Feud

Feud
http://feud.shadowess.com
By erobey: robey61@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: see initial chapter
Thanks: to all the readers and especially to Sarah for her beta work. Any remaining errors are only mine!

Chapter 52 part 1: Lond o Rîn [Path of Remembrance]

Now in his youth Legolas had despised the cloistering darkness of the deeper rooms in the Wood Elf King's stronghold and remembered still, long past his majority, the clutching terror that surrounded his heart when he stood upon the landing and faced the thick black obscurity at the bottom of the innermost stairway. He knew there was nought at the steps' ending but a great vestibule containing three portals, two of which led to the keeps wherein the King's treasures lay, and the other sank to the abiding gloom of the subterranean dungeons. All of them were secured with barred iron gates and devices known only to Thranduil.

Designed by dwarves from the Iron Mountains no less, it was rumoured that as the metal tumblers and cylinders of the locks had been cast the Sinda Lord had infused the molten material with magic and sorcery, so that even should another come into possession of the keys, never could the bolts be sprung by any hand but his. Indeed, many believed that the nameless dread engulfing the soul upon reaching the forbidden chambers was likewise a product of their King's bewitchment, for even true-tried warriors Ages old could not stifle the desire to flee from the vestibule when required to descend there.

Such occasions, though rare, were imbedded in the lore of the Woodland folk, for any time Thranduil added to the hoard he selected from among his trusted Sindar to carry the stash into the vaults. These venerable and courageous archers and cavaliers, all ransrans of the Last Alliance, returned from the depths with knees knocking and eyes expanded as though they had encountered Melkor himself.

Legolas doubted not these tales, for he had proof of the verity of such claims. As a youngling he had been confined to the stronghold for an offence against the King, a not uncommon event if he chanced upon the Sinda ruler when Ningloriel was away in en. en. This particular episode, however, remained rigidly entrenched in Legolas' memory like no other.

Maltahondo resumed his guardianship of the Woodland Queen whenever she left the Greenwood, and by this time Legolas, being 40 years of age, was considered old enough to pass the day without constant supervision. His schedule of activities was such that various lessons and tedious duties succinctly regulated his time to consume the entirety of Anor's passage.

What his mother and her lover knew not was that the elves designated to oversee this rigorous program had no inclination to do so, and made few complaints when Legolas promptly abandoned certain obligations and took to the forest, bow in hand and quiver filled. Everyone understood that Thranduil would neither notice nor care that the elfling was not about, and that it was far preferable, for Legolas' sake and theirs, that he not cross paths with the King.

For his part, Legolas deplored to spend time with Thranduil's staff, and even more hated to be among the warriors in the barracks courtyard. Quite early he had learned that the Sindar elves and the Wood Elves regarded him with vastly different evaluations, and their opinions were not shielded from his observant insight.

The Sylvan folk gazed upon Legolas with an unsettling mixture of pity and fear. They all knew Ningloriel was charged with infidelity to the vows of her marriage bond, and most considered her son a worrisome hybrid, welcome due to her lineage yet problematic for the possibility of his Noldo heritage. Adding the unwholesome element of kinslayers into their breed was not viewed favourably, yet the Wood Elves could not look upon the small golden-haired child and deny him as their own, and thus pitied him the lack of cohesion in his family.

Condescending charity was not an emotion Legolas favoured, either to give or to receive.

The fear he spawned had nothing to do with the possibility of Noldo traits showing themselves in his nature, for none such were apparent. Nay, the unease sprang from the uncanny maturity of the youth, Legolas' knack of discovering, upon meeting the eyes in even the most casual of glances, what one thought to be hidden in the heart. His ability to be almost totally self-sufficient and his affinity for speaking with the trees rather than the elves added to the mystique.

Almost as soon as his legs would hold him up, it was noted that Legolas preferred solitude and would turn from a conversation as soon as it was politely possible to do so. It did not occur to many that this was rather a conditioned response, for the elfling merely reacted to the discomfort his presence seemed to bring to others, and removed himself as was expected of him.

From the Sindar elves, few though they were in number and mingled in bonding to the Sylvans, Legolas experienced an entirely different combination of emotions. Always there was contempt, for the idea of his bastard status while still the named heir galled them. Too bitter had been the defeat at the gates of Mordor, and from the warriors' perspective too avoidable. None of the Sindar soldiers projected any sense of acceptance towards the elfling, and a few openly mocked the child, provided Ningloriel's absence, knowing no censure would result.

And yet these folk also responded with a certain wariness in their demeanour, for there was an aura of eccentricity about Legolas that was attributed to the influence of Elrond's mixed blood, and thus dubious. Noldo, Adan, Maia, Sylvan, among this hodgepodge of strains which would predominate in the elfling's character? None of these stalwart warriors considered the courage and fortitude required of the solitary youth just to traverse the barracks courtyard amid the distrustful and contumely disregard that clogged the very air he breathed.

And it was during one such trek that he committed an infraction of sufficient magnitude to warrant punishment, and came under notice of the King. Legolas was used to the looks of scorn and the occasional insult thrown his way and never reacted except to hurry his pace, but on this day one particular Sinda warrior found his indifference irritating enough to follow the elfling. When a harsh hand grasped his shoulder and halted his progress, Legolas turned and kicked the offending soldier in an attempt to free himself. If he also likened the elf to the foetid waste of Orcs and the vile serum that passed from spiders, perhaps that was not so unwarranted either.

Yet the young archer quickly learned this was a mistake, for he was but half grown and the veteran warrior far more skilled, strengthened by centuries of hard training and exacting discipline. The beating Legolas received for his impertinence left him injured less in body than in pride, for Rochendil used the sturdy shaft of one of the elfling's own arrows as a switch, inflicting a stinging censure upon the young one's backside. Even upon shoving Legolas down in the dusty yard, the horse tamer was not appeased and snatched up and broke the small bow the elfling had made for himself. Legolas actually flinched when the loud and sickening crack sounded, staring in hatred at the booted foot planted firmly upon the slender severed wood.

If nothing else, Legolas was heedful of lessons taught with such intensity, and remained still, burying his ire under his pain even as he was forced to apologise and abase himself, begging pardon for his impudence, until the warrior finally ordered him to go.

Truly, that would have been the end of it, had the stubborn youth not desired to ease his wounded ego and send an unignorable message to the Sindar among the troops, and the horse master in particular. Distorting the directive to leave and get on about his chores, Legolas took himself to the armoury, that in itself a violation for he was not allowed in the place, and therein located Rochendil's gear. His intent had been to repay the Sinda's cruelty and render his bow useless by destroying the string nocks, splintering the wooden ends beyond repair.

Upon entering the room and viewing the impressive array of finelyftedfted implements, Legolas found he had no desire to destroy the careful work of the Sylvan bowyers. He decided, instead, to replace his bow from among this collection, only until he could make another, and retreated into the forest with his prize.

It was his choice of weapthatthat brought Legolas to the attention of Thranduil. The elfling selected the best bow, one not even the King himself would carry, for it stood in a place of high honour, set apart from the rest in a rack alone. While there was no inscription or monument telling so, all knew this was the war bow of Oropher, the very one carried with him to his death before the gates of Mordor at the LAlliAlliance.

For the remainder of Anor's hours Legolas was completely content, revelling in practice with such a fine devise, marvelling at the effort required to draw the formidable relic. It was not long before his shoulders ached and his breath left him in huffing rasps, and his arms seemed composed more of gelatinous flab than muscle. Even so, he persisted in his determined efforts to master the mighty bow, hidden in a small clearing he had discovered and adapted for training far from the mockery of the Sindar, far from the knowledge of any within the stronghold.

Tinnu's winking welcome followed the diminished light at the end of day, and then did Legolas' heart begin to sink in concert with the drop of Anor beyond the rim of the land. No longer could he ignore the nagging remonstrance of his conscience, nor the growing dread of the reprisals his rebellious act would engender. Surely by now, someone had noticed both the missing artefact and his simultaneous absence and joined the two.

Several hours more Legolas fretted, fearing to return and fthe the wrath that must of a certainty wait. Desperately he attempted to concoct both a scheme for replacing the fabled bow to its simple shrine of reverent respect unnoticed and an accompanying alibi that would shield him from blame. No one had seen him enter or leave the armoury, or he would have been stopped at once. His efforts to improve his archery skills with Oropher's weapon likewise remained hidden from the other elves. Yet, had he not ded thd them all to understand who had taken the deceptively elegant arc of destruction belonging to the former King?

At last his defiance won out. For too long had the youth held back his hurt and anger without redress, and rashly he thought his retaliatory misappropriation a fitting vindication. Bold of mien while quaking in his soul, Legolas retraced his path through the branches and silently entered the stronghold through the gardens. He was quickly discovered, as an alert for his arrival was in force, and escorted before Thranduil.

Now Legolas was never allowed within the Chamber of Sovereignty, for he was to the Sinda Lord but a constant reminder that the Realm was on the brink of transferring beyond the claims of Oropher's line should misfortune befall Thranduil. Yet here he was led to stand before the throne, left by his guards three steps from the dais in an empty spot surrounded by the assembled Council and those captains of the King's guard ent ent in the stronghold that night.

Still not of full stature, Legolas could not stand eye to eye with his sovereign Lord and was forced to look up into the enraged countenance of the King. Upon viewing the thinly checked fury within Thranduil's murky hazel eyes, Legolas' heart lurched, missing a beat and sinking low before making a tremendous leap to compensate for the pause, and sent his blood racing through his veins. Despite the heightened rhythm of his pulse, the young archer felt an icy chill creep upon his flesh.

No words were spoken, no accusations made, for none were required when Legolas stood before the convocation with the cherished weapon still in his grasp. For several seconds, Thranduil held the gaze of his wife's shameful progeny with disgust before dropping his attention to the bow.

The silence within the chamber was more potent than a stream of reproachful diatribes, and held a tangible promise of impending doom.

Legolas took a shaky breath and fought the urge to run, yet could not suppress the tremor that ran through him under the scathing scrutiny. When Thranduil's focus centred on the weapon, an audible breath escaped the elfling and his grip round the wood tightened. Wordlessly, he extended his arms and held out the weapon on his open palms, dropping his head to stare at the floor. He felt the bow snatched from him and lowered his arms, again struggling to master the instinct to flee. Cautiously he lifted his eyes to observe Thranduil inspecting the masterpiece of deadly artistry, after which the King tendered the bow into the care of his most trusted captain to be restored to its rightful place.

Thranduil's coldly glittering glare met his detested heir's once more, and a motion of his hand brought two guards forward to the elfling's sides. In calm detachment the King watched as they forcefully removed the struggling offender's tunic and stepped back to their places amid the crowd. The Sinda monarch observed with satisfaction that this had effectively removed the last remnants of rebellious bravado from the elf's eyes, and Legolas stood trembling with his arms wrapped around his bare chest.

Thranduil turned to retrieve an object from where it had been leaning unnoticed against the throne, and revealed a long thin willow branch, which he flexed to demonstrate its green resilience.

Even as the switch bent in the Woodland ruler's hands, Legolas stiffened in dread; he was to be caned. Never had he endured such punishment before and fervently regretted his foolish impetuosity. His heart was hammering as the King moved around behind him and Legolas quailed upon realising he was not even to know how many strikes he would be favoured to receive.

The first blow landed with an explosion of searing agony across his shoulders, followed by nine more in rapid succession, leaving Legolas gasping for air on his hands and knees, not even cognisant of having lost his footing for the intensity of the pain. To his shame, he realised he was crying and loudly at that. Before he could recover his dignity he felt the guards next to him, hauling him up by his arms and dragging him out of the room. Using their support, Legolas managed to get his feet under him and then yanked free, bolting through the doorway and down the halls for his rooms.

No one hindered his passage.

The public drubbing was not the totality of his punishment, however. One of his tutors arrived later to inform Legolas that he was forbidden to leave the caverns for his beloved trees for a ten-day and assigned to work in the scullery for the duration of the term. For one attuned to the freedom of the high canopy and the companionship of the Greenwood, such confinement was torture scarcely bearable.

His tenure among the kitchen staff was likewise an eternity of torment, for he was only under foot and in the way. While Legolas was adept among the high branchways and advanced in archery, he was completely at a loss when confronted with the harried routines associated with feg thg the household. The hapless elfling found himself the frequent recipient of rebukes and scoldings as he unintentionally disrupted the fluid operation of the domestic employees. Upon the sixth day, when he had just dropped and broken a fourth carafe of wine, the chief cook angrily cuffed him on the side of the head and ordered him from the cookery.

Barred even from seeking refuge in the Sentinel, Legolas fled across the tremendous room in angry despair, feeling the stof tof tears again as he raced to the stairs. However, upon reaching the first landing he realised someone was headed down, and he turned away to hide his embarrassment, heading instead deeper into the mountain's bowels. Vaguely he heard the calls from the elf who had been descending the stairs, but paid no mind to the warnings, and found himself in the antechamber of the three gates, staring into the impenetrable gloom, palsied with fright, unable to tear his gaze from the consuming black void.

Immediately the elfling's thoughts were invaded with whispering voices threatening to usurp his soul's place and confiscate his body, banishing for eternity the immortal spark of his being to the caliginous heart of the stony mountain if he did not leave at once. Nothing more than escape did Legolas desire, yet the gloom was impenetrable, for the stairway made a turning and the light of the floor above was obscured. Even had this not been the case, the murmuring venom of the unsounded words confused and disoriented the youth.

In vain did Legolas cover his ears and shut his eyes, for the darkness had a formless presence he could neither ignore nor dislodge from his mind, and before too many minutes passed he was crouched on the floor against the wall, screaming to be left in peace, begging to be spared such a fate.

The healer had been called toch hch him out, and bravely did she do so alone with but one torch and whatever soothing words she could summon to calm the terrified youth. After this, the household staff unanimously decided that as long as all held their tongues and Legolas refrained from further larcenous behaviour, it would benefit everyone if the elfling were set free again.

Nevertheless, several nights passed before Legolas could rest without reliving the harrowing ordeal.

Continued in part 2.