Feud

Chapter 34: Buiad Úbara [Unwilling Allegiance]
Part Two

Meril graced her station with a calm dignity the source of which had at first completely flummoxed Thranduil. She was, after all, just a common Danwaith, not born of any noble line or even of any prestigious family. Her people were all warriors, and while there was nothing but fierce courage reported about them, still this did not seem to account for the sense of authority with which she carried herself.

It had soon become apparent however, that her contentment lay in the prospect of becoming a mother again, and bearing the heirs to her people's lands. This she took to be an honorable fate, a way to lessen the desolation left by the loss of Valtamar. Her acceptance of her role had been virtually immediate, and seemingly the dissolution of her bond to her dead husband was not a troubling matter.

This made the King vaguely uneasy. Thranduil was positively pleased with her attitude regarding children but considered that perhaps there were areas of Law and Custom he should reinvestigate. He could not fathom how such disregard for so serious a matter as a marriage bond could be possible among one of the usually ritualistic and symbol plagued Danwaith.

While he thought on these things the King had dressed and left for the Council Chamber. As soon as he reached the main hallway, he was nearly run down by the speeding form of Lindalcon, hastening to his post. Thranduil snatched at the elfling's arm, but the youth was quick and evaded the grasp, acknowledging the encounter with scarcely more than a cursory glare over his shoulder.

"Slow down!" the King ordered, but Lindalcon ignored him and kept going. Furious at such insolence, Thranduil sped after him, and in less than five strides had caught up a fistful of the elfling's flying hair and yanked him back hard. This made Lindalcon cry out and he grabbed at the hand holding him thus, trying to pry himself loose. "Do not behave as though you neither saw nor heard me! When I speak to you, answer!" Thranduil growled.

"Let go! I have to get to the Council, leave me be!" Lindalcon shouted and turned to pound against Thranduil's arm with his fist.

"Stop at once! I will have a respectful apology from you, Usurper, or assign you a new post in the stables!"

"That would suit me well, I despise your stupid caves!" Lindalcon shouted and attempted to land a kick in a very sensitive area. This maneuver failed, for Thranduil easily stepped back, smirking as Lindalcon then overbalanced and nearly upended, remaining upright only because of Thranduil's grip of his tresses.

The King pulled him back to surer footing by his hair, causing another jarring snag, and Lindalcon screwed his eyes tight to keep the tears of humiliation from falling. Thranduil laughed.

"What, does that smart, elfling? Fortunate for you that your mother is a loving parent and convinced that old Elda to take you on, for you are far too flimsy and delicate to ever have lasted as a warrior! Why, I believe you are the first male in her line not to take up the bow, is not that so? How grateful your father must be to know he will never meet you in Mandos' Halls, if he ever gets there!" he md.
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That was too much for Lindalcon. With a sudden rush of enraged energy he pulled back and landed a solid hit bearing the full weight of his gangly adolescent form into the King's stomach. A loud hiss as all the air fled Thranduil's lungs sounded in accompaniment to hileaslease of the elfling's hair as he bent awkwardly over to steady himself. Lindalcon took the opportunity to complete his previous foot action and was mightily pleased at the pained sound and low crouch this initiated from his adversary.

"Do not ever speak of my father! None of this would have happened if not for you! You sent him there to his death! You are the kinslayer, not Legolas!" the youth screamed into the disabled regent's ear.

While the attack had come as a complete surprise, Thranduil recovered quickly and before his assailant could flee he had hold of Lindalcon's slender neck with one hand and unsheathed a fine mithril dagger with the other. He pressed it close to the youth's ear and squeezed around the throat, a menacing gloat upon his features.

"That is treasonous talk, Usurper! Think carefully of Legolas' fate, for a similar one can be arranged for you! It is only for your mother's sake that I allow you here at all!" he said with reptilian coldness, and laughed at the fear spreading through Lindalcon's eyes as he struggled to gain breath and clawed at the hand sealing his airway. Thranduil shoved him back with a disgusted curse, releasing him, and stood over the gasping elfling sprawled on the floor. "Now, I believe you have something you wish to say to me?"

Lindalcon massaged his sore neck carefully and gazed up with a mixture of dread and loathing at his regent. He felt his eyes filling and knew that even if he succeeded in preventing a spill he could not keep the tears from invading his voice, and how much pleasure that would give this vindictive charlatan of a stepfather. He swallowed and cleared his throat before tryin
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"I apologize, my King, for my rude behavior," he spoke the wavering words and inwardly cringed to see the malignant triumph in the older elf's sneering smile.

"How simply done!" he quipped, "Had you any sense under those locks that is what you would have done forthwith. Then, you would not have to be punished for being late, as well as for your unwarranted accusations!" With that unpleasant promise of further torment, the King adjusted his clothing and sheathed his dagger. "Oh, and do not bother to go to your mother regarding this matter; I intend to inform her fully as soon as the session is adjourned!" Thranduil casually stepped over the elfling, who scrabbled back against the wall to get out of the way, and strode off down the passageway.

Slowly Lindalcon righted himself, sniffing hard to prevent the further embarrassment tear tracks would lend to his appearance. Which was a shambles, he realized, as he tried to brush off the dusty dirt from his leggings and tunic, unable to reach the worst of it in back. {And my hair must look a horrendous tangle!} he sighed and he tried to smooth it back in place, with little results. There was no time to go and repair his dishevelment; he had been late already before the unfortunate incident occurred. If only he had stayed at Fearfaron's talan through the night, as the carpenter had suggested, this would not have come to pass! There was nothing to be done, he would have to go to the Council just as he was and bear the curious and disapproving looks from his colleagues and his mentor.

With a heavy heart and an equally ponderous breath Lindalcon set off in the King's wake, no longer bothering to attempt a rapid arrival. He could not believe what he had just done, and feared what his punishment might entail. If the King held to his assertion of treason, he might even have to face several hours in one of the stronghold's black cells. Lindalcon shuddered in revulsion and terror; he had heard these dungeons existed but had never had the nerve to go exploring and seek them out. It was not knowledge he wished to confirm first hand.

He shook his head. Surely his mother would never allow that to happen. She would talk the King into clemency and spare her first-born that torture, at least. But he knew he would never be able to convince her of his justification for so behaving to his 'protector'. She considered his plight a great honour, and admonished him to show courtesy and gratitude for the many benefits being the King's stepson accorded him.

{And never does she believe me when I tell her of the coldly ruthless looks the King sends in my direction when she is not around! He plays the indulgent and long-suffering father figure everytime she is near, but turns on me completely the moment we are alone! How I despise him!} he thought. He groaned dejectedly as he imagined the hurt and anxious expression his mother's face would hold when the fact that he had not only been rude, but had actually struck the King was revealed. Not for the first time Lindalcon wondered how Legolas had ever survived the weight of Thranduil's hatred for so many years.

He had reached the Council chambers while fretting over these things, and could hear the quiet intonation of one of the Eldar reading from a scroll. It was the opening incantation, and he dared not walk in as it was being spoken. As soon as the invocation was completed, he slipped through the archway and attempted to unobtrusively edge his way over to his mentor, hugging the shadowed walls as he went. As he progressed, he gazed upon the crowded room and was amazed to see so many elves in audience, despite Fearfaron's prediction that this would be the case. Lindalcon was pleased to see the carpenter there as well, and sent a reassuring smile in answer to the worried brows raised in response to his rumpled attitude.

A hand snatching at his collar, attached to the person of his mentor, halted Lindalcon's motion and the irked Councilor frowned in distaste at the improper conduct and manner of his protégé. The old Elda said nothing, however, and released the elfling, motioning with his chin for Lindalcon to attend him. The Councilor pointed to a table holding an armload of scrolls and two great books, and with a sigh the apprentice took them up, attempting to order them according to the Elda's preferred hierarchy. Together they approached the dais whereupon the King was seated this day.

"My Lord King, it is with gratitude we greet your attendance. If I may begin by saying the concern you show for understanding all that befalls the Danwaith is heartening to our people," the ancient Elf stated formally. He had been alive and a member of this Council since before Oropher's time as King, and now he was simply called Iarwain, the oldest. Iarwain never failed to emphasize the distinction between the Sindar rulers and their Sylvan subjects.

"The King is always present for his people's needs," Thranduil returned the correct reply.

"As you say, my Lord," the Councilor bowed his head in respect. "Now I ask you to hear the thoughts of your subjects regarding the extreme distress of our Woods at yestermorn. Here are the words of Hûngalen [Green-heart], my forebear from the time before the rising of Ithil:" he held out his hand and Lindalcon plopped the required text upon his palm. Iarwain unrolled it with carefully exaggerated aplomb and began to read.

"'Heed the movements of the forest, for the trees know much that occurs in distant places and will share this knowledge with the Laiquendi.'

"And further, he speaks of additional vigilance:

"'Should the trees be disturbed for reasons not of nature, be sure the reason is truly not of nature, but of the Black One seeking to corrupt the lands.'" The old elf returned the scroll and kept his hand out, awaiting the next. As Lindalcon struggled to disentangle it from the stack, another Councilor stepped forward and raised his hand, palm outfacing, the manner in which a request to interrupt the speech was made. Thranduil acknowledged this demand, much to Iarwain's ire.

"With your indulgence, my Lord, I think these words are clearly understood and none will dispute that the signs of yesterday are not events of natural cause! Permit me to read to you this text of prophecy from the First Age:

"'In days of peace will come the stench of war's breath, and the Darkness will strive against the Tawarwaith.' Now, I say this reference is directly to our situation," he said and stepped back.

Thranduil scowled. Had not this thick-skulled Elda simply repeated the first Councilor's claims? Yet the room was filled with soft murmurs from the ordinary folk who were in attendance, and a sharper edge had somehow found its way into the atmosphere within the cavern.

"I see that this is so; and let me assure all here that I have already sent out troops to reconnoiter the movements of the Orc host befouling our Central Mountains. They will encroach no further, and my warriors will foil whatever evil plot they have devised," the King reassured, and received an unexpected response. A great uproar of disapproval arose among the Councilors and the common folk alike.

"You must call them back!"

"How could you do this without consulting us?"

"You dare interfere with the fates? You will drive the beasts straight towards Tirno!"

"He has crossed the prophecy!"

"Aye, we do not even know where Tirno is at this time!"

Now Thranduil's confusion doubled and his irritation deepened.
"Silence!" he shouted and rose up to command the elves' attention. With some grumbling they settled down again, and waited for their King's justification for his hasty action. "I know not why this disturbs you good folk; it is the principle purpose of my reign to protect the Greenwood and her inhabitants from those accursed creatures! Surely this is the way to heed such a prophecy!" he said in exasperation.

"This text does not use the name 'Tawarwaith' to refer to the Sylvan folk in general, my King," spoke Lindalcon's mentor with patient albeit condescending tones. "The words indicate Tawar's champion. We believe this warrior has arisen among us and is now trying to stem the evil that threatens to awaken even the dark pits of Utumno!"

Thranduil observed the way the elves signaled their agreement with Iarwain and their dismay that the King did not understand these things. He recalled now that the Councilors had already advanced this idea some years ago, and received assurances from him that no new military action would proceed beyond their borders without first knowing what was happening to the lone warrior in the southern regions. He had ignored it as more of their symbolic religious prattling, never considering the 'forest champion' to be an actual living elf from his Realm.

"Tawar's champion," he spoke the words with guarded care, though they were bitter on his lips. "Who is this warrior, and why does he persist in such endeavors singly, when the King would readily assist any who stand against the Darkness?" he demanded, and was again thrown into confusion, this time by the depth of the silence that filled the great chamber. New and deeper lines of frustration creased his forehead as he met the eyes of each of his six Counselors, yet none spoke. The expression on their faces, however, filled the King with foreboding. His heart tilted with a sense of having prophesied his own future in those simple words, and he feared to hear the answer to his query, already suspicious as to the truth.

A movement in the assembly drew Thranduil's eye and he watched as a tall and willowy elf came forward all the way to the dais. His eyes were gleaming in what appeared to be triumphant pride, and he could barely suppress the gleeful smile struggling to transform his sober countenance. The elf was familiar, and the King realized he was often hanging about by the courtyard gates, but he knew not what name he bore.

"My King, may a humble carpenter speak in this forum?" said Fearfaron, for it was he.

"Of course, all may say here what they feel needs to be heard. The more welcome will your speech be if you can remove your King's ignorance," said Thranduil carefully, feeling more and more like a rat in a trap. He had no choice now but to play this out, having set the course of the discussion himself.

"I will gladly answer your request, my Lord," came the spirit hunter's answer and he made a deep bow as apology for the disrespect of admitting the King's lack of knowledge to his face.

{Yes, perhaps just a bit too gladly!} thought Thranduil with displeasure, and silently swore to know all he could of this craftsmen before tinnu.

"Yet, I would ask you to say again, that all may understand your intentions. Do you mean that the Tawarwaith has your endorsement, and even may count on the aid of our archers in future?" Now he lifted his eyes and met Thranduil's and the two gazes warred for supremacy in the chilling brightness of their respective glares.

At last Thranduil inclined his head, never averting his sight from the carpenter's deceptively placid features. "I would support any who fight against the Darkness; this has always been the primary objective of my sovereignty. If this Tawarwaith is such a one, then he will have my backing," he said, and again his own words had the ring of doom to his ears, and he frowned, certain he would long regret his hastily misspoken thoughts. "Now, tell me of this champion."

Fearfaron inclined his head and smiled, and his gaze strayed to the side and found Lindalcon, who was decidedly delighted and could scarcely be still.

"The Tawarwaith is called by many names, Sire. To the humans inhabiting the central forest he is Tirno-en-Tawar, and so many call him Tirno. Others prefer just to say Tawarwaith, as is used in the old texts. Some there are that name him Hecilo, yet these are not his friends. I call him by his given name: Legolas."

In the silence that followed, Thranduil sat down again upon his chair and observed his subjects keenly. The fallen prince clearly had garnered a measure of support in the five years since the first Warrior's Release, a surprisingly hefty majority, in fact. It was a clever bit of manipulation, and the King was unable to determine who was behind it; that was more disturbing than the actual subterfuge. Somehow, he had been cornered into defying his own order of banishment. Not only that, he had publicly promised assistance to a creature he had hoped never to encounter or acknowledge ever again.

Even from Aman, Ningloriel's mocking laughter reached him.

Tbc