Feud

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My gratitude for my dear beta, Sarah, is boundless! At this point, all errors are mine.

Chapter 37: Gûr Gweriant [Inner most feelings betrayed.]

{'Believe! I assure you it does not benefit me to reveal to you that two of Imladris' most respected citizens are lurking about Mirkwood! I have no reason to place myself in jeopardy by granting such knowledge to the son of our enemy!'}

Legolas recalled these words with the full realization of the actual events themselves. The sound of the rain, the feel of the cold water pouring over him endlessly, the marrow deep weariness and hunger threatening to subdue him, his unexpended rage and barely suppressed desire jolted to life by Berenaur's invasive, unwelcome gro. H. He could detect the smell of the wet earth mixed with the odor of exotic blooms, into which was woven the specific scent of Erestor's musky male allure.

{I should never have taken such an admission at face value!}

He could see Erestor wrapped loosely in the woolen blanket, allowing a glimpse of toned and supple pectorals, his long black hair pulled, wet and heavy, over his right shoulder. There was the stern arch of his brows, softened by mild amusement at Legolas' surprise and obvious awe in the presence of so renowned yet mysterious a legend. That dangerous glint in the Noldo's dark and bottomless eyes, so sharp and cunning and yet somehow admiring Legolas as they bore into his, demanding knowledge of the wild elf's soul. A slight upturn at the corners transformed his thin alizarin lips into an almost-smirk as he regarded Legolas. Those long and exquisite fingers so casually gripped the loose ends of the covering; healer's hands that would paradoxically cause the archer hurt and harm.

{He called me of of contradictions!}

Legolas instantly knew he could not give such a description without also allowing more of his true feelings to show through the words than he intended these two to comprehend. Mithrandir understood about the revelation regarding Malthen, and Legolas feared he had thought far enough into the matter to guess at the rest of the betr. T. The closeness of their bond since the night of his grieving made such perception that much more probable.

The Man, however, could have no such ability to gauge the situation. He hoped this was so; Aragorn's healing gift was strong for one not of elven blood, yet surely he could not read the hearts of those he touched, as Erestor had delved the Tawarwaith's.

{No, there is no doubt the Noldo is a physician.} Legolas thought, recalling how easily his hopes and fears had been discovered and turned against him, flung back upon him to inflict new strife, forcing him to acknowledge appalling doubts as facts. The healer had done this, he realized, whenever the archer had begun to feel at ease with the two spies.

That thought renewed Legolas' anger, for this was a severe perversion of such a gift.

"I assure you, Aragorn, that this elf is a healer, whatever his name is! Are there so many in Imladris that I need to detail his appearance?" the sharpness of these words sliced through the lethargic mere-fumed air with enough vehemence to cause the two travelers to exchange their concern across the fallen prince's head.

Aragorn, still crouching beside Legolas, reached out and lifted the swollen ankle to inspect it in an effort to distract his friend from the open distress this conversation was causing.
"How did you do this?" he asked quietly, gently palpating the bruises to make sure no breaks were hidden within. "The skin is seared, almost! Here is also a deep cut; I know not how you walked upon this foot!"

"Ai!" Legolas jerked under the pressure and tried to pull his leg away, but Aragorn held firmly to his calf and continued the examination. "I was caught by a silk web as I was jumping from one branch to another, and it ended my forward motion rather abruptly so that the full weight of my body was yanked to a halt in mid-flight. To free myself, it was necessary to shear it off my skin, thus the abrasion you see, and the puncture was incised because I had not the luxury of taking my time about it!"

Aragorn merely gave a non-committal grunt as this was said, reaching instead for his pack and a strip of linen bandaging to bind the ankle firmly.

"Legolas, please tell us of this healer from Imladris," Mithrandir's words were softly spoken but demanded an immediate response nonetheless.

The wizard did not think there was any use in prolonging the misery this retelling was certain to bring Legolas. He leaned over and squeezed the elf's shoulder supportively, and as before the physical contact invoked the internal merger. The mental image of the Lord of Imladris flashed across the Istar's awareness, the vision overlaid with all the wild elf's loneliness and longing, desire and despair, wrath and regret. Gandalf gasped and stared into Legolas' eyes with shock and dread, snatching back his fingers as if the flesh of the elf scalded him. And the archer turned away as he closed his eyes against the wizard's visible aversion.

"Oh, this is, that is just, it is unspeakable! How could he be this vindictive?" the wizard nearly roared as he attempted to fit the foul realization into some logical framework, stalking back and forth a few turns across the sucking muddy clearing.

"What is it, Gandalf?" Aragorn rose also, alarmed. "Who is it?"

"Ah! How can I speak the words?" the Maia was distraught, but not more so than Legolas, who was now fully cognizant of his former lover's true identity, for the open-ended communication allowed dual exchange of awareness.

The fallen prince sat still, eyes shut tight, absently fingering the wrapping on the injured ankle as the name swirled through his mind: {Elrond}. It was an empty acuity, devoid of any sensations, detached from all meaning, removed from his reality. Legolas found this vaguely interesting; his mind must be so scandalized that his heart had extinguished all emotions, hiding them away to prevent any reaction to this new addition to his calumnious existence.

His sensitive fingertips ran along the overlapped edges of the linen binding, revealing to his abstracted brain the comforting repetition of the pattern formed by the herringbone weave. The design faded and then he could no longer feel the cloth beneath his touch.

It seemed as though he was beyond his own being, outside of his vital flesh and bones, watching a cornered animal desperately scrambling to get away from a converging barrage of lethal arrow fire, aimed not to kill but to penetrate and incapacitate body and limbs. The creature resolved into a hazy caricature of himself, the attackers none other than his Nolacquacquaintances. The futility of such flight lent the imagined scene a bizarre humour, a galling, gagging mirth caused by the frantic turning and scurrying of the hapless prey as the arrows continued to pierce and slice, for the foolish beast in its ignorance was at one and the same time running from the assault towards the very predators assailing him.

{'Legolas, do you know who those two elves are?'} Aiwendil's words drifted through the little play, underscoring the grotesquely mocking images.

A harsh blast of laughter broke from him as he watched the internal struggle. The sheer hilarity of the situation was all he could encompass.

{'It has been five years since we initiated the contingence, and our informants lost track of him over two years ago.'} Elrond's explanation for his presence in the Greenwood replayed through Legolas' consciousness. {So, that was right after Naneth left for Valinor. He took time to plan out this escapade carefully.}

He could imagine it, the great Noldo Lord plotting with his comrade, arguing over who would be first to taste the spoils of their victory, leaving the comfort and security of their own lands to hunt down and take possession of the last remaining shreds of Legolas' hope and innocence, immolating both in the mercurial heat of their carnal acts. It was astoundingly ridiculous that he had been the center of all Elrond's activities yet had not gained the sort of importance he had hoped to have in the noble Elda's life.

"Elrond! He hates me far more than Thranduil ever will!" Legolas managed to speak, answering in Gandalf's stead, amazed with the recognition the words represented even as the sounds were formed and floated free into the still and rancid air.

"What did you say?" demanded Aragorn, turning to stare at the elf, who still struggled to contain the brash peals of laughter that kept sneaking out between his lips and past his nose.

Suddenly he stopped laughing and opened his eyes to look at Aragorn, and the next words from his mouth poured out the story of his encounters with the two Noldor elves, admitting his impassioned intimacy with both, for why bother to withhold what Mithrandir already knew? Legolas spared them only the explicit descriptions of the couplings, for he could not bring himself to admit to them his body's responsiveness to these seductions. It was enough to acknowledge that he had allowed these things to occur. He was completely debased and despoiled, better for the human to understand and thus decide if he should wish to continue his association with such depravity incarnate.

And in the speaking, the events became lacquered with the fine varnish of the Noldo L's d's deeply held abhorrence for him, so obvious now, so clearly evident in those terrible phrases and cruel caresses. It was as if the power of his own being left Legolas' body with the phrases, imbuing them with vitality and giving them form and substance. The memories took on life anew and the days he spent with the two Imladrians insinuated back into his universe, warped with the ugly veneer of his lack of intrinsic value in their world. Thus Legolas' own voice wounded him, and the full impact of the truth forced itself upon his mind, a rape of the soul far exceeding the brutality even Ailinyéro had conjured.

The Man sank down onto the spongy, peaty ground next to Legolas, unable to tear his eyes away from the feral elf's as this sordid tale unfolded, incapable of covering his ears to prevent the knowledge from becoming his own, powerless to stop his mind from generating graphic images to accompany the recitation. He simply could not reconcile these scenes with the concept he held to be Elrond of Imladris, his father in all ways but blood, kind and honourable counselor to everyone that sought him, generous and welcoming benefactor to any in need of shelter and respite from the woes of the darkening world.

Yet neither could Aragorn deny the ruthless honesty in the wild warrior's recount, so fraught with anguish, splintering the bright immortal spirit with every declaration. Aragorn glanced up to the wizard seeking some repudiation, some sense that this was not what his father had become, and failed to find it.

Gandalf looked old. It was not the physical representations of age, wrinkles and grayness, the washed out cast to skin and hair, that gave him his years this day, but the comprehension of the complete destruction of the fallen prince occurring even as he watched, impotent to stop it. When this day was done, the Legolas he knew would be no more, and he could see the fragments of the Tawarwaith's personality falling away with every syllable uttered like leaves from a dormant beech in autumn, leaving behind only the stark, naked structure of the being to survive the icy emptiness of winter's season to come.

Coupled to this loss was joined the simultaneous alteration of one the Maia had held in high regard. Never again could he look upon Elrond and see anything but the wreck he was accomplishing in this innocent's life, already so far from wholesome without his egregious interference. And what of Aragorn, for how could the Man come to terms with this aspect of his foster father's character when Gandalf, removed from bonds of affection and fealty, could not?

The Istar stood, a dim glimmer of the dynamic intensity he usually personified, considering how to treat the raw, calamitous wounds of the two in all of Arda he most dearly wished to protect, how to salvage something clean and good from the harrowing and repugnant mess. He could find nothing redeeming in this fate and silently cursed Vairë.

All was silent and Aragorn realized the elf had stopped speaking, all his words exhausted and the narrative completed. He turned back to gaze at Legolas. The mortal felt some action was expected from him, as a representative of the Peredhel House, yet paled at the idea of mouthing insufficient terms of apology and regret. Aragorn physically flinched at the tangible emptiness clothing the elf, a garment made too expertly to fit him, designed to expose all the weaknesses and vulnerabilities no one should ever have to reveal.

"Legolas, I know not what words to say; I believe your account is accurate and honest, yet I cannot bring myself to accept its conclusions," he began, shaking his bowed head.

"Well, it is not your choice to accept or deny. This is what I am," the Wood Elf responded acrimoniously, "so despicable a thing that I have lain in lust with my mother's lover; one who might even be my father, one I longed for centuries to claim me as his child!"

Both his friends experienced not for the first time Fearfaron's constant frustration: Legolas interpreted what he heard with an entirely unique set of personal definitions, all of them self-defeating.

"Do not say so!" Gandalf admonished as he knelt down next to them both. He reached again for Legolas; firmly resting his palm against his chest over the heart, knowing the elf could not doubt his sincerity if he felt it through an internal link to the wizard. "You did not know, or have any means to learn, who this Noldo truly is! The fault for these actions does not lie with you!"

"Aye," added Aragorn quietly. "I meant only that my horror stems from this abominable abuse my father has done you, and I am loath to know these things, for I love him dearly."

{Ah, that is an unnecessary blowegolegolas mentally cringed, as he comprehended Aragorn's admission.

The Man had been raised under the Elf Lord's care, had known his loving concern and thoughtful instruction. Elrond had shared the gift of healing with his human foster son and taught him the ways of elven lore, clothing him and feeding him, shielding him from harm through his young years, treating Aragorn with the same love undoubtedly granted to his blood offspring. A love Legolas had yearned for and been de.
.

"I wouave ave been satisfied with kind regard," he said aloud.

"You have more than that, Legolas! I have not changed in my opinion of your worth! I count you a most valorous friend!" the Man protested, not privy to the interior rambling.

Gandalf knew the thoughts behind the statement, though, and encircled Legolas tightly, drawing him forcibly close. "Nay, it is not enough! Love you do deserve, and from many you have it, myself not the least of them, Legolas! Fearfaron holds you in his very center, right beside Annaldír and no less in importance; do not forget this!"

"I wanted him to love me." This sentence reached decibels only scarcely within the auditory range of Legolas' friends, but they caught it none the less and knew he was not referring to the carpenter.

"When I was young," Aragorn sighed, "I often wished the same. I wanted him to bring you to live in our home."

This surprised the Wood Elf, that he had been known to the human, and it seemed odd to him for Aragorn to have been aware of his existence while he had never imagined the mortal's. His amazement must have been apparent for the Man offered a sad smile and continued.

"Yes, it is so. You were the subject of much gossip during my formative years, Legolas! My brothers and I argued for hours about what you might look like and how you would act. Elladan said Thranduil had named you his own and that was the end of it, but Elrohir was convinced you were a virtual prisoner in Mirkwood, treated more like an interloper than an heir!"

From the agonized expression that passed across the wild elf's features, Aragorn discerned the younger twin's assessment had not been too far from the mark. He regretted the impromptu comment and floundered to soften the impact.

"Elrohir and I devised elaborate schemes to infiltrate the Woodland Realm's guard and spirit you away. He was quite convinced they would succeed, but Elladan would never let us act upon our wishes, threatening to tell Ad…to stop us."

Legolas could not help feeling warmly towards the human, who put aside his love and loyalty to his own father and accepted Legolas' words. The Wood Elf could sense that Aragorn closeted his disappointment and sorrow over the entire fiasco in order to attempt lightening the weight these events had deposited upon his friend's soul.

The mortal's frustration over inadvertently adding to the burden, despite his sympathetic intentions, was evident. Legolas gave Aragorn a faint smile that was more of the eyes than any facial expression. For it did help; somehow, to know that he had been of interest to someone in Imladris, and Legolas felt saddened for the hurt Elrohir would know when the Man retold this saga.

For his part, Gandalf was pleased with the distraction the Man's reflections offered Legolas. Obviously, life at Imladris had been an imaginary plane in the wild elf's dreamscapes for centuries, and he would be unable to resist having his curiosity satisfied. The wizard gave a strong comforting embrace and disengaged from Legolas, rising to gather up their belongings as the two talked.

"And the other Noldo?" Legolas needed to know, for he wanted to forgive Berenaur. He could see now that the advisor had desired to tell him everything, but could not manage it.

"That is Erestor; he has an infamous reputation for such - activities. He is one of only two my father would trust in such a plot. The other is Glorfindel of Gondolin, who would never be party to anything so base," said Aragorn and with an unpleasant jolt realized these were words he would formerly have used to describe Elrond's character.

Legolas slowly nodded. {Such a clever ploy; applying truth to clothe deception.}

They were all too fatigued from the physical strain of battle and the emotional turmoil of the unpleasant revelations to travel any further this day, but the wizard welcomed the limits of their physical forms. The fallen archer's raucous outburst of laughter earlier had been unsettling, for the situation was not comical in any manner. The Maia was convinced that lassitude was the only reason Legolas was yet so calm in the face of another treacherous infidelity against his encumbered spirit. It was a state he was sure would falter before very much time passed.

"Did he ever speak of me?" the elf was quietly inquiring, and Gandalf noted the refusal to say the Elf Lord's name.

"Nay," was all Aragorn could say, and no more would he venture, for every thought he voiced served only to injure his friend more. Indeed, that single word fell as a weight of stone upon eggshells and Legolas withdrew inward, drawing up his knees and bowing his forehead against them.

"Legolas, this ground is damp and oozes. Is there any drier spot where we may set up camp and rest?" Mithrandir walked over to them, his arms full with packs, wet clothes and weapons, and looked down kindly at the elf.

Legolas lifted his head and stared at the Maia blankly. Mithrandir repeated his request with just the faintest of concern tinting both his tones and his smile. This time the archer nodded and hauled himself up, hopping a bit to steady his balance without placing too much weight on the injured ankle. His stilted lurching carried him a few paces closer to the pond and he gestured to a noble elder among the wood-clad folk of the fen, all its limbs hung with magnificent gray curtains of cloudy, ghostly moss.

"Here, there is a small talan up that hemlock, but a good ways high amid the branches. Give me those things, I will carry them up and you two may follow me. I am sure with care you both will manage well enough."

"I do not think so!" Aragorn rose also and quickly placed himself between the elf and the wizard, earning a deeply irritated scowl from the former.

"It is perfectly secure, as well as warm and dry! I built that flet myself!"

"No doubt it is a fine talan. I mean that you, who can barely stand, are not the one to be toting weapand and packs! Take your own things and we will see to ours!"

"You are not skilled in this sort of climbing and the packs will hinder you. Better for me to drop something than for you to fall and break your back."

"I am not that incompetent, and Gandalf carried you down from a far greater height just hours ago! Lead, Legolas, and we will be right behind you," Aragorn said kindly and reached over to grip tightly around the elf's left arm, giving the simple words the underlying intent, his own avowal to stand by the wild archer and face the aftermath of Elrond's acts against him.

Legolas gave a single nod and looked away, for he could not stare long into the mortal's genial visage without being overwhelmed by sorrow for what his life might have been. He limped his way to the tree and scrambled up with less grace and more heaviness in his limbs than was normal for one of the Eldar, and waited for them to join him. As they came within arm's length of the platform, he reached down to relieve them of their baggage and offer a hand up.

When all three were safely alite, he stood and made his way over to the little chest and pulled out a finely woven mat of river rushes and thin blankets as soft and light as silk but warm to the skin. A small wave of nausea moved through him and he sat down quickly, remembering the last time he had shared a talan with two companions, and he scurried to the edge to dispel the malignant rancor from him.

Before he could right himself and face his friends to explain, he found Mithrandir at his side, cautiously helping him sit up as Aragorn calmly handed over the water skin. They said nothing, and he was grateful, for he thought if they showed him pity he would lose all self-control and his mind would break.

Aragorn mixed another draught of the stomach cure and handed it over, but his face crinkled up in unrestrained revulsion as he did so. He covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

"I am sorry, Legolas, but now that we are up here and away from the odor of rot in the water below, the stench from the battle emitted by your clothes has become quite strong!" he said apologetically. He was starting to feel the need to retch as well and grabbed the mug back from the elf, finishing the last of the tonic for himself.

"Yes, it is bad," added Gandalf and affectionately patted the archer's knee as he observed the dismay clouding his eyes. The wizard took up one of the blankets, opening it out. "Wrap this round you and hand me those filthy things; I will hurry down and see what a scrub in the black water pond may accomplish."

Legolas rose unsteadily and backed away from him, stricken eyes trained upon the proffered covering, and turned to the tree's trunk, fully intent upon escape when Aragorn's firm grasp clamped round his wrist, determinedly pulling him back. The wild elf's rage swept through him in a flood of crimson from eartip to toes and he strained to rip his arm free, toppling the Man backward to the floor upon his rear.

Gandalf moved with a speed that belied his aged appearance and pinned the squirming elf to the tree trunk.

"Leave off!" the exiled prince finally shouted but Mithrandir did no such thing and remained calm, staring warily down upon his captive until he stilled, giving way to panting and violent tremors in the wake of his fleeting ire. Legolas gradually raised his eyes, feeling the Istar's upon him, and encountered there Mithrandir's generous empathy.

"I am sorry," Legolas mumbled, for he realized they did not comprehend the significance of this scenario and had only meant to make their stay in the close confines more tolerable. He allowed himself to slump into the wizard's arms, leaning his head against the soft, singed mass of the long grey beard and willed the Maia to have the understanding he could not speak of aloud.

"No apology needed, Legolas," Mithrandir pulled him tighter as he drew in a sharp breath, for the scenes were unbearable to witness even in the abbreviated form the archer condoned. He labored to control his emotions, determined for Legolas to comprehend that his disgust for Elrond was not a personal denigration of the wild warrior's character.

"Let us reverse roles then; I will have the blanket and you can wear my outer robe, at least until those leggings are clean and dried. Will that serve?" the Maia asked gently, satisfied when Legolas finally raised his head and nodded.

Aragorn watched with compassionate amusement from his spot on the floor as the two made their wardrobe exchange, and even chuckled a little to see the elf swamped in the thick flowing robe of the Istar. Yet Legolas did not smile, and when he lowered himself to the mat he stretched full out; in seconds his eyelids dropped down and he fell into uneasy repose.

Gandalf frowned and took up the leggings, leaving the blanket until his chore was finished. Clad in only his thin, thigh-length chemise and a simple loincloth, he descended through the branches. When he returned he draped the dripping breeches over a nearby branch, wrapped himself in the blanket, and took his seat next to Aragorn.

"What are we to do?" Aragorn queried. "I am torn between forcing him into a deeper sleep and fear that should I do so he would not wake again!"

"I will yield to your skills in the matter, for I have no advice to offer. Aiwendil, perhaps, could confer with you on herb lore and make appropriate suggestions. As to the rest of it, I can see no other course than to bring this before the Council of the Wise. Elrond must be held accountable, even though you love him devotedly and I have up to now looked upon him with friendship," the wizard said.

Aragorn recoiled from this eventuality, for he dreaded to see his foster-father thus exposed in what he felt must be some form of grief-born insanity.

"I do not understand how no one suspected what was happening to him," he murmured dejectedly.

"Elrond is not a victim!" Gandalf said sharply. "These are choices he has made, Aragorn, not some unforeseen force manipulating him! Even if we may acknowledge the tragedies of his long life, none of those are in any way associated with Legolas. There is the one who has been unjustly puni and and used!" The wizard pointed at the unconscious archer. The Maia wished he could make the truth easier for the Man, but was unwilling to allow Aragorn to excuse the Lord of Imladris.

"This is a hard fate, Gandalf!" the mortal cried. With potent clarity he suddenly envisioned the impact this disgrace would have upon Arwen, who idolized her father, refusing even to admit to knowledge of his long affair and Legolas' existence.

Gandalf grimaced appreciatively and reached for his pack. Removing his pipe and tobacco he filled the briar, offering the pouch to his comrade. Aragorn graciously accepted and delved into his belongings for his own bowl. A murmured word of command from Gandalf raised sufficient spark in both pipes to light them well, but Aragorn did not so much as blink at the wizard's highly selective use of his abilities.

Legolas shifted in his sleep, briefly opening his eyes and sounding a very unpleasant moan before curling up tightly and sealing his lids back down.

The human did not like this response and shook his head. "No, he must not dream just now, I think," he said and set aside his smoke to search for the sleep elixir he had concocted the night he had met the woodland warrior.

Going to Legolas side, he shook his shoulder carefully to wake him. "Legolas, wake up now, just for a moment!" he called. He had to do this several times before the archer raised his groggy eyes to the Man's. "Legolas, drink this and you will rest easier for a time." The elf merely stared at him, disoriented in his half-conscious state, and so Aragorn repeated the statement.

Legolas' vision cleared and he glanced at the small bottle the human held out. He raised up on his elbow, reaching for it with eager hands. With a convulsive swallow he forced it all down and then thrust the vial back into Aragorn's hands, fighting the urge to cough the medicine back up.

"Thank you. If there is enough for yourselves, you might wish to use it, for I am through with this game. I am weary of manipulated paths and will bear no more treacherous infiltration of my home. No more! Tomorrow, we go to battle and finish it," he said with grim determination. He did not wait for discussion or arguments. Legolas turned his back to his friends and welcomed oblivion.

Tbc