Feud

Feud
By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
www.feud.shadowess.com
Disclaimer: see 1st chapter
Other Characters:
Talagan [Harper]: Captain of Legolas’ company; 1st to pas judgement in the field
Fearfaron [Spirit-hunter]: father of Annaldír
Annaldír [Gift of trees]: one of the beheaded lost warriors
Valtomar [Good fortune]: other beheaded lost warrior
Lindalcon [Song of the sunray]: son of Valtomar
Andamaitë [Long-handed]: female lost warrior
Rochendil [Horse friend]: Andamaitë’s mate; becomes Ailinyéro [pools of sorrow]
Maltahondo [Gold-hearted]: corpsman and friend to Legolas

Chapter Three: Námië [Judgement]
The five days ride back to Mirkwood across the withers of his horse had prevented the broken ribs from knitting and irritated the long gash across his chest. The stab wound felt as if the knife was still in it, jabbing him over and over with each connection of the animal’s hooves with the ground. Legolas did not have the energy to cry out and awareness surfaced briefly and furtively so that the five days may have been five weeks to his weary mind.

He was jarred alert abruptly when his injured shoulder ground into the stony courtyard of Thranduil’s stronghold. Bright light from a high sun illuminated a ring of solemn eldar all around him. He sensed the King was not there, and for that was grateful and relieved. The next instant he realized he was not only still bound tightly hand and foot, but lay stripped nude in public humiliation. Legolas quickly twisted around to conceal his nakedness and groaned as his injures protested the sudden movement. He sprawled on his side lightly panting and heard someone approaching from among the gathered elves.

A hand grasped him by the hair and yanked hard, and he scrambled to rise unsteadily to his knees. He allowed his eyes to scan the elves now and recognized them as the families of the lost warriors and the remainder of their company. It was his own captain, Talagan, who was holding him up with a fistful of hair. Legolas could not bear to see their shocked and stricken faces anymore and dropped his eyes to the earth before him.

A tall and willowy male elf walked forward from the group and stood looking down on him. He did not have anger in his face; instead, his eyes looked vacant and soulless. He slowly bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt and gravel then was still for a moment more gazing vacantly at the archer. Someone made a sound in their throat, as though to clear it of a cough and the elf seemed to come back to the present. He listlessly flung the loose debris in Legolas’ face and began to speak.

"I am Fearfaron, known to you as father of Annaldír, called Ehtyaro, the Spearman, whose life you have wasted and whose rest you have thwarted. His mother, praise Elbereth, passed into the West years ago and is not here to witness this, but neither can she receive our child into Valinor and surely for this she grieves, even there. I must tend to this myself and bear it alone and cannot even contemplate allowing this sorrow to consume me until I know that Annaldír is freed from Wandering and honored by Mandos." He sighed then and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I claim Warrior’s Release from you and demand the full penalty of 24 years in servitude and exile. I will require you to serve me in my trade as talan builder and you will bear the scorn and recriminations of our people as they see fit to express it. For myself, I wish never to speak to you again, and when I am forced to look upon you I will not see you, until Annaldír tells me he has found the Way Straight and claims the glory rightfully his." The elf finished this speech by drawing forward a dagger from his boot with one hand and grasping a handful of Legolas’ hair with the other. With a rapid swipe he severed the silky threads and cast them down.

This action seemed to drain away whatever resolve the elf had been relying on to see him through the event and as he returned to his place in the circle his shoulders slumped and the sheen in his hair visibly dulled.

Legolas did not dare lift his eyes to look upon him as silent tears coursed down his face, blurring the image of the small heap of golden tresses on the ground.

Moments passed, and a gracefully petite female approached him next, cheeks tearstained and eyes sorrow-glazed. At her side she led an elfling by the hand, a male child less than 40 years who was pale and looked bewildered. He clearly could not comprehend this situation and was in shock. His mother copied the previous action of Fearfaron and instructed her child to do the same, casting his own small handful of stony grit upon the guilty one, as she spoke for them both.

"Valtomar was my mate," she said and sobbed, squeezing the child’s hand tight, "and father to Lindalcon. I claim Warrior’s Release also and the full 24 years exile. You have stolen the life of my child’s father; therefore, I claim for Lindalcon the life of your father’s son. I demand from you the title and position of Prince of the Woodland Realm!"

A gasp arose from somewhere in the crowd and Legolas followed the sound to the aghast countenance of his friend and corpsman, Maltahondo. He quickly lowered his gaze again; he was no longer permitted to look upon his people as an equal.

The mother and child each cut away a section of his hair and added it to the pile before stepping back to resume their positions.

Before they had barely turned, a second male elf strode out from the group. Without so much as a word he drew back his fist and landed it against the archer’s broken jaw, which made a strange grinding sound as Legolas tried to stifle a cry. With an incoherent growl the elf rained a stinging hail of dirt and stone against the disgraced archer's body and followed this with a kick to his ribs, still a dark purple from the beating inflicted by the King’s guardsmen and the rough ride home.

Legolas coughed out air and blood from his lungs and would have fallen to the dirt if Talagan had not been holding securely to his hair.

"Andamaitë was my mate!" The enraged elf spat and then swiped at Legolas' face again, bloodying his nose. Having finally found his voice he shouted down numerous curses into the archer's ears. "You have stolen both of our lives and I would have you thrown into the most foul and fetid cell in the deepest depths of Thranduil’s stronghold did the law allow it!" he thundered.

"As it does not, I demand, as have the others: the full 24-year term of punishment and Warrior’s Release. As I suffer, so shall you, hecilo [outcast]. I demand your oath of celibacy for the entire term of sentence, and claim the right of chastisement whenever my suffering requires it!"

At this pronouncement Legolas flinched and a wave of disquiet passed through the collected elves. Such a demand had not to anyone’s memory been made before, but was within the rights of the victim.

"Where once I was known to you by my right name, Rochendil, I will become for you Ailinyéro, pools of sorrow in which you will drown!" The renamed elf sliced his handful of hair close to Legolas’ scalp and drew blood.

Talagan had to transfer his hold to the doomed sniper’s shoulder as most of his once glorious mane now lay in the dirt in a tangled mass. Silently, each of the remaining members of the company came forward and also cut away a few strands of hair, adding it to the pile.

Maltahondo came last, but a part of his cut he did not cast away, tucking it carefully into a pocket of his tunic.

Then Talagan pushed Legolas back to sit upon his heels and removed his hold when he was sure the elf, trembling violently from the weight of his disgrace, would not fall over. The captain stepped over to the collection of strands and knelt down and, drawing forth his flint, struck sparks and set it alight. The acrid odor of singed fur filled the courtyard as the golden tresses blazed up brightly and just as abruptly died away.

Legolas watched as the warm breeze blew through the flaky ashes and swept them away to mix with the dirt and debris of leaves, and it was over. Talagan cut him free of his bonds and placed a small bundle of clothes near his knees and walked away. Within minutes all the others silently departed and he was alone.

Crouched down on his hands and knees, Legolas tried to get the pain in his body under control and the circulation back into his arms. He reached for the clothes and put them on, and somehow the feel of the rough, undyed cloth as he slipped it over his abused frame was worse than the shame of his nakedness or the feel of the wind on his shorn head.

A sharp pang stung Legolas' heart; he was not even allowed to wear the colors of the Woodland Realm, and this was more upsetting to him than losing his rank and title. He was a warrior and had never particularly cared for the obligations of state, but without his bow and quiver he did not really know who he was anymore.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled away towards the wood; before sunset he had to be beyond the Enchanted River or face further penalty. Now that the judgement was over, he just wanted to be away from the unnaturally silent and empty courtyard.

He made for the trees.

Tbc