Feud

Feud
www.feud.shadowess.com
by erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by sarah AK (remaining errors my fault)

Disclaimer: The recognised characters and settings used in this fiction were created by JRR Tolkien. The words, other characters, and ideas here surrounding them belong to erobey alone. No infringement is intended or monies earned through this work.

Chapter 11: Idhren teriais, ar ÿr eden. [Pondering difficulties, and a new course]
Part one

The starlings' argumentative twittering drowned out the songs of all but the most voluble jays, mockingbirds, and occasional raven's rasp. The flock was congregated in the boughs of an elderly willow, its long verdant tendrils cascading down and dusting across the grassy bank by the Celebrant. The river's accompaniment was understated and melodious, softening the raucous chatter and drawing eye and ear to its liquid languidity.

A small twist in the water's course carried it over and around a small outcrop of granite, gleaming and glinting a sleek blackness speckled with adamantine flashes where Anar glanced upon individual crystals of muscovite and quartz. It was as though the river sought the rocks, desiring the added variation in her silvery interlude that the instrumental stones provided. It was a comfortable symbiosis: the granite could not sing without the caress of Celebrant, and the river's vocalisation was enlivened and given depth as the waters flowed over the contrasting planes the stones offered. Celebrant chortled and laughed, sighed and burbled, dancing across the rounded rocks.

Minuial was only just passed and the sky wore a coat of pale dappled blue amidst an invasion of grey-bottomed cumulous clouds marshalling in from the Southwest. The lightly cooling breeze admitted to the approaching equinox even in the eternal golden glow of Lothlorien's enchantment.

Seated within the natural elegance of the river meadow upon an array of silken throws and satin bolsters, Ningloriel, Queen of the Woodland Realm, awaited the arrival of her caller. Shrouded in regal impatience, she heard none of the Silverload's morning melody, saw not the twinkling reflection of Anar upon the granite, disregarded the incessant chatter of the grackles, and swatted away in irritation the soft caress of a willow frond. She was unaccustomed to being kept waiting.

Whenever she stayed in Lorien held unofficial court here at the river's edge. Her wealth and status assured her a gratifyingly large assembly of elves willing to acquiesce to her imperial demeanour, and if she was aware of the underlying mirthful condescension of the Lorien nobility she concealed it masterfully.

On Ningloriel's Edwen Aur [Second Day] in the Golden Wood, Galadriel was always the first caller; Ningloriel having paid her respects to the Lord and Lady on Minui Aur [First Day]. By Canthui Aur [Fourth Day], a regular attendance of friends and relatives would be established. By the sixth, Ningloriel would have received numerous invitations to call on these elves in kind.

But Lefnui Aur [Fifth Day] of every week was exclusively reserved for only intimate friends, and for Ningloriel this day was permanently awarded to Elrond, Lord of Imladris. The Queen of the Woodland Realm also timed her visits to Lorien to coincide with his so that this opportunity to meet with him was not missed. Today was in fact Lefnui Aur and Elrond was very late.

Ningloriel rose gracefully and stalked to the water's edge, startling a pair of cranes fishing for their breakfast. They added their disgruntled flapping to the fullness of Celebrant's symphony as they exited hastily and relocated to shallows further downstream. The queen paced back to her silken throne and picked up a cushion, kneading it in an unconscious manner as her agitated energy spilled over into the environment.

Maltahondo cleared his throat and she looked over to his unobtrusive position among the glade's encircling birches. She lifted her brows into delicately flawless arches of interrogation.

"Would you like for a message to be sent, my Queen?" he asked and she threw down the pillow in frustration.

"No message is ever required; this you know! What is your meaning?" she demanded.

"Only that much has altered in recent times. You may no longer be first on the Lord's agenda. Also, word of your decision to leave has disturbed many; your choice may not be as easy for those remaining here to accept," Maltahondo meant his words not so much as explanation for Elrond's tardiness but rather as a gentle reprimand to his queen. He felt she had not thoroughly considered the impact her immigration to the Blessed Realm would have on her subjects or her son.

"You would question my trueness, my loyalty? You cast doubt on my love for my only child?" she growled in her most imperious voice, yet Maltahondo remained calm and did not respond, waiting. The Queen clasped her hands together before her, a gesture indicative of supplication.

"What would you have me do? You were there; he refused my requests and will not come with me! Yet I cannot stay, dishonoured in my own House while my husband beds that common Tawarwaith to get him new heirs!" Her strident voice was anything but pleading and shattered the peaceful mood, silencing even the starlings' continuous bickering.

Maltahondo set his lips together firmly and gazed back at his queen as only an old and trusted advisor may do to one of high blood and go unpunished. "I would have you stay and care for your son; he needs it. Think on it carefully, Ningloriel, what his condition was that day! He is strong, but this may be too much when added to the ordeals of the last twelve years. Even mountains give way under such sudden shifts in their environment," he said calmly yet with urgency in his voice, truly concerned for Legolas well being.

More than any other elf, Legolas had always depended on the former corpsman. As a child, it was only Maltahondo the elfling sought out when troubled dreams, or scraped limbs, or loneliness invaded his world. Though the most frequent topic of his parents' vicious arguing, neither seemed to find time to devote to their offspring's care and nurturing.

As a youth, he trusted only his personal guard's opinion of his progress in perfecting his archery skills, and it was Maltahondo he had asked, in round about and tortuous wording, about his attraction to males. Even the brief tenure as the prince's lover had not removed the archer's genuine respect for the older elf, though Maltahondo had to admit he found this made it doubly difficult to escape from his own sense of guilt concerning the illicit affair.

The fact that Legolas never even complained or questioned why he had ended it, or why he had chosen the youth another lover, emphasised the unconditional trust Legolas had gifted to the warrior. Legolas would never believe that his Malthen would ever do anything intentional to harm him. Having betrayed this absolute trust for his own gratification, Maltahondo deeply regretted the outcome of his selfish satisfaction at the expense of the prince and wanted to become again the true and faithful guardian.

His first glimpse of the fallen archer in twelve years had been shocking in the extreme. Through his communication with the other patrols, Maltahondo had kept track of Legolas' activities and whereabouts, allowing himself to be cajoled into a false sense of ease concerning his fate. He had even let himself feel proud of the way Legolas had striven to complete the Tasks of release. He had also been lulled into an artificial belief that the reports detailing the monthly tortures were greatly exaggerated.

Recalled from the southern patrol by Ningloriel's order and her stated determination to leave, Maltahondo had been in the city Caer-a-tadui [a twelve-night, two weeks] when the Edinor-en-Baudh [Anniversary Day of the Judgement] came, and learned of the sexual assault from the Watch Commander that had intervened. Ningloriel still did not know of this; she had been embroiled within her own confrontation with Thranduil and Maltahondo had not had opportunity to relay the news, so rapid had been her preparations for exodus on the morn. Even so, Ningloriel had made no comment about her meeting with Legolas at the Forest River or her assessment of his health.

Now, she sank back onto her cushioned throne and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head and rocking her body to and fro. "I will never forgive Thranduil! Legolas is so changed; I know not my own child any longer! Alas, he is dying and his own father has condemned him to this fate!" she wailed in stormy sorrow as tears filled her hands and slipped through the spaces between her fingers, falling to spot the silken covers below.

Maltahondo had to employ tremendous effort to check the all too familiar anger that surged up around his guilty heart. Always was it so for Ningloriel; Legolas fate was determined and she would make no effort to intervene, casting blame upon Thranduil and turning inward to ruminate and complain of the damage to her own soul instead. The guardsman realised that Ningloriel would never face down the customs and traditions of her people, not even to prevent Legolas' death, preferring to wallow in self-pity for the sorrow and distress his plight had wrought upon her. Maltahondo thought he had never before witnessed such completely self centred behaviour or an elf so emotionally distanced from their child.

He also now understood how this attitude had coloured his own evaluation of Legolas' worth. Malthen was accustomed to treating him as something causal to the fulfilment of the emotional and physical needs of others rather than as an individual with those same requirements. From this knowledge did the guardsman's guilt blossom, for he knew that Legolas loved him and had gifted to him his body's innocence in trust of that love.

And he had taken that gift and sullied it, returning him only pain and fear in the exchange. He had taken it, using as excuse what he chose to interpret as the invitation of Ningloriel, whom had brought him to Legolas that first night. Never mind that she had been his lover off and on for some years. Later, when the regret was too much to bear when looking into Legolas trusting eyes, he had added abandonment to his crimes.

In many ways, Maltahondo's failing in his obligation to protect his young charge was even greater than was his parents', for Legolas never seemed to expect anything other than neglect from them while Malthen was always there for him.

Great was his remorse while thus ruminating and he determined he would remain behind and try to undo some of this damage if by his will and action he might. His internal musings were disrupted by the just audible footfalls of another elf and he looked back at Ningloriel to see Elrond by her side, a hand already resting in a gesture of comfort upon her shoulder as she wept.

"Why would he not come? In Valinor, he would find peace and rest and I should not then be alone there!" she railed. "Now he will fade and I know not if I can bear such grief! Why is he so stubborn? How can he disregard his own mother's feelings so?"

"Perhaps he feels a certain sense of obligation and responsibility. Under the custom you have raised him, no other interpretation can there be," Elrond answered her, and Ningloriel rose, turning and throwing her arms round his neck, leaning her head against his shoulder, sobbing.

"Elrond, I had begun to think you would not come to me! What can be done; counsel me! How might I persuade him? Or barring that, you must find a way to help him, for how can I leave otherwise?" she said.

Maltahondo silently retreated from the glade, glad to be able to remove himself from his queen for a time. He was resolved; he would see her safely to the Havens and then return to the Greenwood and search Legolas out. He now felt the passing hours keenly; worried that the journey's length would steal from him any opportunity to make Ningloriel's pronouncement of her son's doom false.

Let Elrond placate the grieving mother; he would concentrate on saving the child. He glanced once more behind him as he passed among the ring of trees, observing Elrond gently rubbing the back of the Queen's neck as he spoke reassurances into her ear too softly spoken for him to hear.

"Ningloriel, it is not for me to do. The answer is for you to find him and help him through his ordeal. If you do not go, he need not have this added burden. Return to Mirkwood; tend to your son!" he urged, but she only wailed louder against his tear drenched neck.

"This I cannot do! You know our law and custom forbid me to interfere with the Judgement! And is this the only reason you would bid me not to go, for Legolas' sake?" she whined plaintively.

"Surely that is the most important reason to a grieving mother," Elrond frowned in exasperation, "and thus did I name it first! My feelings are immaterial when gauged against the loss of your son to fading!" he softly rebuked her, but Ningloriel would hear this not.

'What of you, would you fade it I should go?" she demanded petulantly, lifting her head to gaze with her tear glazed eyes into his clear and solemn ones.

"You know better!" He smiled gently and kissed the tip of her red and sniffley nose. "I have too many depending on me here; I cannot abandon my children or the people of Imladris."

"Glorfindel can take your place and remove this duty from you; or better one of your sons may do so! You could leave with me by week's end, Elrond!" she insisted, but he shook his head.

"I must stay, and even were I to go Celebrian awaits me there as you know. Love there has never been between us but respect and friendship are not to be betrayed. She is my mate still, Ningloriel." His voice was firm and his words unyielding, spoken with the ready cadence of long practice and frequent utterance.

Ningloriel pushed him back from her and strode to the river's edge, glowering down at the cheerfully singing water falling upon the gleeful rocks. "You are as bad as Thranduil, thinking only of your lands and power! I believe you have wooed me solely as a spy against my own people! Your heart has never been engaged in our liaison!" she spoke in wounded pride and hoped to hurt, yet Elrond remained calm.

"Believe as you will. I have given my reasons and I have asked you not to go. I do not beg nor will I seek to dissuade you from this course if it is what you truly need to do to survive. My feelings should be clear to you after so long a while, Ningloriel. Truly, I will mss you and grieve for you, but fade I must not," he stated, but she remained with her back to him in silence. "Besides, if I go with you how can I look to your son?" he added as he slowly approached, and reaching her turned her to him.

"You will see to him? He needs a healer; Maltahondo says he is in serious condition. When I saw him…" here she covered her face again as though to blind herself to the vivid image in her memory. Elrond drew her close to him, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. "He does not even look like my Legolas anymore; he is a wild and fey creature! Elrond, he was wounded; he had been beaten!" she cried against his chest and he made soothing sounds as he patted her back.

"I will try to help him. You know there is little I can do unless he finds his way to Lorien. We must send Maltahondo to try to find him and bring him out," Elrond promised.

"No, I need Maltahondo to come with me," Ningloriel pulled back again, shaking her head. "You will have to go for Legolas yourself; I will not go to Valinor alone!" she responded, and Elrond stared at her, unknowingly harbouring nearly the identical opinion of the Queen as her guardsman had earlier.
continued…