Dark Council- *added Epilogue*

EPILOGUE


Garand and Legolas stepped in front of Thranduil simultaneously, as Rymir reached into the top of his boot. Before his hand attained its goal however, he froze as he felt the crossed blades of Isil-Gar and Vilmaril biting into the soft flesh of his throat.

The Captain of the Guard, leaned down and whispered in a pleading voice, “Oh yes, Rymir, *please* try it.” The Councilman withdrew his hand from his boot top slowly, and held up both hands, in a gesture of surrender. The blonde Guards hauled him roughly to his feet, Vilmaril reaching into the boot to extract the small but deadly knife intended for the King’s back. Garand came forward to face Rymir then. Anger swirled in the depths of his golden-green eyes, and he said between clenched teeth, “I swore I would never again sully myself by touching you. I recant that vow.” And before Rymir could react, Garand’s hand came up swiftly, dealing him a back-handed blow, jarring his teeth and snapping his head to one side. He slid to the floor in earnest now, and no one attempted to stop his descent.

Throlas and the other Council members gathered into a huddle to speak together quietly. After mere seconds they parted and Throlas stepped forward to address the King.

“My Lord Thranduil,” he said respectfully, “We see no reason to waste your time and ours with a lengthy trial for Rymir. We therefore wish to tell you that we are prepared to hand down a verdict here and now.”

Although surprised, Thranduil nodded his permission. “As you see fit, Councilmen,” he replied quietly.

Throlas turned to Rymir and spoke with an authoritative voice devoid of emotion. “For the crime of treason against the throne of Mirkwood, we the Council, find you guilty. For the crime of vandalism in the destruction of the farmland irrigation pipe, we find you guilty. For the crime of assault in the attacks on two innocent citizens of Mirkwood, and for the attempted assassination of its King, we find you guilty. Your Majesty, if it pleases you, we await your decision on the sentencing and fate of Councilman Rymir. *We* would recommend execution, but it is, of course, ultimately your decision.”

All eyes turned to the King of Mirkwood, as he gazed thoughtfully at the accused Councilman, considering what punishment would best fit the charges nst nst him. After what seemed to Rymir like hours, the Elven King took a deep breath and spoke.

“My thanks to the cil,cil, for its swift deliberation on these charges against one of its members. I understand your proposal for the death penalty, considering the gravity and violence of Rymir’s crimes.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “I cannot bring myself to order it, however. I hope you will not think less of me, but I cannot justify the taking of a life, when no lives were lost as a result of the Councilman’s actions. For a moment I considered throwing him into the dungeons, even though they’ve not been used for that purpose for many centuries. I must confess, the thought of him rotting in a cell far beneath the throne appealed to me greatly, but what would it serve? I firmly believe that Rymir must be given the opportunity to make atonement for what he’s done, but”, Thranduil leveled his gaze at Rymir, “he will not be allowed to do it here in Mirkwood.”

The Council member’s silver eyes widened in realization. “Rymir of the Council,” Thranduil announced, “you are hereby banished from the kingdom of Mirkwood for as long as you live.”

“No!” Rymir whispered, struggling in the grip of Isil-Gar and Vilmaril. The Captain of the Guard looked at him in disgust. “Stop whimpering,” he spat, “you are escaping with your life. ‘Tis more than you deserve.”

The raven-haired Elf turned to him, his face suddenly hard and arrogant. “No one can keep me out of Mirkwood,” he said haughtily.

Isil-Gar smiled, a predatory smile laced with threat. “I have many friends among the Border Guard,” he said softly. “If so much as the tip of your toe crosses over Mirkwood’s borders, I swear to you ‘twill be the last step you take on Middle Earth.”

Rymir swallowed hard and was silent. Thranduil continued with his sentencing. “You will spend the night in the custody of Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, and in the morning they will escort you to the border. Captain, Lieutenant,” he address his Guards, “please seat Rat Rymir is given enough food and clothing for one week, plus some basic medical supplies, and ……” he paused, “give him the mark.”

After a few seconds of stunned silence, the members of the Council murmured their approval of Thranduil’s decision to give to Rymir the Mark of Celondir, a large tattoo etched into the side of the neck, and given to the most infamous of Elven criminals. Celondir had been a traitor to his own people, thousands of years ago, and after being caught and sentenced for his crimes, was released into Middle Earth bearing on the side of his neck the large black Elven symbol for the word ‘collaborator’. It was now a punishment reserved for the most heinous of wrongdoers.

Rymir again opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil hushed him with a raised hand. “I will not loose you upon an unsuspecting world. You will not again find it so easy to deceive others; wherever you choose to begin a new life, you will have to *earn* the trust of those around you. You have a brilliant mind, Rymir. If you would but use it for the good of others, you would very soon become a valued and sought-after member of another community. I pray the Valar will show you the mercy you have always withheld from your own people.” The King then nodded to Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, who led a now-silent Rymir from the wine cellar to a room where he would be confined until his exile at morning’s first light.

Thranduil turned to his son and his lover. “Thank the gods that is over,” he breathed. Legolas and Garand embraced him from where they stood on each side of him. The remaining members of the Council approached them, smiling and congratulating the King on his handling of the affair.

“Well done, your Majesty,” Throlas clasped Thranduil’s hand warmly.

The ruler of Mirkwood returned the gesture of his old friend, and thanked him. Addressing the Council, he added seriously, “I am glad we are all together in secret, so that I may tell you something of great importance.” He inhaled deeply and looked at each Elf who stood in the cellar with him now. “For today is the last day I wish to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty’. I am handing over the throne to my son, Legolas.”

Shocked silence met his announcement, and the King waited patiently for his words to fully sink in. When they did, the voices of all present rose in a din of protest, the loudest of which was that of Legolas.

“Why would you do such a thing?” he asked. “Mirkwood needs you, we *all* need you on the throne, Father.”

Thranduil took his son’s shoulders in his strong hands and squeezed reassuringly. “Listen to me, my son. I love Mirkwood, and her people with all my heart; she is my homeland. But I have taken her as far as I can. She needs new blood now. You are no younger than I was when it was necessary for me to step into my father’s role, after he died in battle. It *is* a daunting task, but you are up to it. I’ve no doubt about that. I have given you every test and trial that I can think of to prepare you for this, and you have passed them all, easily.”

Legolas looked around the wine cellar, as if seeing it for the first time, and Thranduil knew his son was feeling the enormity of the obligations he would now bear. Looking back to his father, the Prince reminded him of how he sometimes looked in younger years, when his princely duties weighed heavily on him. “I am not ready, Adar,” he whispered.

The King took Legolas’ face in his hands, and touched his forehead to his. “You *are* ready, Legolas,” he said confidently, “you have *been* ready for many years. You possess the level-headedness, good-heartedness, and strength of spirit it takes to be a great leader. I will not abandon you to shoulder this burden alone. Garand and I will continue to live in the palace; you may lean on us, whenever you feel the need, may he not, nd?”nd?”

“Of course you may, my friend,” he replied. “I will do whatever I can to help lighten your responsibilities. My dearest friend, King Legolas of Mirkwood,” he added, trying out Legolas’ new title, and he smiled. “I like the sound of it.”

Thranduil spoke to the Council. “Do any of you have reservations about my son’s ability to rule Mirkwood?”

To the last member, they all supported Thranduil’s decision. “After seeing his loyalty and his strength of will in recent days, we have no qualms about giving the Prince our full backing,” one of them replied, and the others agreed. Thranduil thanked them, and turned back to Legolas. “Isil-Gar and Vilmaril will serve you as faithfully as they have always served me, I can promise you that. They have watched you grow through the years, and they’ve often confido meo me that they thought you would be a fine ruler for Mirkwood, when the time came.”

The Prince’s face again carried the confidence and serenity that usually graced his fair features, and he smiled. “Well,” he said, “with so many trusted friends and loved ones on my side, how can I not succeed?” He turned to face his father, and bowed his head in obedience.

“I accept the appointment, my Lord Thranduil,” he said respectfully.

His father smiled lovingly, and turned him to face the Council again. “Members of the Council,” he addressed them proudly, “I present to you Legolas Thranduilion, the new King of Mirkwood.”

“King Legolas,” they declared in unison, as everyone in the room dropped to one knee, hands over their hearts in the traditional Elven gesture of allegiance and fidelity.

They stood after a moment and Throlas laughed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Well, we have a coronation and banquet to plan,” he said, referring to the ceremony that would officially install Legolas onto the throne. The Council surrounded the new King, and ushered him toward the door leading back to the meeting room from which they’d come. He tried to answer their barrage of questions as he walked, and paused at the door to look back at his father. He mouthed the words “I will speak to you soon. I love you, adar.” Smiling, Thranduil nodded and whispered “I love you, too”, as he watched his son whisked away in a flurry of well-wishes and congratulations.

“You are certain of this, aren’t you, dearest? You are not sad, in the least,” Garand said with surety, when they were alone. “Then, you think Legolas will be all right.”

“He will find his way, just as I did when I first took the throne. Legolas is a quick study, and he is stronger than he knows.” Thranduil turned and gathered Garand into his arms tenderly. “Two things in this life, am I sure of,” he said confidently, “and one is that my son was born to rule this kingdom.”

Garand sighed and leaned into the loving embrace. “And what is the other?”

The blonde Elf gently traced the soft, sweet lips of his lover with one finger, before kissing him. “That we will have a glorious life together, if you will have me.”

Garand leaned back to look into the aqua-blue eyes that gazed at him adoringly. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

“I am saying, my love, that I want nothing more than for us to be joined, for as long as we have life,” Thranduil smiled indulgently at Garand’s naivete. He nearly wept at the joy that lit the face of his beloved, at those words.

“Ah gods, Thranduil,” the young warrior breathed, “I have prayed you would ask me this. The first time we met, I knew. For me, ‘twas you and only you, whom I would share my nights and days with as my life-mate. I want us to belong to one another, always, and I want everyone we know to be a witness to that. But who will perform the ceremony?”

“I will talk to Isil-Gar tomorrow when he returns from ridding Mirkwood of Rymir’s odious presence. As a higher-ranking military officer, he is qualified to do it, and since I still have the authority until Legolas is crowned, I will ask him if he wishes me to do the same for him and Vilmaril.”

Garand looked at him in surprise. “You *know* about them?”

Thranduil laughed. “My dear love, I have *always* known,” he replied.

Garand shook his auburn head in wonder. “I should not be surprised, should I?”

“I would hope,” the former King of Mirkwood said, as he kissed the palms of his lover’s hands, “that I never lose the ability to surprise you.”

“I do not think that will ever be a problem,” Garand murmured, and the two walked out of the cellar, towards their life, their future together, and the trials and joys they would bring.


THE END

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