicious glee as Elrond screamed a shrill shriek and tried to curl over the abused glands.

The chains held him upright and he groaned, gagging on the blood draining from his nose. The agony took some little time before the throbbing ebbed and he was sufficiently recovered to speak. "But why? I am not the one who called down the Judgement of Erebor upon Legolas."

"Can you still be so resistant to owning your sins?" Erestor was beyond disgusted and felt the need to throttle the throat that had uttered such a self-serving sentence.

Instead he struck a wringing slap against his cousin's tender ear that was completely unsatisfying and stomped away in frustrated rage. He paced about at the back of the room, became aware of the small table stuffed into the corner, moved toward it. Resting on its surface was a neat, dark coil and he reached for it, fingers encountering the cold contours of steel loops linked into a chain no greater than a finger's width in dimension. The sound as it lifted into the air was almost lyrical, like the tones of temple bells tolling or wind chimes singing. At its terminus was a smooth wooden handle that fit his hand with perfection and Erestor nodded, accepting his role as the Tawarwaith's avenger, a role brought into being during his confrontation with Malthen. He returned slowly to his cousin and showed him the instrument of his chastisement, pleased as Elrond's eyes grew large and filled with horror.

"Erestor," Elrond swallowed down more blood and panted out two noisy breaths. "I am not recalcitrant. I swear to you my remorse is real. This level of brutality is not required to make me feel it."

"So true, yet Legolas had not the option to plead as you are doing now for there was no one in all this great forest who cared enough to heed him, and that lies at your feet, also." So saying Erestor lifted the whip and laid down the first lash upon Elrond's shoulders. In its wake a long red wound appeared and the Lord of Imladris gasped aloud, jerking in his bonds as the burning flash of agony burst upon him.

"Nae! Far, Erestor!" He lifted disbelieving eyes to his kinsman, unable to encompass that he must endure this savagery.

"Still thinking about your own woes?" sneered Erestor and added another stripe to the pale white back, gratified to raise a cry of pain this time. "Without your interference in Legolas' life, he would have become Thranduil's beloved heir. I have no doubt the King would have recognised the similarity between his first-born and his deceased father. Even I can see it, now that Feärfaron has pointed it out, and I did not know Oropher well. That would have endeared the elfling to his sire despite the uncanny physical resemblance to Ningloriel. Indeed, his birth would likely have healed the rift between them, so grateful would Thranduil have been for such a gift. It was you who prevented that, Elrond. I know about the talisman you sent the King just prior to Legolas' birth."

Two more tearing strikes fell.

Elrond struggled to breathe, his echoing scream having deprived him of every ounce of air in his lungs, the pain excruciating, driving all else from awareness. An indeterminate amount of time passed as the fire gradually cooled and the trickling blood clotted leaving dark tears trailing from the open gashes. When his brain could produce something other than the demand to flee, Elrond wondered in confusion over his kinsman's claim. Slowly he raised his bowed head to gape at his worthy advisor, chest heaving for oxygen, body trembling in agony.

"You know? How? The only reference to it is a note in my personal diary. Did you…?"

"Nay, your guess is incorrect." Until this Erestor had remained still and silent, watching for the realisation to collect in Elrond's face. Now the words revealed another charge of betrayal and his lip curled in sneering disgust. "I have never invaded your privacy thus. Thranduil was pleased to share with me the very items he will bring to your trial. These will establish your malicious intent to disrupt the royal family and destroy the House of the Beeches; testimony written in your own hand. What your punishment will be he refuses to discuss, even with Celeborn."

"Celeborn." Elrond's wan cheeks paled even more and he felt a powerful surge of bile rise up, envisioning his law-father's reaction to this evidence. The response likely from his sons made him wail in sorrow. "Elrohir will never forgive me. You know he always wanted to find Legolas and bring him to Imladris, certain Ningloriel's child was his brother."

"Your sons are honourable, as you were once. They love you and in time they will grant you pardon, but only when you have fully exerted every ounce of your ability to repair the damage you have wrought upon Legolas and this beleaguered realm. Let this be the beginning for you. You are counted wise among elf-kind and your sense of justice has ever been sought when conflict arises between people or even between nations. Tell me what your verdict would be in such a case as this."

"What do you mean?" Elrond knew very well what he meant but hoped to forestall so terrible a fate.

"Let us imagine the situation in reverse," Erestor persisted calmly, crouching low on his haunches and smiling as he slowly drew the gory chain across his palm, its sound less melodious now. "Thranduil and Talagan have crossed the borders of Imladris. Their design to locate Arwen and seduce her then blame this debauchery on their victim, accusing her of absent morals, licentiousness, and promiscuity, dissolving the natural dignity and grace bestowed by Eru and reducing her to despair." He paused, studying the one good eye as it filled with horror, observing Elrond's struggle to master the urge to retch.

"Is this truly the first time you have viewed your crimes in these terms?" He gave a soft snort of derision. "Well, then, consider it thoroughly before rendering your decision. I would hear it from your own lips, Elrond. How many lashes does such evil deserve? But nay, do not answer hastily. Remember that the scene described is but one small incident in a long chain of events Thranduil has inspired, all designed to ruin the life of an innocent."

Seconds sped away into eternity as the two stared each other down. At last Elrond grimaced and gave a faint shake of his head.

"I would not demand corporal punishment," he said and knew it for the lie it was. The falsehood earned him another lash as Erestor leaped up and snapped the chain against his buttocks.

"Try again."

Breathing hard, Elrond nodded in dejected defeat, for there was no escaping his culpability, no denying he would rip to pieces anyone who so much as threatened the reputation of his beloved youngest child, much less anything worse.

"Aye. 'Tis the truth," he struggled to speak through the pain, aware of the hot streaks of blood dripping down his thighs. "I would demand a stiff penalty. So be it, Erestor; I will speak my doom even as I would impose it on anyone who acted as I have done. A lashing is a paltry punishment indeed, for the wounds will heal while the damage such dealings as mine inflicted is permanent. I cannot go back in time and unwrite that letter which condemned Legolas to his father's cold hatred."

"No, you cannot."

"Nor can I stop Malthen from taking advantage of his lowly estate, abusing his heart and his body, teaching him to long for pain and believe that is all he deserves. It has already happened to him and cannot be undone."

"Aye, you begin to see."

"I can never return to him that dream of a distant father, noble and good, who might someday send for him and welcome him proudly," Elrond whispered, suddenly finding his voice choked more with tears than the fire of his wounds. "I think that was the worst betrayal, for it was the very last dream of his elfling heart, the very last hope snatched away and used to bludgeon his innocent soul."

"Yes, that is what we did to him. Tell me, what should such vile people endure to compensate for these evils?" Erestor asked, shoulders slumped and head hung low in bitter shame.

"There is no means to expiate such sins," Elrond mumbled, shaking his head.

"Even so, you must pass judgement."

"Then beat me until the floor runs red and my senses leave me. Cast me out and banish me from Imladris, disown me and name me traitor." Elrond groaned, ready to endure this penance, finding it insufficient and trifling in comparison to the wrongs weighing down his soul.

"No, that is too much and Legolas would not forgive me. How many lashes?" demanded Erestor, giving the whip a short jerk so the chain rattled its high-toned taunt.

Elrond raised his head and gazed at his old friend and kinsman, seeing that he must choose the number and finding this fitting. He smiled a wan smile and offered a soft, self-deriding laugh. "What was his sentence? Twenty-four years banishment for each warrior lost? Give me the same in blows."

"Seventy-two lashes." Erestor spoke the sentence to confirm it.

"Aye, seventy-two. No need to deduct those already applied, consider them payment for the unjust charges I levelled to besmirch your good character, mellonen."

"So be it," agreed Erestor, "and when I am done you will give the same number to me." He moved a step away and readied his stance.

"No, that would not be fair," argued Elrond, straining to look over his shoulder and meet his cousin's gaze. "You were not the instrument of this scheme and you were not involved in destroying Thranduil's regard for his son. Twenty-four is more than enough for you to bear."

"Twenty-four it shall be," Erestor nodded, a serene smile overwhelming his features, and he raised his arm for the first blow. "One," he said quietly and the whip descended with a sickening wet sound as it burst the skin and ripped it away, Elrond's cry of anguish still echoing as the next lash fell and then the next and sixty-nine more after that until the floor was painted crimson and the seneschal spattered with the dark, vermilion spray.

TBC