Feud

Disclaimers: see chapter one.
Thanks: to all the loyal readers, and most especially to Sarah, my beta. Any errors found now are solely mine.

Chapter 39: Trenared Teithannen [Written Testimony]

' Fearfaron,

'I have not time for pleasantries and so I beg you to forgive the brusqueness of this correspondence! Know that as I write I am well, though weary with sorrow and burdened now with great fear for our forest. Too much has happened to tell all here, and I will be home soon at any rate. Yet, in these times it is wise to have a fail-safe, and thus I want you to have this news from me and act upon it should anything prevent my return to the stronghold.

'There are Noldor here, in this village, in our Greenwood. One Erestor of Imladris, no less, and his associate, Berenaur. They came specifically to make me a spy against my own, on instructions from their Lord, and you may wonder at my restraint in not abandoning them to the Wraiths, which fate would surely have found them had I not intervened.

'What value they would find in my limited knowledge of Thranduil's plans, I have not discovered. I suspect there is something more underlying all their subterfuge and hope to figure it out before I return. They are very curious about my understanding of the Wraiths and what the foul things are doing here.

'How I long for your counsel! I know not how to treat with them, particularly Erestor. He is a healer and has tried to help the villagers. A horrendous tragedy has befallen them due to the trouble I stirred up in these regions, and the two little babes I spoke of in my last letter have suffered. Alas, Carnil expired in Ithil's hours three days ago, though Erestor tried diligently to prevent it and continues to labor for Cemendur's recovery.

'Yet this Noldo has equal capacity for cruelty. How is it possible to spend such great effort to cure one after having worked comparably hard to wound another? I fear you will be disappointed in my foolishness, for I admit I did trust him, and thought I recognized a common dilemma between us, for which I sought and offered consolation. I will explain when I arrive, but if I fail to return do not think too harshly of my indiscretion, nor hold me away from your heart because of it. That I could not bear! In any case, I have paid heavily already.

'I have not time for more now, as a meeting has been arranged between the Noldo, Berenaur, and me, and Aiwendil is to be present as well. If able, I will write again before leaving for the stronghold and give you news of it. Otherwise, look for me in the Sentinel at Gwain Ithil.

'Devotedly, your son,
'Legolas, Tirn-en-Tawar.'

In the starlit Council Chamber, Fearfaron read the letter through for the third time and dropped heavily down onto the step of the dais, unable to shake the feeling of overwhelming dread the words aroused within his mind.

The woodsman who had brought the messages was waiting out in the courtyard where the King had bid him stay. The carpenter and the Woodland ruler had returned together to the empty room, each bearing their respective deliveries, each learning the information in them as the other watched.

Fearfaron sighed, a habit that had returned to him since Legolas' departure for the Southern Regions of the Greenwood. He had never received the previous letter mentioned and knew nothing of these human children, but he could feel the sense of despair in the Tawarwaith's words claiming responsibility for the evil disorder disrupting the villager's lives. And he all too clearly understood the sort of trouble his foster-son was in; it tore his soul that Legolas worried these 'indiscretions' would change Fearfaron's feelings for him. He feared to know what manner of payment had been extracted from the wild elf for his errors.

Most worrisome of all, Gwain Ithil had already passed, several nights ago, with no sign of the archer's return. Fearfaron folded the parchment and kissed it, intending to store it away in the pocket of his tunic, when the Woodland King stepped forward and stayed his hand.

"I would like to read it, though I see from your expression that it holds ill words," he said seriously as he met the carpenter's troubled gaze. Thranduil's countenance was pale and tight around the corners of lip lips and eyes, as though some unforeseen shock had just been revealed to him. He held in one hand an unrolled parchment, its seal broken, and in the other a small square of fabric, mottled with dark brown stains that bore the unmistakable odor of dried blood.

The more sour scent of semen just as easily identified the paler marks ingrained into the fabric.

Fearfaron's eyes grew wide in alarm as the smells reached him, for he was quite familiar with the particular aroma of each of Legolas' fluids. Only the blood belonged to the archer. The identity of the other male donor was unknown to Fearfaron, and the acrid blend of the effluvia made his stomach churn. The carpenter's vision fixed upon the dirty rag clutched in the King's clasp. He reached out his hand for it and at the same time extended the folded letter to Thranduil, and they made their exchange. Unasked, the King offered the small scroll as well, which Fearfaron dazedly accepted.

Balling the revolting cloth up in his palm, the carpenter opened out the parchment and ran his eyes over the gracefully meticulous handwriting, instantly struck by the contrast between the beauty of the script and the vulgar obscenities detailed. The vehemence of the hatred inked upon the page made him flinch, while the vile slurs aimed at his adopted child caused his hands to quake in silent wrath.

The identity of the other male was in fact the Noldo Lord, Elrond of Imladris, and Fearfaron was disturbed that an elf considered intelligent and wise could stoop to such base deceit and betrayal of another. And then boast of the deeds.

'…even more wanton than his mother, I have never had a lover take such lascivious delight in the taste, the sensation of my cock upon his lips and tongue…'

'…undoubtedly the best fuck I have ever known. Have you sampled the sweet syrup he secretes, Thranduil? He begged me to suck it…'

'…enjoys pain; I doubt there is any torment he would refuse if you promised to fuck him thoroughly…'

'…amazing vocal range; it was especially gratifying to feel him squeal around my penis while I came down his gagging throat…'

'…if you are the mentor who tutored him in pleasure, then I owe you a debt of gratitude. I was buried up to my balls in his arse the third day after meeting him…'

'…milked his tits raw…'

'…quite the whore, Maltahondo has had him, according to Erestor. Oh yes, Erestor took him a time or two…'

'…fucked him senseless; he lost consciousness with my cock plugging his ripped, bleeding hole…'

'… take him in your throne room with a full audience so everyone may enjoy the sight of Hecilo spurting his glistening essence …'

The entire page was filled with similar remarks, each extolling the delights of the fallen prince's flesh and describing his eager responses to various stimuli. Or rather, praising the wild elf's lust for degradation and punishment, describing graphically his reactions to various levels of torment. Every other line exhorted the Woodland King to partake of the outcast's carnal charms, each suggestion more obscene and demeaning than the one preceding it.

"Ah, Legolas!" Fearfaron groaned aloud. He stopped reading half way down the sheet and rolled the parchment back quickly for even the sight of the written words was offensive. "I should not have let you go! How did your life come to this?"

With a slight sigh the Wood Elf King lowered himself to the stone step next to the carpenter and handed back the letter from the Tawarwaith, reclaiming the rolled message of the Noldo Lord but declining to receive the soiled square of linen. He nodded toward it.

"It is his blood?"

"Aye."

Another sigh escaped Thranduil's lungs. Truthfully, he had no idea how to respond. It was shocking, to say the least, but he knew not what Elrond hoped to gain by revealing such depravity. He was naturally suspicious of anything from Imladris that appeared beneficial to him. This communication certainly gave him all the evidence he required to brand the dispossessed prince as a traitor and confederate of his staunchest enemy. Why would Elrond choose to provide such damning testimony? The King glanced at the distraught carpenter, who had silently begun to shed tears for his adopted child's humiliating defilement.

"Your reaction, and the forest champion's own words, would seem to corroborate the Noldo's claims."

Fearfaron only nodded and they remained silent for some minutes; the carpenter lost in his sorrow and the King sglingling to comprehend the significance of the revelation in terms of the welfare of his regency.

It was illogical; why would Elrond wish to reveal his own depravity to his enemy? The Noldo Lord had bedded his own child. It was disgusting, but it did not touch the King personally, as had Elrond's involvement with Ningloriel. Thranduil had accepted Legolas' Noldo paternity prior to the child's birth. In fact, Elrond had made certain to remove all doubt.

Thranduil recalled another small, rolled scroll from the Noldo Lord that had arrived seven days before the nativity, offering congratulations on the new arrival. He would have dismissed such accurate knowledge of the due date as a product of spies had the Lord of Imladris not enclosed a silk scarf belonging to Ningloriel, stained with the residual smear of their intercourse. The Queen had returned to Thranduil from a long sojourn in Lorien almost a year to the day of this message's timing.

Legolas had heard the explosive, inaugural altercation between the couple before he inhaled his first breath.

But in those early days, Thranduil had never considered this would be the only child Ningloriel would bear. He had been confident of producing a son and so had allowed his pride and fear to rule his actions. He forgave the faithless Queen and kept the babe's heritage secret, announcing the birth of an heir. After all, each son would be an heir; he wree ree to name any of them as inheritor to the crown. Ningloriel's refusal to share his bed again was one of the defining defeats of Thranduil's sovereignty.

Yet none of this answered the question in his mind. Why would Elrond expect Thranduil to care that Ningloriel's bastard child was so flagrantly wanton?

{Like mother, like son.}

"This makes no sense. What does he gain by this? He has known I was aware the child is his for more centuries than I care to count! Why would it matter to me if he takes perverse sexual pleasures with his own offspring?" he wondered aloud.

"Perhaps because Legolas is not his child."

"So you said before, but it matters not for he surely is not mine!"

"Truly, it does not matter, but you cannot be sure of that claim!"

"Does not matter?" Thranduil mimicked. "How so? The Wood Elves have no assurance of continued leadership should I die! Why have the Danwaith cared so little? Not once has the Council exhorted me to take a consort and ensure the continuation of my line!"

"What concern is your bloodlin us? us? It is Ningloriel's ancestry that matters. Sylvan heritage is bestowed by the mother; none can dispute the parentage of the body that gives life to another."

Thranduil was speechless. The forest dwellers did not care who Legolas' father was! They would have accepted him even if the Noldo Lord sired him, as long as Ningloriel was the life-bearer. The Woodland King gave a short, soft laugh at his own expense, and wondered if his father had known this fact.

"Why did the Danwaith accept Oropher as their king; he was Sinda was he not, by virtue of both his parents' heritage?"

"His mother was a Sylvan, she was a Green Elf from Ossiriand. Did you not know this?"

"Nay, she was a Grey Elf from Doriath; from the southern part of Region."

"She may have dwelt in Region, but her people came from Ossiriand."

"I think I am aware of my grandmother 's ancestry!"

"Perhaps not," Fearfaron shrugged, "since your culture did not teach you the importance of such knowledge. By your own admission, you have concentrated only on recognizing who your grandfather was."

Again Thranduil could not find adequate words with which to express his amazement at the opposing views under which the Woodland Realm had been operating. He was in his own stronghold disputing with a common Wood Elf regarding the heritage of his grandmother's people! He could not repress a loud snort of laughter over the incongruity of the scene.

But Fearfaron did not consider the situation amusing, for Legolas had suffered horribly due to this selfish elf's pride, ignorance, and bigotry. He saw no purpose to their discussion unless he could discover a way to lift the ban from the archer's shoulders, and this now seemed unlikely at best. As his ire rose so did he, lifting the foul evidence of Legolas' debauchery clenched within his fist.

"You dare sit and laugh about this? You are the cause of all of these atrocities!" he shook the tainted rag in Thranduil's face. "Each of the elves that abused Legolas has had your sanction to do so! Your loathing marks his entire existence! How could you hate a child?"

"What?" the question caught Thranduil by surprise and he stared at the softhearted carpenter's rage contorted features. "It was what he stood for that I hated."

"He is not a concept; he is a living being!" Fearfaron shouted in exasperated indignation. "And you are a fool! This Noldo Lord has been playing with you! The only way any of his actions make sense is if Legolas is really your son.

"If that is the truth, as Ningloriel swore, then Elrond has had the satisfaction of seeing you disown your own child after failing to effect his death in battle! This was still not enough; the Noldo wanted to personally crush him, for Legolas believes what you so vocally propounded: that Elrond fathered him. What do you think this will do to him?

"Yavanna forbid it; this will destroy him!

"Why does Elrond want this, Thranduil? What would cause him to enter your lands and risk his freedom? Just to despoil a single elf? Why does he hate you this much? These are the questions you should be asking! These are the questions I will demand you answer before the Council!"

Fearfaron completed this tirade and turned from the dais. He did not bother to wait for the King to reply for he truly felt there was nothing Thranduil could say that would benefit the wild elf. He stormed toward the open archway to leave but as before, Thranduil's words halted him.

"The evidence I hold will serve to condemn your archer!" the King bellowed as he rose and placed himself nose to nose with the defiant Wood Elf. "His own words admit he was more than willing to couple with my bitterest rival! Do you think the Council will believe he is still loyal to the Realm? You will merely expose more of his weak character thus! First his failure in battle dooms his comrades and now his immoral appetite grants a foreign ruler access to our lands! Do you believe the Council will place this corrupt hecilo on my throne? You are the fool, carpenter!"

Fearfaron glared at the Woodland King coldly, for he had never known any elf so wholly consumed by his own importance, so assured of the superiority of his personal worth. How little this Sinda understood, and even less did he care to learn, of the Danwaith. Thranduil was still utterly missing the point.

"As I told you before, Legolas cares not the the sort of power you cherish. Nor does the Council, for that matter. The 'Realm' of which you speak exists only in your mind, part of a world your father sought to leave behind when he emigrated here. Oropher understood us, even if he could not truly be one of us. But Legolas is ours, and none in the Greenwood would doubt his commitment to Tawar, whatever his failings in more personal matters may be."

"Perhaps, yet I wonder if the Danwaith will see it your way. You have convinced yourself that the majority of the population supports your view. Mayhap they will not see your forest champion, but instead envision a bitter elf willing to cast his lot with a foreign Lord in order to retaliate against his just punishment. Legolas is still a condemned kin-slayer by your own laws."

"That is due to the battlefield denouncement of Talagan, whom you have named a loyal confederate to the Sindar rather than a faithful warrior of the Greenwood! I think it is time to hear more of the events that occurred at Erebor! How many of the warriors in Talagan's company still live, Thranduil? Only the Sindar?"

Before the King could respond to this allegation, a shout from the courtyard and a great clamour of commotion caught their attention. Both hurried to the archway and watched as the postern was thrown open and a company of archers came thundering into the compound on horseback. In minutes the grounds were swarming with bloody, dusty warriors and their lathered, blowing mounts, milling iergeergetic exhaustion as the soldiers alit, shouting for water and aid, talking of their deeds all at once.

It was none other than Talagan's patrol from the South, and the Sinda veteran of the Last Alliance came last through the gate, reined in his steed amid the clutter of his battle weary troops, and dismounted. As he strode across the quadrant toward his King, he called orders for fresh horses, more arrows, additional warriors, and medical attention for the wounded. He halted three paces out from Thranduil and bowed from the waist, eyes drifting to Fearfaron with evaluative scrutiny. He gave the carpenter a brief nod of recognition.

"My Lord, I have news of Orc activity pressing upon us from both the South and the Central Mountains. An unusually large mustering of the foul fighters converged just beyond the borders across the river. We have just returned from the highlands, having pursued one band of the demons all the way from below the Forest Road near the Gladden Fields. They combined with fresh forces and thus amalgamated pressed on toward the river. Unknowingly, we drove them straight upon a lone band of travelers, already beset by yet a third company. These folk were thus driven under great duress and exigency to take to the boats above the second cataract! Even with the aid of my archers they barely made the launch."

Thranduil's brows drew down in a threatening frown; that the expected cause of the Greenwood's agitated thrashing was revealed as he predicted did nothing to lighten his rage at this unprecedented attack upon his Kingdom.

"Come inside, Talagan; I need your full report."

Together the Sindar warriors turned from the chaos of the courtyard and left Fearfaron standing in the archway of the Chamber of Starlight.

"Fearfaron!" the carpenter turned to see Lindalcon running toward him from the garden entrance to the stronghold. "What is happening?"

"Trouble, young usurper!" the woodsman intoned dramatically and both elves turned to regard him with alert apprehension.

"This we can see for ourselves, human! If you have other news then speak!" chided the carpenter brusquely and the Man frowned in disapproval.

"You have no need to find fault with me, Fearfaron! I did not tell this to the King and am not sure I should repeat it to anyone! I do not trust the source of the information, and worry I may do some damage to Tirno in spreading such gossip!"

That was certainly sufficient to grab the carpenter's complete attention. He took the Man by one arm and Lindalcon seized the other and hurriedly they escorted him out of the courtyard. Neither spoke until the three of them were safely sequestered in Fearfaron's talan.

"Now then, start again, my friend! Who gave you this hearsay; what has it to do with Legolas?" he demanded from the unsettled woodsman.

The Man did not fear the carpenter, for he had served as messenger for his village many years and had come to know the mild-mannered Wood Elf well. Only his concern for Tirno could move the complacent craftsman to such vehement words, and in this the Man was in complete accord. The mortal rapidly outlined the knowledge the Noldo had 'accidentally' allowed to get out regarding the Ring of Power and the locked vaults of Thranduil's hoard.

Lindalcon could not suppress a severe shudder at the idea of so deep a well of evil abiding this close at hand, and looked to Fearfaron for reassurance. To his surprise, the carpenter was grinning with unrepressed delight.

"Fearfaron? Whatever are you pleased about? All of the darkest powers on Middle Earth must have their eyes upon the Greenwood! No wonder we are under constant attack from Dol Guldur!" he said.

"I am sure what you say is true, Lindalcon," the carpenter nodded sagely, "but your were not there to hear the other news from this accursed Noldo Lord! He seeks to have Legolas defamed and permanently sundered from Tawar by naming him a collaborator! Thranduil is quite ready to agree and wishes to present thaidenidence to the Council. I believe this Man's testimony may just force him to withhold his presentation!"

"Aulë's offal! Had we known this was their intention we would have run those foreign elves out forthwith! Tirno never said a word against them, but we knew there was trouble between them! The Elder and Aiwendil, and Tirno too, I reckon, allowed it to pass unmarked so that the healer would give us help for our injured. Deeply do I regret carrying that Noldo's lies here to the King! Not willingly would I harm our Tawarwaith." The poor human was beside himself with remorse upon realizing he had assisted in the underhanded scheme.

"Do not feel any guilt, for you have actually done Tirno a service! I believe the King may be moved to rescind his Judgement rather than have his Realm dissolve into the chaotic panic your revelation would engender! Come, we should return and seek another audience with our Sinda Lord!"

The elves and the woodsman made their way back again to the starlit chamber and waited patiently in the alcove at the courtyard entrance for Thranduil and Talagan to reappear from their hasty strategizing.

The King never held such conferences in the Council Chamber, however, always retreating into the depths of the stronghold to his private study for such military matters. Thranduil used the small, private cavern for his most important debriefings. There was only one doorway grantingess ess to the war room and within this stone-clad sanctum, none of his plots and plans could be overheard by those not intended to do so. It was a telling indicator of his confidence in the Woodland folk.

While Fearfaron and Lindalcon gleaned all they could from the woodsman, Thranduil listened with careful attention to his most trusted captain's speech.

"It became abundantly clear; the Orcs were hunting them down. They gave only cursory attention to my pursuit, spending what part of their rear guard they deemed least worthy, I suppose, during their flight.

"When the creatures joined the troop in the Central Mountains, then they turned and gave us a bit of a battle, but only enough to distract us from their true goal. Two-thirds of their numbers departed as we mowed down the rest, and again we gave chase. That is when we realized their objective.

"The three travelers were already surrounded by the time we arrived and still more of the loathsome devils streamed towards them. Mithrandir was one, with a human I know not, and the outcast completed the trine. It looked hopeless, but then the elf gutted one of the fiends, cut free its quiver of arrows, and took to the branches.

"He taunted them! Such vile curses have not passed such fair lips since Oropher charged Mordor! Very quickly a full third of them followed him apart, as he picked them off at leisure, and thus gave relief to his comrades and an opening for my warriors. All the while, the three were retreating toward the river.

"We covered their escape, but it was a near thing and they did not depart unscathed. How bad the injuries are I was not close enough to guess. It is not a good sign that they have not already docked, for the current should have brought them here more quickly than the forest trails the horses require.

"In any case, we need to mount a counter assault while the beasts are still trying to recover. Their failure to capture the travelers came as a tremendous defeat; they turned upon each other! Iat cat confusion I left them and brought our warriors in. They were due a respite, and we accrued several casualties; no deaths, I am pleased to report."

Thranduil received this account in silence, and his stony countenance remained unmoved even upon hearing the unconcealed admiration for the banished Wood Elf in his compatriot's voice. However, at the mention of his father's name in conjunction with the exiled kin-slayer a brilliant spark of rage ignited a slow burning fury in the King's soul. Gradually the cold, soundless atmosphere in the small study warmed in the uncomfortable radiation of Thranduil's wrath. Talagan realized his error too late and braced for the inevitable reprisal.

"Why did you give aid to that bloody Tawarwaith?" The King's words were calmly spoken yet dripped with menace as he glared into his old friend's eyes. "You should have left well enough alone; all my troubles would have been alleviated without ever having to deal with the matter further!"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but the wizard was with him, and this unknown Man. I did not even realize who was involved until we had joined the battle and worked close enough to observe the Orcs' quarry."

"Yes. Mithrandir and a human soldier, of course those two were worth saving. No doubt they hold some great destiny which we must support," Thranduil mocked in sarcastic scorn. "Even so, could you not spare an arrow and end the misery of that depraved outcast?"

"Thranduil!" Talagan took a step back from his King in shock.

"What is the matter? Do you think yourself less guilty of his long-drawn death because it was not your hand that loosed that avalanche?"

The warrior was speechless to hear this accusation and its underlying suggestion. Talagan shook his head slightly, a stricken look marring his aristocratic features. It hurt him deeply; no Sinda of his lineage had ever sought to engineer the death of another elf.

"You worry needlessly, Talagan. After today's Council session, none here will care if the outcast perishes, and many will call for it! The creature is even worse than we ever imagined. See what baseness you have salvaged!" Thranduil hissed and held out the scroll from Elrond.

Talagan took it and with hesitant curiosity began to read. His face contorted with overt disgust and he hastily re-rolled the parchment, thrusting it back toward the King, having read no more than one paragraph and considering that to be too much. But he found the note suspect, even as had his King, and he scanned Thranduil's features to determine what might be the real intent in showing him the loathsome document.

"I think this is perhaps too convenient, my Lord. I suggest caution when divulging these …deeds."

Thranduil sighed with a rueful smile and nodded as he reached out and gripped his loyal comrade's shoulder tightly to reassure him.

"Forgive me, old friend, but things have gotten a bit murky of late, and I am ashamed to say I began to wonder if you were the one behind the unfortunate debacle at Erebor. I needed to judge your spontaneous reaction, so jaded have I become!

"I agree with you concerning this evidence; it is entirely out of character for the Peredhel to seek to aid my cause. I have had a most enlightening conversation with that carpenter, and have had new doubts cast upon the disgraced archer's parentage. Your comments regarding the battle support those ideas.

"The Lord of Imladris has sc a m a most impressively malicious and well designed blow."

Talagan stared in astonishment at Thranduil but asked no questions, for his commander immediately steered the conversation back to the impending sortie. The plans were quickly made, as Talagan had ample experience to adjudicate the proper means for achieving victory, and the two warriors left the study confident of a successful mission. They parted in the courtyard under the persistent gaze of the carpenter, the usurper, and the woodsman.

Thranduil eyed the trio warily, noting with irritation the gloating, complacent smirk that graced the humble elf's face; a mask of irate and impotent devastation just minutes ago. Meril's brat was too pleased for one who was under what amounted to house arrest for his outrageous behavior of the previous morning. {And breaking it, insolent whelp!} The human glowered darkly as only Men could do, packing a lifetime of enmity into a few short seconds of wrathfully energetic orbs.

The King crossed the short distance between them and was about to order Lindalcon back inside and demand an accounting from the adults when for the second time that night a loud tumult erupted through the compound and distracted all interest to the rear of the stronghold.

One of the fortress' dockhands rushed forward, yelling for Fearfaron. The carpenter turned anxiously to meet the elf and Lindalcon followed him across the lamp-brightened quadrant. A rather large crowd of Talagan's warriors was assembled and created a turbulent murmuring of agitated concern. From the opposite side of the grounds the healer was also approaching, and Fearfaron was overcome with the most unpleasant sensation of dejavu he had ever experienced. She shared her own dismay with him silently and together they sprinted down the path, heading for the quay, with Lindalcon close on their heels.

Few steps had they need to run, however, for out of the half-lit background came the three travelers: wet, bedraggled, wounded and exhausted, but alive nonetheless. Between them Gandalf and Aragorn supported Legolas' halting limp as he favored his left leg whereupon a tight and bloody bandage slowed the seep of vital liquid. A second gash through his side had ceased to flow and all the warriors recognized the look of a hasty surgery required to remove an arrow on the battlefield.

"Hîl od Oropher!" [Heir of Oropher] a Sinda soldier quietly said.

"Mae Govannen, Tawarwaith!" the Sylvan elves' shout proudly claimed their own.

"Legolas!" cried Fearfaron, and at that call the wild elf's head at last snapped up.

As the carpenter reached for him, Legolas struggled to disengage from his friends\otecotective hold. With smiling concern the mortal and the Maia helped him transfer his weight to Fearfaron's able shoulders. Legolas wrapped his arms round the carpenter's neck and gratefully allowed the tall, willowy elf to lift him gingerly up off his feet. With his strength slowly ebbing, he smiled weakly and buried his face against his foster-father's neck with a contented sigh.

"Ada, Im tollen bar [Father, I have come home]," his whispered announcement was barely finished before his eyes slipped shut and he succumbed to his weariness, safe and secure in Fearfaron's embrace.
Tbc