Feud

Title: Feud
Author: Nárcolindë, robey61@yahoo.com
Pairing: Legolas/Elrond
Rating: NC17 overall
Warnings: AU, OOC
Disclaimer: Characters, events and locations recognizable from the works of JRR Tolkien are the property of his estate. This story is intended for enjoyment, not profit.

Thanks: to Sarah, whose careful attention and insight improves the quality of this story!

Chapter 24: Cardh Delu [Fell Deed]

There was a definite and palpable sensation of expectation in the atmosphere and a peculiar creeping feeling as though watchers were spying out every blink of an eye, each flutter of a stray strand of hair, every miniscule shift in posture. The sense that the attention was generated by something less than benevolence was similar to the recognition of an oily film clinging to one's hands: impossible to ignore and difficult to cleanse away.
Nol Noldorin Elves stared out into the formidably quiescent forest hoping for an indication of what the apprehensive silence portended, praying it was only Legolas observing them from some hidden high spot in the canopy, angry for their crude behavior and conspiring secrecy.

Nothing moved.

With concentrated exactitude and frugal motions, the two elves collected up their goods and hefted their packs without further discussion. The noises generated by the simple exercise of making ready to depart sounded exaggerated and yet fell without echo, deadened by the close-aired weightiness of the wary woods.

Heeding the Wood Elf's advice, they strapped on their quivers and bows and belted daggers, securing the swords onto the rest of the baggage. This now included heavily overburdened rucksacks bulging with the clothing they had worn into Mirkwood, sans the leggings currently adorning them, boots tied onto the strapping, the extra changes of clothing, and what remained of the foodstuffs. Added to these cumbersome goods were the water skins, hanging limp and empty from their shoulders. So loaded down, they would never match Legolas' pace, even had they been skilled in tree-lore.

Both the Elven Lord and his advisor felt an intense anxiety connected with the prospect of leaving the relative safety of the wood and canvas shelter and they resisted the opposing necessity to follow the wild elf. Was this some manifestation of Tawar or something decidedly more malignant? They shared their mutual consternation without speech, worried expressions passing between eyes that had witnessed too much evil to disregard such internal alarms. They hesitated at the edge of the platform, instinctively fearful to step into the trees.

Minutes passed; neither spoke. Each listened with strained intensity for the slightest vibrations in the air, their vision scouring the foliage scrupulously for any sign of agitation.

The nervously prescient air gradually refused to satisfy their lungs, subtly becoming permeated with a pungently vile stench of death and evil, decay and doom.

Erestor stepped away from the edge of the talan, dropping his pack automatically as his hand flew to his throat in dread. He heaved volubly, eyes wild and staring into Elrond's, as both fell to their knees in a panic of gagging coughs.

The air grew fouler. Fetid and dank, it swept over them like living umbra, becoming dark and slithery, more substantial and dangerous than a weapon of iron or a poison-tipped blade. Terror blossomed in their souls and they flopped onto the floor flat out, hugging the wooden deck as though the tree was about to uproot itself and cast them down to their destruction. Their thoughts distilled down to a single, repetitive rant of recognition and despair.

Nazgul, Ulairi, Ring-Wraiths.

It seemed as if eternity must have halted and their se wse would be tortuously slow, but truly only seconds of reality elapsed during the Noldor's stuporous struggle to stay conscious. In a rushing gust of wind the trees about them erupted in a frenzy of thrashing branches and sparks that seemed to be spawned by the cracking limbs.

Surely, this was not possible. The confused elves watched the fleeting streaks of gleam darting through the air, and then one landed, rattling as it came to rest beside them. They were arrows, their points covered in a sticky solution that glinted in the shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy.

A terrible rumbling thunder reached their ears next, more visceral than any produced by rainstorm or hail, and with it a tremendous disruption of the ground as the very earth rolled and billowed as a liquid on the boil. Petrified, the elves felt their shelter swaying and gripped the floorboards and each other in desperation.

In this instant, the tenuous shiver of electricalhargharged ozone marked the wrenching of their vision away from the contortion oe woe woodland. The image of their guide flashed across their minds, with the clear and insistent command: "Up! Higher!"

And then he was there, in the branches just above them. Reaching down, both his anger and his pain suppressed in reaction to the crisis, he grabbed for them, yelling for them to make haste. Erestor snatched his pack, rose, and grasped the outstretched arm. With a leap he was at Legolas' side. The archer leaned down again for Elrond and the healer took the beckoning hand, hoisting himself up with it straight from the floor to the branches. They wasted no time in ascending higher, the Wood Elf vehemently urging them to move faster.

"Leave the packs!" the wild elf shrieked as the earth convulsed again and they clung frenetically to the flailing treetops. Legolas did not wait for the tremors to cease, but scrambled higher, shifting from the tree of the guard's talan. He slowed to arm his bow and loosed three arrows in a second's passing into the knot of morbidity that was the three emissaries of Mordor. A freakish scream as of some animal breathing its last rose in a thin whine and an obscene oath uttered in Westron found its way to the elves' hearing, and Legolas laughed.

Three Wraiths there were, mounted on mighty but brutish black steeds, and one of these horses had just been killed by the Tawarwaith's bow. The Greenwood's champion danced forward through the branches into the thickening rain of flickering arrows.

The Noldor had never gone so high, so nimbly or moved from branch to limb and tree to tree with such alacrity. They did not pause to consider where they were moving, but the brunt of the arrow assault herded them and seemed to be deriving from the direction Legolas had been leading them. They realized that they were being driven back towards Dol Guldur.

"Excrement of Melkor! Maggot-riddled carcasses of Trolls! Unliving, undead, uncrowned slaves!" Legolas' taunting insults rang out into the air as the cacophony of trampling feet, twanging bows, and shouting, garrulous voices raised in Black Speech swirled amid the suffocating breath of the Wraiths. And two of these now were astride a shared charger.

The Ulairi turned to answer their challenger.

The two Noldor, halted in their helter-skelter retreat by the scurrilous shouts, looked back and saw the feral elf engaging the host of Orcs, shooting with unerring aim into the loose formation of dark archers. He was pressing into the flow, striving to drive right through, and had dropped lower in the trees.

The enraged beasts funneled towards him and he took off, dodging arrows and scurrying just high enough to use the foliage for cover. In a clever tactic, he had split the troop around the Wraiths. As Legolas pivoted and headed straight for the Masters of Dol Guldur, the fell demons suddenly found themselves caught in the crossfire of their own warriors, and a second tell-tale groan announced the loss of another of the tormented equines that bore them forth from their dark fortress.

Legolas' laughter was gleeful and lighthearted, as though he was enjoying a friendly shooting competition rather than battling what could not be defeated.

"What are you waiting for? Where are your rings, you witless cowards? Show me your sword hands and I will deliver you from your accursed non-existence!" Legolas' voice carried back to the Noldor elves and they were startled into action, comprehending that their wild companion intended to fight the Nazgul. Setting arrow to bow the Imladris nobles assailed the Orcish soldiers swarming around in the confused melee.

The Wraiths watched Legolas but did not advance, commanding instead for their army to return to order and surround him.

But Harthad-en-Taur was far too quick and his aim unsurpassed.

Had the earth not been writhing in jerking twitches like the body of a headless serpent, not a single Orc would have survived that foray and all three Wraiths would have walked the long leagues back to their dismal stronghold. That the peculiar disruption was of Sauron's evil making was evident. Yet, while the trembling substrate affected both parties in the conflict, the fear that confounded the enemy horde benefited the elves. Both the limited skill and tactical ability of the Orcs dramatically dwindled as their fright intensified.

The Noldor progressed steadily forward towards Legolas' position, pausing to aim and shoot then moving ahead before repeating the action. The connection between them and the archer through Tawar held and grew even clearer as the distance lessened. There was no need to speak to understand which branch the feral elf would leap to or where their Orc targets were shifting and moving next. The Noldor did not need to call out to let Legolas know where they were or how long it would take to reach him. All this, the three elves were aware of instantaneously, simultaneously.

Thus, Legolas knew when the seneschal was with him in the tree, directly behind and slightly above him. When the ground flexed itself again and the tree viciously bent under the combined weight of the two elves, the Wood Elf knew what would happen.

The snapping of the branch was almost after the fact, for Legolas was already moving into a new position, climbing lower even as Erestor plummeted down towards the throng of Sauron's skirmishing vermin. Before he could begin to fear impacting the ground, Legolas was under the seneschal's body and reaching to snatch him by his leggings. The Wood Elf's grip snagged an ankle and held despite the wrenching agony in his arm as he suspended the dive. It was enough to allow the Noldo's arms to grab onto another limb and halt his descent.

Elrond observed from one tree over, aiming and firing as best he could in the tumultuous twisting of trembling trees upon the quaking land. The Elf Lord watched as Legolas held onto his old friend a second more to be certain he was stable and had regained his footing. At a nod from the seneschal, the wild elf released his grasp and surged upwards. The healer saw the shimmering gleam of the haphazard missile that razed through the leaves and sliced a crimson ribbon across the elf's left shoulder.

The cry of pain that accompanied the wounding was more a shout of rage, and the Tawarwaith responded with a fury the Orcs knew well. Indeed, many screeched in tormented defeat. Unable to fight the Wood Elf, Arda, the trees, and the unknown elves all at once, some turned upon each other. Many more retreated in desperation, wanting only to gain the safety of their high-walled tower, despite the Wraiths ' silent command to hold. Most of these turn-tails were hewn down in minutes by their Masters of which two now were forced to walk among them upon the land.

The third Wraith sat upon his gruesome dark horse and gave his full attention to the fallen prince. The Tawarwaith was fully engaged in his task, killing Orcs in a hectic smear of deadly bolts until only one arrow remained. And then the elf turned his bow upon the Nazgul.

Legolas was not lost in a haze of blood lust, however, and stared with cold precision into the place where the unliving once-king had shadow-bound eyes beneath a hooded cloak. A grim smile curled the corners of the archer's lips as he adjusted his stance and took his mark: the center of the black mount's skull, that small whorl where the dulled fur in the broad equine forehead fanned out to insulate the beast's tortured body.

He drew back the bowstring and loosed his last missile, confident of his accuracy even with his blood streaming from the ugly gash across his shoulder.

At the last possible instant before the beast must die with Legolas' arrow in its brain, the Wraith uplifted its sword and in a sweeping arc of moving obfuson ton the Morgul blade connected with the metal point. A shower of blinking scintillation and an excoriating squeal heralded the deflection of the dart and the poor horse lived.

But Legolas laughed, jubilant and victorious, pointing his bow with satisfaction into the emptiness of the obscured face, for he had forced the Nazgul into combat with him, and none of them had ever done this since his arrival in the southern regions. For a timeless second or two, the foul emanation of Melkor's ancient corruption had raised its sword hand in defense against the Tawarwaith and revealed the golden gleam of its empowering, enthralling ring.

"Get back to the safety of your black to fil filthy remnant of Numenor!" shouted the Tawarwaith in triumph. "When next we battle, it will not be as easy for you, for I will save two arrows and take your bloody ring!" This said, Legolas raced upward into the canopy out of arrow range and moved with great speed under the influence of the adrenaline and the euphoria of success. He knew the Noldor were following, still joined in the mental link with him, and so he did not hesitate.

He could not afford to, for there were still Orcs alive, though they were scattered and in chaotic retreat, and the torn flesh and muscle in his shoulder burned as only a poisoned wound would do. He had only a little time to counter the effects before succumbing to a horrifically painful death. Even worse, if he became disoriented and lost his place in the trees, he could fall into the beasts' disgusting claws and be taken for his last moments to the tortures of Dol Guldur.

Legolas fled through the highest limbs of the canopy seeking safety.

The Noldor were soon left behind to witness the end of the conflict. The Wraiths turned their wrath upon their own, slaughtering the remaining Orc warriors in retribution for failing to capture the feral elf. Then, in a grisly agglomeration of bloody blackness they departed, two upon the ground and the third mounted, in the direction the elves assumed would lead to their fortress.

Elrond and Erestor were amazed that their dread of the Ulairi had vanished as soon as the communication with Legolas had been established, and were grateful the terror no longer impeded them. They were so relieved to see the evil withdrawing that they halted their own retreat momentarily, exchanging huge grins of giddy delight.

"That was phenomenal! I have never known anything like it!" Erestor remarked.

"Nor I!" Elrond admitted. "He is either completely mad or knows something about the Nazgul we do not!" the Elven Lord shook his head in grudging admiration for the lowly outcast that had just saved their lives again, Erestor's life twice in less than a sun's round.

"Aye, I think perhaps he is demented, for he has run off in sore need of a healer's care, and you are the only healer for hundreds of leagues in any direction!" the seneschal said mournfully. "I would have you save him, Elrond; he went to great trouble to ensure my continued existence!"

"I would wish the same, but we have left the packs far back and I know not the way to the guard's talan from here. Can you tell the track we left?" Elrond asked.

Both elves scanned the forest all around them, but were dismayed to see that a great havoc of snapped branches and even wy upy upturned trees littered the entire area they could perceive with elven sight. The tremors of the earth had done tremendous damage to the woods, and effectively erased their own small disturbances in the process.

"Nay; this is hopeless! We need to catch up with him and do whatever we can, and quickly! Mayhap you will find some healing plants as we go," Erestor spoke hopefully, but Elrond frowned and shook his head.

"In this place of dark evil, anything wholesome must long ago have perished!" he said woefully.

With these sobering thoughts, they continued through the branches, counting on the mental guidance of the Wood Elf to lead them to him. They had not gone far before Err car called a halt.

"My Lord, it is this way, surely," he said.

"Lead on, then!" Elrond replied and looked over his shoulder at him, annoyed. He had suddenly lost the link with the trees and no longer knew the path they should take. "It seems I am not in the good graces of Tawar any longer!"

"Or perhaps pen-rhovan is too weak to maintain the connection with both of us! We must hurry!" the seneschal warned as he moved forward more rapidly.

Erestor took the lead, and would have felt smug to be on Legolas' good side for a change had the circumstances not been as worrisome. They traveled in silence for nearly two hours and then Erestor called back in fear; he had lost the mental image as well.

"I can no longer tell his path! Elrond, has he re-established the image with you?" the seneschal did not care to hide the panic in his words or his dismay upon the Elf Lord's solemn denial.

The Noldo progressed hesitantly in the same direction for a while more. No sign of the feral elf was discernable. Presently, however, the sound of gently flowing water met their ears and they followed this until they reached a small clearing where a merry brook was playing.

The glen was formed by the loss of a mighty beech that must have been centuries old when it met its death. No fewer than four elves holding each other arm to arm would have been required to encircle its living girth. That its end was unnatural was attested to by the remains of the massive trunk rising from the earth; a grave marker for the old tree's untimely demise. The stump was the last reminder of the biting saws and axes of the foul creatures that had hacked away the noble creation's life.

The hollow was well tended, as a garden would be, for no new tree gr had had sprung up by the water's edge there. Soft grass with wild flowers, trembling in the gentle wind of hummingbird's wings, covered the ground. A thick clustering of water lilies crowded a little shallow cove against the stream's lea side bank and thick mossy ferns grew all around the feet of the encircling trees. On the far side of the creek, the clearing gave way into a huge tangle of blackberry brambles that was laden with succulent fruit.

The Noldor shared appreciative glances and hurriedly descended into this picturesque scene, confident this was the correct end to their journey. They had no doubt this place was under the care of elvish hands, and the only elf in the vicinity was Legolas. A sound they both recognized brought them up sharp just in time as a dagger sliced through the wood of Elrond's bow, nicking it badly, embedding itself in the bark of a tree just behind him.

"I find it hard to believe you are any kind of warriors at all, for neither of you have the sense to examine your surroundings before leaping from cover!" their feral friend's weary yet scornful words found their ears while disallowing their eyes to find his position. In vain they searched the branches above and around them. No lightly lilting laughter followed the warning, and the Noldor remained still where they stood.

Even as they watched, Legolas seemed to materialize before them, disengaging himself from his camouflaged location in the blackberry thicket. He went around, a bit unsteady in his step, and retrieved his dagger from the tree and on returning seated himself ungracefully upon the ancient stump.

His quiver and bow were gone and he held the dagger loosely in the fingers of his right hand. Streaked in a finely dendritic pattern of his own gory blood, so pale that the faint blue veins around his eyes and wrists stood out clearly, Legolas presented a cadaverous spectacle. He was attempting to slip the dagger into the leather cording that bound up his breeches and kept missing. The blade made a peculiar scraping noise as it dragged across the old leather. At first Legolas found it funny and was silently laughing as he repeatedly tried to secure the blade, but then he became frustrated and gave up. He sighed dramatically.

"Wrong hand, it is the right one, you see," he said. A small guffaw escaped through his nose and he held up the hand with the dagger as though this was all the explanation required.

"What?" Erestor said, alarmed by the loss of coordination and this muddled incoherent statement.

"Fill your water skins and take as many berries as you like, quickly now!" Legolas said with imperious magnanimity and gestured towards the stream with the dirk. Suddenly his head drooped and he began to slide from his seat, catching himself in confusion before he completely lost his balance.

The two Noldor exchanged concerned glances and Erestor hurried over to the feral elf, taking hold of his uninjured arm carefully.

"You must let us take a look at this wound, Legolas! It may be poisoned," he said cautiously, watching to see if the dagger would be raised again.

"Of course it is poisoned! Stupid Noldo!" Legolas ridiculed his companion and laughed a little in his appealing, lighthearted way, smiling a lopsided sort of grin. "I have already taken care of it, silly elf!" he added with just a hint of slurring to the ends of his words.

Now Erestor became fearful. What was the poison doing to the Wood Elf?

The dagger slipped from Legolas' fingers and landed with a muffled thump in the grass. He looked fixedly at it, as though trying to determine what it was doing there. "Oh, that is mine!" he mumbled in sliy suy surprised tones, tugging feebly against Erestor's hold that he might retrieve the weapon.

The seneschal propped him back against the remnant trunk and waited to see if he could stay upright. He met the baffled blue eyes and smiled back reassuringly.

"I will get it, just stay still, " he said and stooped to take up the blade. Legolas was listing over again and Erestor caught him round the waist as he straightened up, slipping the dagger under his own belt. He resettled the younger elf and rested one hand on the whole shoulder to support him against the stump. "My Lord, will you see to it?" Erestor pleaded with Elrond. "There is some sort of, well, I do not know what it is spread over the injury."

Elrond strode over and visually inspected the wound. He could see that the long straight laceration had been cleaned, and was packed with a strange orange tinted spongy substance. He sniffed at it and his brows rose in surprise; it seemed to be a species of fungus commonly found growing on fallen trees and other dead and decaying wood.

"Can you not be quicker?" Legolas' voice was plaintively imploring. "We cannot stay on the ground, even here! Never have those bloody demons come this close to Aewendil's abode!" He tried to rise and promptly toppled over against Erestor, who held him up easily.

"What should we do? I do not think he can stay conscious much longer!" he said.

"Get up in tre trees!" Legolas replied and giggled as though drunk. "Silly Noldor!" his words were scarcely intelligible, and both Imladrians scowled.

"Do as he says; can you climb and hold onto him at the same time? I will fill the water skins and follow you," said Elrond.

"I think so, if he does not struggle too much," replied Erestor, but as he was speaking the Wood Elf slumped in his arms, insensible.

Hefting Legolas up over one shoulder, the seneschal let his Lord give him a boost up to the first branches, and climbed cautiously upwards from there. Once he was higher in the tree he began looking for a talan or a flet, for certainly Legolas would not have led them to a place devoid of one. His efforts were rewarded, but the perch was very high and he had to take care in reaching it. Requiring three transfers into adjacent trees and a good deal of petulant cursing, the feat was finally accomplished. Once there he laid the sick elf down ge and and waited as Elrond climbed up.

While Legolas was unconscious, the healer examined the injury closely and confirmed his identification of the fungus. With none of his own healing supplies at hand, he feared to remove the poultice and settled for cleaning away the remaining dry blood on the archer's body. No comfort could he give to Erestor, for he did not know what the poison was or whether the unusual treatment would have any healing effect. All he could be certain of was the regular heartbeat and the calm inhalations that usually indicated a healing repose.

While Elrond had been trying to ascertain the seriousness of Legolas' condition, Erestor had the foresight to gather up a large amount of berries before the sunlight completely faded, using his quiver as a basket. With the containers of cool, clear water from the brook and the delectable fruit, the Noldor satisfied their bodies' hunger. Ithil rose and the eventful day ended.

For that night and two days and another night in between them, Legolas was feverish and ill and seldom woke. When he did, he demanded water and drank copiously but partook of nothing more, complaining of heat and of s ins in his back. He could not find a comfortable way to rest during these times and shifted uneasily. He propounded irrational allegations, in less than endearing language, that his companions had stolen his blankets. When he needed to relieve himself he accused the Noldor of trying to 'look' at him, and insisted they go all the way down to the ground before he would even try. The Noldor found all this aggravating, but did their best to appease him.

On the third rising of Ithil since the skirmish, Legolas awoke quietly and stretched his injured shoulder and arm, rotating it completely to alleviate the remaining stiffness. The two spies were sleeping and he did not wake them when he left the tree, climbing down into the glade to bathe. Shucking off the old breeches, he waded into the bracing water of the brook and delighted in getting thoroughly clean, for he had not been able to do so for many weeks. He washed away the desiccated, crumbling fungus from the wound and noted with satisfaction that it was closed and healing cleanly.

That done, Legolas climbed from the water on the opposite bank and headed for the blackberries. He had eaten so little recently that he was sure he would not leave anythfor for the woodland animals to enjoy. He ate at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sounds of the Greenwood's night voices he knew and loved, adding his own in a soft, contented trilling hum.

It did not take long to fill up, however, for Legolas' stomach had shrunk somewhat over the weeks, and he knew to over eat would only make him queasy. Instead, he went into the brambles and retrieved his bow and quiver. He did as Erestor had, quickly filling the implement with the plump berries, and then slipped the strap loosely over his good shoulder. He waded back across the stredonndonned his breeches and climbed back to the flet.

Legolas set down his bow and crouched on his heals, carefully dumping out the berries from his quiver, making sure the loose arrow points did not fall and waken his companions with loud clattering. The archer looked over at the seneschal and then lifting his bow unceremoniously jabbed him with it in the stomach.

"Why did you do that?" The Noldo balked at the contact and sat up, edging away. "Do not tell me you have to 'go' and expect me to leave the talan!" he squawked irritably.

"I already 'went' when I was down in the glen! And you were watching me bathe, and then you watched me eat berries! If I had not been behind the brambles, I am sure you would have watched me 'go', too!" Legolas snarled.

"How did you know that?" Erestor demanded before thinking. It was just as well, for there was no use denying the truth; it would only serve to make the situation worse. He had fully enjoyed the vision of Legolas standing naked in the glade, illuminated by the moonlight, daintily plucking blackberries and popping them into his mouth.

By way of answer, Legolas leaned back and patted the trunk of the tree supporting their shelter. "Tawar," was all he said. It was not true, of course. He had simply noticed the change in the Noldo's breathing pattern and guessed the rest. {Let him think Tawar is watching his every move!} He thought, grinning complacently.

At this juncture Elrond, who had awakened as soon as the conversation had begun, propped himself up on his elbows to see what the commotion was about. He observed Legolas carefully before speaking.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked simply, but Legolas only glanced at him with disdain and refused to respond. The Elf Lord rolled his eyes and then rolled himself over to go back to sleep. "Let me know when you start behaving like an adult," he sneered. It was the wrong thing to say.

The feral elf stood and kicked the Noldo Lord, soundly, in the middle of his back. The Elf Lord exclaimed in surprise and pain at the unexpected assault and he found himself struggling to catch his breath. While Elrond was trying to recover, Legolas knelt, unsheathed the Elf Lord's own dagger, and calmly slipped it under the healer's chin.

"Oh, you still doubt what realm you are in and whom it is you treat with, I see," Legolas said quietly and nodded as though to himself, smiling slightly. "You are only alive now because I will it."

"I thought our protection was from Tawar, Wood Elf!" Elrond rejoined, but as before his bold tone did not seem to irk his feral combatant, and drew from him that most pleasing laughter.

"It is all the same, is it not?" he said softly. "I am Tawar's champion, and to you an emissary from the Greenwood. Do you wish to change this relationship?" And it happened again, the uncanny deadening of all sound and motion within elven earshot upon Legolas' spoken words.

"Nay, Legolas;m grm grateful for your guidance and protection!" Erestor spoke up quickly. "I owe you a life debt twice over, at least, and it is more than I can ever repay. It was improper for me to spy on you, but it is extremely hard to resist such temptation!" he said with what he hoped was sincerity and comedic emphasis on the sexual innuendo. He got up and laid his hand calmly on the fingers gripping the dagger, drawing it back a little. "Come, you are still recovering. Will you lie down and let this matter go for now?" He gave Legolas his best and most results-producing 'endearing scoundrel' expression.

This made Legolas smile and his warm laughter overwhelmed the seneschal so that he could not help smiling back. He tugged on the fingers and thus pulled Legolas and the dagger away from the Lord of Imladris.

Legolas turned to the Elf Lord. His glowing smile, divested of any hint of kindness, became coldly rebuking. In actuality he was angrier with himself for breaking his resolve not to engage in any further discourse with the healer.

They stared bitterly at one another for some minutes, but it was never a contest; Elrond had to admit, to himself at least, that he truly was at this elf's mercy, whether the knife was against his throat or not. With a sour grimace the Noldo looked away, shifting around as though trying to find a comfortable spot rather than squirming under the scrutiny of the angry Tawarwaith still in possession of a dagger.

Tbc