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.

Summary: Legolas meets someone with whom we are familiar.

Thanks: Special acknowledgement goes to Sarah, whose encouragement is invaluable and careful proofing is so vital. She lets me know when the story works and finds errors I would otherwise overlook!

And of course I cannot thank the readers enough, especially those who review! But I also appreciate all the readers who do not, so do not think you are unacknowledged!

Chapter 30: Future Friends?

Tawar looked after its own, but in the spreading darkness of the living Shadow the besieged spirit of the Greenwood did not discern the approach of disaster in the form of the First Born from Rivendell.

So soon after the devastation of the trembling earth, the forest had not recovered its strength and the shifting emotions roiling from its champion whenever the Noldo were near further confused the ancient trees. The wizard, too, sent Tawar conflicting opinions of the Elf Lord and his advisor, at once infuriated yet tolerant of the son of Eärendil and the survivor of Gondolin.

While disjointed and virtually severed by the Misty Mountains, a faint connection between the Greenwood and the forested valleys of Imladris remained, and naught but good sentiments passed between them where the elves of either land were considered. Whatever the source of their friends' misgivings about the Deep Elves, the trees would never have looked to the West and the lands of Imladris as the origin of so injurious an element to Harthad-en-Taur. Surely, had the spirit of the Great Wood foreseen the harm their Tawarwaith would sustain from the Noldor's hands, it would never have guided them to him on that first day of their meeting.

But the forest failed its fair defender and did not prevent the damage his interaction with Elrond and Erestor generated within his heart and mind.

Legolas' new despair focused not on the interlopers but on one of his own, a Danwaith long trusted by the forest as a loyal defender of their Realm. The distress of the archer coursed through the woods from every leaf and twig he so much as brushed in passing, and the impotent rage of the weald's denizens manifested in an unholy cacophony of groaning and creaking as branch and stem ground against each other in futile fury. The whole of the Greenwood near him looked gale deranged and typhoon tossed; indeed, this was true though the conflagration was bound within the shredded shards of the wild elf's soul.

High in the obscurity of the densest foliage, Legolas relentlessly pressed a course through the branchways away from the safe sanctuary of his enchanted glen and back into the unprotected wastes between the region of the woodsmen's villages and the Old Forest Road. He moved with speed born of frenetic desperation to both escape from his own quintessence and reach the comfort of the protective embrace of the only elf he trusted anymore, Fearfaron. Determinedly he pushed on, forgetting the village and his human friends, the ailing child and the ageless Maia, the Elf Lord and his advisor. All else diminished while the staggering misery of guilt and rage that drove him increased.

Even if they had been Wood Elves raised under the forest's roof, Erestor and Elrond would never have been able to match the urgent momentum of Legolas' pace. By the time Erestor made his way back to the village, the archer was already six leagues away from the glade. As it was, the seneschal's mangled explanation of what had transpired appeared not to move his Lord, while Radagast actually broke his staff rather than his vows so great was his desire to avenge his friend. Aiwendil left the village without a word and the Noldor saw him no more for a time.

The Elven Lord remained cold and distant and shunned his longtime friend, refusing to hear Erestor's pleas and arguments for going after the suffering Wood Elf. Elrond icily reminded his advisor that they were not exactly free to travel to Mirkwood's stronghold, but encged ged him to attempt it should he desire a protracted confinement in Thranduil's dungeons. In fact, he had stated, perhaps such a fate would be fitting for one who turned on his own and thwarted plans designed to aid their people, for thus he judged Erestor's actions to date.

Still unenlightened regarding Elrond's firsthand knowledge of his intimacy with Legolas, Erestor became incensed. He berated his compatriot for his callousness in allowing Pen-rhovan to go from them in his present state of mind and challenged the unfairness of the accusations against his character. But in the end, helpless to find his way or to explain himself should he happen upon the patrols, the advisor gave up his hope for aiding Legolas. Yet he would not return to Imladris when Elrond prepared to leave, and stayed in the village hoping for the Brown Wizard to return with the Tawarwaith in tow.

Legolas traveled without rest three days, stopping on the fourth only for water when he felt close to collapse, for the grief his own good heart caused him increased by the hour, it seemed. Poised back in the treetops above the sluggish trickle that had eased his parched throat, the exhausted Wood Elf tried to summon the will to go forth.

His back stiffened, becoming rigid as a slicing stab of acute anguish flooded him right at the site of the old dagger wound. Legolas' hand flew to the throbbing scar and he pressed his fist against the tearing torment as a slight gasp escaped him. The spasm increased its intensity and he almost lost his balance on the branches, clasping tightly to the kindly tree with his free hand as he tried to will himself to be calm and ride out the attack.

{How often that blade has been my antagonist,} he thought, yet never would he part with it for it had been a gift from Malthen on his Coming of Age.

The pain had started the day Erestor had disclosed his real relationship to Malthen and the episodes were becoming more frequent. The old wound felt like it was ripping open again, seeking to complete its aborted task from all those years past. He had expected to find his hand covered with his blood the first time the wrenching paroxysm ated ted him. The agony seemed to last longer each time as well, and he was now uncertain he would make it back to see Fearfaron. He had thought that such a bitter mixture of remorse and torment would be too much to bear and yet live, and wondered with every passing of Ithil's night how he had succeeded in surviving to another day.

But he knew what held him still to Middle Earth and it was not the obligations imposed by the Judgement nor even the strong desire to reach his foster father's sheltering care. Legolas found himself overcome with a turbulent flux of loathing and longing and felt for the second time in his life the wish to destroy another elf.

Images assailed him perpetually, replacing his peaceful communion with Tawar as he made his way through the forest heights. He saw himself with the dagger drawn, brutally attacking his old guardsman and former lover, reducing Malthen's chest to a bloody pulpy mass as lungs still trying to breathe forced bubbles through the streaming life-giving fluid. He jabbed and cleaved, tearing open the thorax and hacking through ribs, seeking for the heart of the vile offender. Yet when the warrior no longer breathed and the blood no longer gushed, the archer still could not find the victim's vital organ within the messy ruins of the body. And this only fueled his raving even more so that he came out of the hallucination declaiming and cursing against his beloved guardian and friend.

But he loved Malthen; thus the daydreamed slaughter left him even more immersed in self-disgust and fear for what he had become.

This gory visualization was profoundly disturbing and he could only address it subconsciously, aware on this internal level that he had not really been heading directly for Fearfaron. He was instead seeking a fight to get into that he would not get out of alive. In this way he would expend these fell emotions upon the Shadow and at last be freed from the torment of his revoltingly obscene desire for his own father.

Legolas could go no further and rested fitfully in the sheltering oak all the fourth day and through the dark night. Dawn brightened the forest around him on the fifth day and still he did not budge, suddenly uncertain what he was going to do if he ever reached Fearfaron. Instinct had set his feet upon this course, but now he wondered if he could speak of this shameful horror even to his foster father. As the day grew older he became aware of the distant sounds of horse's footfalls along the ground, and trained his hearing intently upon it.

By mid-afternoon the sources passed under his tree and he examined them carefully. One was well known to him and a surge of sour rancor filled his stomach: Mithrandir. The other he had never seen in his woods before, nor even one of his ilk.

This was a human; not a woodsman as dwelt under the eaves of Tawar nor a townsman that lived within Laketown upon Esgaroth. Neither was he one of the beornings found in the meadows serving the great changeling Bear. This was a warrior, a Man whose life was one of hardship and battle, whose closest friends were there with him below: the charger and the broadsword. Legolas had not met such a Man before, for the soldiers in the Battle of Erebor were farmers and merchants pushed to their task by desperate need rather than trained and seasoned swordsmen and archers.

He rode proudly yet fatigue burdened his broad shoulders for he stooped a little forward in the saddle. Around his stalwart form he wore a fair cloak, much stained with mire and muck yet so finely woven it must be of elven make. The cut of his garments was well made to his body and also of distinctly elvish design. Scarred by much exposure to hazard and havoc the tough leather jerkin protecting his torso still bore recognizable segments of the elegantly tooled runes of power originally adorning it. His boots were likewise of rich manufacture but mud-caked and gory. Being so high above, Legolas could see only a crown of dark shoulder length tresses that matched the color of the bay stallion the Man rode, and caught meager glimpses of chiseled features grim and haired as most Men's were.

He watched them.

They progressed steadily forward on horseback at a moderate pace, wary and silent for the most part. When they spoke it was generally to warn each other of a low branch or an upraised root barring the way. They were tense and guarded and often did their fingers look for reassurance at the hilts of their broadswords. Repeatedly they had been forced to deviate from the path and plunge into the wilds for several leagues. Thus had they come past the tree wherein the archer reposed, returning to the road after much struggle to locate it and hours of lost time. Gradually they became aware that the topography was rising and this distressed them exceedingly. The dour realization was inescapable, despite intentions to bypass them and make for Thranduil's stronghold they were being drawn towards the Central Mountains. Orcs were known to dwell in numbers there across the river from the boundaries of the Realm.

There were just these two, alone in the dense growth of the Greenwood, attempting to traverse its vast and cloying vegetation without escort. Mithrandir seemed to have a clear idea of the course required and this was a hidden way, a narrow and meandering footroad lacing through the great trees and marked by no sign visible to any but elf-kind. Those outside the Woodland Realm who were aware of it could be summed on one hand. Legolas had not known the wizard was counted among these and it was somewhat disturbing to see him leading this unknown human upon it.

Legolas silently shadowed them, slipping along through the canopy high above, and they never knew he was near. At first he had inwardly cursed to discover more intruders in his lands and had entertained the thought of continuing his journey away from the interlopers, almost hoping they would be found by Orcs and destroyed.

It seemed that lately the Greenwood had become a most popular place for careless wayfarers and tourists. He would never desert them, of course, for the essence of his nature forbade it. He felt it his obligation to protect all enemies of the Shadow within his own lands, and to vigilantly guard them. Being fools was not, after all, a crime deserving of death.

Even so, Legolas had no wish to speak with the wizard, for he could not be certain his anger could be restrained under the present circumstances and feared to learn what he felt was the truth: Mithrandir knew about Malthen.

The three continued on, the wizard and his comrade unaware that they had become a trio.

The Tawarwaith was exceedingly disturbed to see the deviations in the hidden pathway. This was not the work of Thranduil's patrols and the conclusion boded ill for both the travelers and the Realm. Only the trees themselves could alter an elf-made path, and to find confederates of the Evil One growing so close to the heart of the Greenwood bit deeply into Legolas' soul and fired him to outrage. He could feel the infiltration of the Shadow into his cherished trees, and was aware of the hatred beaming out to him from every turned hardwood in his vicinity. He was eager to follow this twisted trail to the lair of the foul creatures served by these unwholesome standing timbers. If he destroyed the Orcs, perhaps the trees could be salvaged, their spirits reunited with Tawar.

Nervous and uneasy the horses shied sideways at every leaf fall and rustling scuffle from small four-footers scurrying out of the way of the heavy hoofed beasts. A small brown wren flew up abruptly at nearly nose height to the larger bay stallion and he snorted, backing away and rearing just enough to embarrass himself for having been spooked by such a harmless creature. His hindquarters careened into the shoulder of the smaller golden-coated gelding and the steed wheeled to try and get out of the way, smashing his rider's leg against the boll of a beech in the process.

A cry of annoyed discomfort sounded as Gandalf tried to steady his mount. His efforts only succeeded in swinging the horse round backwards so now the gelding's haunches clashed with the bay's flank, and the stallion blew a warning through distended nostrils as his ears went back and bared teeth appeared below curled lips. There was a rapid blur of brown as the stallion extended his head and planted those incisors firmly if briefly in the offending rear.

With a terrified squeal the gelding leaped away and danced around as the wizard shouted and struggled to calm him. The other rider scolded his charger soundly and pulled him away to give room to his comrade's labor. After several minutes of trembling mincing twirls and worried backward glances into Gandalf's face the edgy equine finally relaxed enough for them to resume. The travelers let more space grow between the horses yet not so much that they were too far to be of aid to one another should the need arise.

{The horses have more sense than their masters,} Legolas smirked. {For at least they are aware of just how unpleasant things could get before they leave the forest. Idiots!}

But Mithrandir watched carefully to his right and left and suddenly halted his horse and the two remained very still. The bay stallion stopped as well as its owner turned back to see what was amiss.

Legolas peered down curiously as the little wren returned, hopping in brief flights from bush to tree and branch to twig, drawing closer to the gelding, careful not to startle the poor horse. At last the diminutive bird alit upon the Istar's shoulders and poured out a rapid stream of notes. The recitation was punctuated by the hasty snap of flapped wings and darting bobs of the tiny head as it sought to train a bright black eye upon the wizard's face.

"What is it, Gandalf?" the Man on the sorrel charger asked in undertones of misgiving. For a message to reach them through Aiwendil's friends, the information had to be dire and speed of its delivery essential. He urged his horse closer to the flighty gelding and ld, wd, weary with worry, against the pommel of his saddle, waiting w the the bird continued its song of woe.

"Ill news. Aiwendil reports that my chief ally in this dreadful place has come to great harm. And was the comqué qué not from the Brown Wizard never would I believe who perpetrated the injury! My young elven friend faces the dangers of Wraiths and Orcs daily yet not from among these did the wound originate. Elves from Imladris have done this thing!" The old wizard was clearly shocked, as was his comrade, who abruptly sat up. He seemed as dumbfounded as the Maia and shook his head.

"What has happened, and what elves from Imladris would harm another, even an elf from Mirkwood?" he queried as Gandalf's scowl deepened. In the canopy, Legolas nearly growled to hear this derogation of his people.

"The bird cannot give so much detail as that, Aragorn. Yet it can deliver the depth and extent of the harm, and this is severe. Aiwendil fears for the archer's life and bids me forgo our planned agenda to find him at all costs."

The Tawarwaith gave a terrific and fearsome shout as he descended from the tree and leaped onto the palomino behind Mithrandir. He snatched the wizard's staff up and cast it away, and in his left hand he held the dagger, though he did not hold the Maia at its point. With his right hand he grabbed the reins and trained fiery eyes upon the Human who was in the process of unsheathing his sword. The Man's action was arrested by the extraordinary fierceness of that gaze and he eased the blade back slowly into the scabbard. The jittery horse stood stock-still and trembling but obeyed the Wood Elf's command to hold.

"Well, I have saved you the effort it seems, Mithrandir!" Legolas said in a rather unpleasant and dangerous sounding pitch. "But I wonder, just what was that planned agenda you feel compelled to forego for my benefit?" he demanded.

"Legolas! What is this? Aiwendil is concerned about you, as am I!" the wizard said quietly but firmly. He could feel the tautness of every muscle in the feral elf's body pressed behind him and the edge of the blade was too close to his middle for comfort.

"Concern?" Legolas gavehorthort sarcastic sneer. "Had you any consideration for my welfare you would not have sent me to Dol Guldur! Speak no more of your false words to me!"

Aragorn watched this through wide eyes that appealed to the wizard for direction. Was the Maia in danger? Gandalf gave a brief shake of his head in answer. Legolas was not blind and the unspoken communication enraged him more.

"Oh, more secrets? You have a way of keeping things under that ridiculous hat of yours! What are you doing in my woods, wizard?" his low words reverberated through the suddenly deathly still forest and Gandalf shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

"Nay, Legolas! We have no secret business here; we were on our way to Thranduil's stronghold for Aragorn to meet the King, at my suggestion! Aiwendil sent word of the trouble you were in and. . . "

"Trouble? Is that your euphemism for betrayal and cruel abuse? You knew all along! I trusted you, but you never said a word to me about it!" Legolas lowered his voice even more so that his words were little more than a hissed murmuring reminiscent of the warning rattle of a viper's tail before the strike.

"Nay!" Gandalf refuted the unexpected accusation. "I knew not of this! Believe me, Legolas, I would never willingly contribute to any scheme to harm you! What is it? What have they done?" he asked, alarmed.

And as if by the command of these words a savage salvo of wrenching excruciation assailed the wild elf and he gasped aloud, rearing back severely under the abrupt assault. With a tremendous effort Legolas disengaged from Mithrandir and scrambled inelegantly back up the tree to cling to the slender twigs of the topmost branches until the seizure passed, for he no longer believed his former friend.

The wizard and the human stared at each other in amazed dread and then scanned the branches above them in hopes to spot the archer, with no success.

"Gandalf, can you tell me what is going on here? I take it that is the elf you spoke of, but why does he think you are involved in some sort of subterfuge?" Aragorn asked softly, wary in case the fey, unstable creature returned.
He tHe thinks that because I usually am so engaged!" the wizard frowned at the Man from under his furred and furrowed brows. "He seems to be talking about several different events all at once, so it is hard to figure out what part he assigns to me."

"He is in pain," said the Human. "I do not think he has gone far from us. Call to him, for I fear your fellow wizard may be right and when next we find the elf he will be beyond our help."

Gandalf became more disturbed on hearing this, for Aragorn was trained in healing and his gift of insight was known to be great. Anxiously the wizard called out for Legolas, but only the uneasy grinding of the trees' branches croaking as they scraped against each other responded. The forest groaned against the distress of the feral elf while he endured the anguish in silence.

Then abruptly the rasping commotion ceased and the air became heavy and stagnant. A low keening wail issued from the highest reaches of the leafy roof and the two travelers looked up in vain to find the source of the unbearable cries.

Legolas knew not the effect his torment produced on the woods and the interlopers among them. His awareness internalized, sharply focusing on the abominable agony and the events that produced it. The pain and the succeeding vision of his barbaric revenge mixed with the overwhelming longing for his lover, clashing against the surfeited self-loathing that rose from the center of his gut. His lamenting dirge poured out into the solemn woods.

A great pulsing wave of heated air swept over them and yet not a single leaf stirred as the force of Tawar's apprehension for its champion registered through the blazing connection to the travelers' minds, and the location of the fallen prince was revealed.

Aragorn froze under the intensity and fearsome experience of this mental link to the soul of the Greenwood, observing with mouth agape and eyes round the frightful scene of the suffering Wood Elf clinging to the treetop. It was so vivid he seemed to be next to the elf in the branches and even reached out a hand to touch the battered shoulder before the image faded. With a cry he shook his head to clear it and looked around for Gandalf.

Mithrandir wasted no time in such awestruck wonder and guided his horse over to the designated oak. With a fluid sweep of his arms he shucked his long gray robe over his head and draped it over the saddle before him, revealing simple and brief undergarments covering his surprisingly unwasted physique. Gandalf tossed his beard back over his shoulder and reached up, hauling himself onto the nearest branch, and began climbing towards his friend. He arrived with atypical celerity, heaving a bit from the exertion, and cautiously tested the slender branch where the Tawarwaith still mourned, unawof tof the wizard's presence. Gandalf frowned to see how small the twigs were at this height, and refused to turn his gaze down back along the path he had come.

{I must trust the tree to support me. The Wood wants me to help him, surely it will not let me fall in the effort to do so.} He reasoned internally and gingerly stepped onto the branch.

"Legolas!" he called softly and carefully placed his hand on the wild elf's arm. Legolas' head snapped up and he glared in fury at the old Maia through wretched and afflicted eyes.

"You!" he spoke through clenched teeth. "You kept it form me! You sent me out here and all the time you knew about the Elf Lord's plans!" he hissed.

"Elrond? Legolas, of what plans do you speak? What has happened!" the wizard was growing more disconcerted by the second, for there were many plans of the Lord of Imladris to which he was privy, yet his understanding recalled none that involved the outcast archer. The Elf Lord, however, was not bound to reveal everything to the White Council and very likely had numerous plots in play that none beyond the borders of Imladris ever learned about.

Legolas turned away for he put no faith in the Maia's apparent bewilderment. How could he trust him? He had not revealed the concerns of the other elven realms about the location of the One Ring. He had not told him that Imladris was seeking this dread relic and had already trie inf infiltrate the King's guard.

"You should have disclosed to me what Elrond thought about the Dark One's talisman. Even Aiwendil denied me the truth," the beleaguered elf realized suddenly and this sent another wave of pain into his body. He writhed against it futilely for several minutes as Gandalf tightened his grip.

"Legolas, you are suffering, what is this injury? Can you not tell me what has happened to you?" the Istar pleaded. "What I withheld from you I was bound to do, under the oaths of my order. This was decided among the White Council, and though both Aiwendil and I argued against it, Saruman sided with Galadriel. She does not trust Thranduil; this you know. With both Imladris and Lorien against him, the White Wizard felt compelled to allow their decision."

The agony subsided to needling throbbing stabs that bloomed with the rhythm of his heart and left Legolas more energy for his anger. He yanked his arm from Mithrandir's hold and shifted away onto another branch.

"Why should I tell you these things? It is too late to worry about the consequences of your omissions for they are already upon me!" he bitterly berated the wizard.

It was intolerable, listening to these excuses and rationalizations for keeping such important facts from the Woodland Realm. Why did he feel the need to protect all these outlanders when surely they cared not for his welfare? And Mithrandir abandoned him to endure the calumny of his own kind as well as the Dark forces in Dol Guldur! The healer's words came back to him; Mithrandir did desire him to perish, perhaps the whole of the wizard's order backed the despicable ploy!

"You are full of lies and deceit, all of you! Tell me, Mithrandir, did you know about my father as well? How could you let me learn of this from outsiders, elves from Imladris no less!" he hurled the words away as though the sound of them would wound and then suddenly sobbed as his love for Malthen overpowered him again. The piercing affliction returned and he groaned, sliding down to crouch upon the bended branch, leaning fully against the tree's trunk.

Now Gandalf comprehended the nature of the damage done, and his worry increas The The depth of the tribulation displayed left no doubt that somehow the disgraced prince had learned of the relations between his mother and her guardsman. The wizard felt his own ire rising on realizing these Noldor Elves had named the archer's father: his first love, his childhood friend and protector, Maltahondo. Mithrandir yearned to learn the identities of the Imladrian miscreants and demand justice before Elrond against those who had so severely and unnecessarily maltreated the woodland warrior.

And how could he answer Legolas' charges, for they were true. He hnownnown this gossip and deliberately kept it hidden, no matter the sincerity of his intentions. Gandalf sighed with chagrined regret; he should never have encouraged Legolas to go alone to face such a fate.

"I knew; you are right and your animosity is just. I can offer no defense that would be acceptable to your ears, or even to mine. Legolas, I have wronged you so much I am surprised you did not send me back to Aman with an arrow!" he quietly confessed and the words drew the unmistakable sound of tear-disrupted breathing as the distraught elf absorbed this.

He had silently sworn he would cry no more; yet even though Legolas had fully expected these words from Mithrandir, he had simultaneously hoped for a forthright refutation and convincing evidence that his charges were unfounded. The wizard's denial would have allowed him to entertain the hope that Berenaur was the liar instead. Now he felt the last remaining supports of his old reality crumble away beneath him and he plunged in forlorn free-fall into the deeps of black and murky gloom.

"There is no definite proof that he is your father, Legolas. That is why nothing was said. I myself believe it not. My own assessment leads me to conclude that Thranduil is your sire, despite the quidnuncs who speak otherwise. And I know Maltahondo does not believe Ningloriel would allow him to create a child with her. His reasoning was not flawed; and other than your mother I would s his his information is most reliable!" Gandalf continued, hoping this would ease the burden enough for Legolas to survive this catastrophe, at least long enough to get him back to Fearfaron. The Istar hoped the carpenter's love could halt the progress of the wild elf's fading, for surely this was what he was witnessing here. With careful movements the wizard transferred to a nearer branch so he could reach Legolas, and the Wood Elf did not move away.

Legolas had no power left to fight with; his surge of crazed anger ebbed away and left behind unconstrained exhaustion like the stranded detritus of the ocean's contents revealed in the passing of retreating seas. This new world his existence occupied was simply too confusing and overwhelming, and there was no way to drive the misery from his soul. Legolas just wanted it to stop, the pain, the sorrow, the rage, and the love, all of it. He released a ragged breath and the tears ceased; they failed to relieve the anguish anyway, pouring ineffectually over searing sorrow so unendurable that death appealingly beckoned.

"Mithrandir, I need to go home," he whispered and let the Istar lift him up.

Tbc