Feud

Feud
www.feud.shadowess.com
By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK

Disclaimer: The recognised characters and settings used in this fiction were created by JRR Tolkien. The words, other characters, and ideas here surrounding them belong to erobey alone. No infringement is intended or monies earned through this work.

Summary: Erestor faces the Woodland King.

A/N: I have made the construction of the Dwarven Road a pre-First Age event, though that is not mentioned in Tolkien's writing. The contention this caused between the two races is not meant to be offensive to any Dwarf fans, for I am one myself, but merely a way to explain the bad feeling Tolkien tells us grew between them.

Chapter 57: Amarth od Erestor [Erestor's Fate]
Part One

An event like this was a rare thing.

Scant was the number of visitors invited within the protecting seclusion of the Greenwood's innumerable trees; even among elf-kind few that did not permanently dwell there ventured into the eternal dusky dim under the branches. Was that a welcoming gesture, those reac lim limbs clad in stiff, unyielding bark of brown? Or were the woody-fingered plants, arms outspread in a defensive stance of open-handed leaves, in fact grasping to detain and devour the unsuspecting guest?

Of those that wandered therein, whether by chance of fate or by bold proclamation to discover what was unseen and reveal the place to all, seldom returned any to home and hearth.

Other than wild creatures and things with no voices, what manner of life could abide the oppressive proximity of the unending ranks of Yavanna's legions? The very air meant to supply breath instead stifled and gagged the lungs. The wind was barred entry and the stagnant exhales of loam and leaf held in thrall, denied escape by the vertical barriers of the trunks and the awning of thick verdure overhead.

Rich earth spread upon the rolling lands exuded the heady, organic aroma of fertility, yet the essential nutrients were jealously gathered and hoarded under the clutching, rooted toes of the towering trees. No agriculture could flourish there, even if the darkness was dispelled by felling the trees.

Bright and warming sunlight, as equally beneficial for raishopehope and happiness among more mobile beings as for infusing the woods with substance, was seldom seen. Anor was allowed only the occasional peek amid small gaps between the leaves.

Precious water, the syrup of vitality for all life mighty and meek, flowed either sluggish and sleepily, spilling into bogs when blocked by treefall or dammed by muskrats, creating an atmosphere too wet to inhale, or thrashed through cataracts and chasms, treacherous to challenge, impossible to tame.

Greenwood was not a gentle garden of idylls and roses.

Truly, only a people seeking to disappear from the knowledge of the world at large would choose to shelter in such a land, insinuating their lives into the impervious, unalterable resilience of the forest. Long before the rising of Ithil had even been imagined among the Valar, centuries over centuries prior to the first dawn of Anor, ere Melkor had succumbed to the will of his contemporaries and the chains of imprisonment, even before then had the reluctant Nandor of the Teleri abandoned their brethren on the march to the sea, stepped amohe bhe bolls and roots and simply gone no further, for they were home.

Already great in number, the elves increased and made the woodlands sing with joy, and sorrows did not seek them there, for a time.

For other peoples in other lands, the forest was an obstacle, demanding a lengthy delay on any journey west where every stop gavil vil opportunity to strike. The sturdy race of Aulë emerged from the depths of their cavernous halls to explore and establish new holding in peaks they could glimpse from afar. The trek to the Iron Mountains from the Misty Mountains took them all the way around the forbidding ranks of Greenwood's oaks and beeches, laurels and myrtles. Once colonies had become established and trade between Durin's folk proceeded, the woods were an ever present blockade, though if they could but cross through then many leagues would be deducted from the total distance travelled, and the time in transit lessened considerably.

The Dwarves cut their road right into the heart of the woods, hacking down oaks centuries old and beeches not much less ancient, and all species of trees that stood upon the track they had surveyed. No intent had they to bring harm to any being, yet they did not perceive the trees as sentient nor understand the concept of Tawar. No permission did they ask, for to whom would they send a delegate to negotiate such a venture? The talk of Wood Elves was already fraught with myth and legend, for had any actually seen these Nandor? Quickly the children of Aulë received their education and many of the mountain miners met their end under arrow fire from unseen foes.

Three times were the Dwarves' engineers wiped out and their corpses burned upon the defilement of the cleared gash of land before emissaries sought to approach the elusive inhabitants and arrange a proper treaty. Was it any wonder, having paid their passage with the blood of their kin, that the mountain folk were loath to bargain further and bitter in agreeing to the tolls demanded?

And why should the forest folk, witnessing the blatant desecration of their beloved Tawar, deign to negotiate with the perpetrators of such sacrilege? Even had the Dwarves asked first, what need had Wood Elves for a road they would never use?

Indeed, the diplomacy failed and the bargaining stalemated, as neither party was willing to soften their demands. The Dwarves would have their by-way; the Wood Elves wished it not.

The sons of Aulë then forced the co-operation of the Children of Eru, and the means employed to do so left an irreparable rift between the two peoples. They had threatened to set the forest ablaze if the elves would not allow the construction to resume, and the First Born had scoffed at this until a series of brush fires arose in too many places simultaneously to be of natural cause. To end the fires, the Woodland folk were forced out of the cover of the leafy limbs. As the elves had worked to control and eliminate the threat, the Naugrim had attacked, killing exactly the number of Sylvans in one sortie of swaying axes as Dwarves had previously been slain by the hidden archers.

The grief for the loss of their kin and the outrage for the lack of respect for both green and immortal life threatened to trorm orm the formerly complacent elves into a rampaging throng bent on the destruction of every Dwarf breathing air. Yet they comprehended that they could not do both, protect their lands and avenge their dead, and that to do the latter required abandoning the former as consequence.

For their part, Durin's people felt the matter settled, death for death setting the two races back in balance one with the other, the debt of blood repaid.

Grudgingly the Wood Elves resumed negotiations and accord was reached. The road was completed and thereafter the tramp of booted Dwarven feet upon the hard-packed earth resounded through the trees.

Besides their stoic nature, fierce battle-axes, and goods of gems and metalworking, the Dwarves carried news back and forth upon this highway. Through them the Sylvan elves heard word of the kingdom of Doriath in Beleriand, and likewise the Sindar learned the struggle of the Nandor against the spreading evil of Melkor from the north.

Desiring the prosperous security ensured by Melian's Girdle, Denethor used the route to lead away a fair sum of the Wood Elves, collecting also scattered bands of Avari as he crossed through Eriador and at last over Ered Luin, to dwell in Ossiriand nie their sundered k
T
The road brought back the remnant of these folk after the Battle of Amon Ereb, yet without the son of Lenwë to guide them. Thereafter, the traffic of Laiquendi and Sindarin refugees increased to a steady trickle, becoming a flood of flight as Oropher led his people to dwell once more amid the mighty shelter of the Greenwood before the Second Age concluded.

Yet, long before that day, in the third portion of the First Age, a smaller group of Green Elves had journeyed east upon the road, and with them brought for the first time prisoners of elf-kind bound for judgement: Noldor involved in the sack of Menegroth.

Thus, two Ages separating the events notwithstanding, the Wood Elves poured out from their talans to see the eerie repetition and mark the recalcitrant stain of bloodlust in the Deep Elves' feär.

The courtyard of Thranduil's stronghold was mired in elves as virtually the whole population jammed the open space to catch a glimpse of the Noldo Lord and behold their King's incisive inquisition of the interloper. What the Imladrian elf had done was unknown to the populace, yet they intuitively associated his timely arrival with recent events and the great disturbance among the trees.

The good folk held back, granting a healthy distance between the Brown Wizard and themselves, not wishing to invite his attention individually, for the tension surrounding the Istar and the Noldo was filled with Aiwendil's anger. In the overwhelming silence, everyone could discern the elf's soft murmur of thanks as the Maia unbound his ankles and wrists, assisting him to rise.

Thranduil emerged from the gardens and strode across the grounds with assured and commanding steps, neither hastening to the wizard's call nor lagging back to establish dominance. This was his own fortress, no question of his authority had room to arise and no need had he for any outward show of that supremacy. As he walked in soundless progress his senses catalogued the numberless host around him lining the perimeter of the yard, clogging the pathways both on land and amid the over-arching branches of the encircling trees.

Here and there, dotting the collected masses like cedars among firs, stood an elf a bit taller, shoulders a mite broader, gazing upon the King through eyes that had opened first upon other trees in vanished lands. The remnant of the Sindar was but a scattering of garnets in a vein of green stone.

{My people are all but extinct!}

The realisation was a substantial blow and Thranduil nearly stumbled as he looked more carefully upon the grove of faces. He could no longer tell who among the later generations were hybrids born of mixed heritage and which were purely Sylvan. The next instant the concept achieved full fruition, as he comprehended that his own offspring were among this new breed of mingled blood, Sindarin no longer.

His momentary hesitation was largely unremarked, however, due to a great commotion erupting among the crowd near the exit from the scullery as two figures shoved through the masses, dispersing elves with chaotic thrusts right and left as they moved.

"Erestor!" the human called out excitedly, for it was he and Gandalf that approached.

"Estel!" the Noldo turned in disbelieving astonishment and rushed forward to meet the Man as he emerged from the throng. Never would he have imagined that the mortal mentioned by Talagan would be Elrond's foster-son. "How have you come to be here?"

The two embraced and Erestor laughed until he pulled back and beheld the look of accusation and disappointment haunting his dear friend's eyes. The seneschal dropped his gaze in shame for it was abundantly clear that Aragorn, whom he had helped to raise and tutored in statecraft as well as swordsmanship, knew everything.

"Erestor," the Man said again, more quietly, the dull tones of defeat sounding through the syllables. Aragorn had held onto a faint hope that somehow it would all be proved untrue, some grotesque misunderstanding of immense proportions, that some rational means of explaining his father's actions would be revealed, but any chance of that fell away as he observed the guilty admission within the Noldo's eyes.

Mithrandir joined them and the two wizards moved apart a space, sharing whatever news they would without the need for speech as two sets of sparkling black orbs traded the light of knowledge. Aiwendil's expression turned appraising and even somewhat disapproving as Gandalf's took on a stubborn defiance. The Brown wizard gave an imperceptible shake of his head as his Grey brother minutely shrugged.

By this time Thranduil had reached Talagan's side and all attention fixed upon the Woodland King. The Sinda Lord waited and watched as the seneschal from Imladris disengaged from his human friend, a circumstance the Woodland ruler found distinctly unpleasant, for Mithrandir had neglected to inform him of the Man's connections to Rivendell. With awakened interest the King scrutinised the mortal more carefully, and chided himself for not paying closer attention. The signs that this was not a mere woodsman or town-dweller were obvious. He gave a small sniff of amusement, for the Man was bold and returned his stare with calm regard.

Erestor took a deep breath as he stepped away from his small knot of friends. Covered in dirt from crown to soles, his dishevelled clothing smeared with droppings and his own blood, the hero of Gondolin made a deep bow from the waist with all the dignity his renowned history engendered, left hand upon his heart.

"My Lord Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, I beg pardon for my trespass within your lands, uninvited and unannounced. Yet grave is the cause that brought me hence, and I hold disturbing information that must be made known to you! Let Aiwendil, esteemed Istar of the wild lands, vouch for my voluntary surrender to your guard!"

Now Thranduil had expected some form of protest for the obviously rough treatment the noble elf had endured, and these words were not the ones he had thought to hear.

{Not for nothing does Erestor of Imladris bear a reputation for cunning statesmanship!} the King reminded himself grimly, for he noted the effect this brief speech produced upon his subjects.

An agitated murmur flowed through the assembly as the regal manner of the intruder was remarked and his gracious disclaimer and entreaty discussed from lip to ear throughout the gathered population.

"I do so attest! By his own request was I leading this elf to your fortress, that he might speak with the Lord of the Woodland folk!" averred Radagast.

Thranduil was no fool and had little desire to repeat his mistake made at the Council of the Thrashing Trees. No concessions would he speak here in the forum of public observation.

Beside him, Talagan was dismayed by Erestor's bold proclamation and unspoken accusation of his handling by the King's warriors. The captain hissed a foul curse and moved to land a kick designed to put the Noldo on his knees, but Thranduil's hand upon his arm and the icy glare upon his features forestalled the assault.

"Erestor of Imladris, I have already learned of your presence among my lands and the reasons for it. Still, I will hear your claims and receive this information in your own voice, the better to judge the quality of the intelligence presented me thus far," spoke the Woodlaing.ing.

Now it was the seneschal's turn to be surprised and he looked to Mithrandir for explanation. The glint in the Maia's eyes was unpleasant to behold and the Noldo turned from him as Thranduil resumed his speech.

"Talagan, escort our guest to my study, please! Mithrandir, Aiwendil, I would be honoured if you would accompany us there and bear witness to the events."

"As you wish," Gandalf inclined his head in assent. "And if I may suggest, allow the human to join us, for he has knowledge of Imladris more intimate than mine, being the adopted son of Elrond, Lord of the sheltered valley."

Upon this utterance the murmuring elevated in volume to the pitch of excited chatter as the Wood Elves jostled and pushed one another to have a better look at this anomaly of a Man. All knew the story of the battle of the Tawarwaith against the Glamhoth and the part the human had played. Here was a conundrum indeed! Their forest champion had fought side by side with and had risked life and limb to preserve this mortal. That alone was enough to make the Man legendary, yet now his status was disclosed and they beheld more than just a confederate of the Noldo Lord but Elrond's own foster-child!

For his part, Aragorn was not so certain this was a wise move. What if the Woodland King kept both the seneschal and himself hostage and demanded retribution from Elrond? He had no desire to become acquainted with the decor of the dungeons beneath the stronghold and sent the wizard a perplexed expression.

"Indeed! I would be glad of your insight, human, for no doubt your knowledge will be of great value! Forgive me if your name has escaped my notice ere now…" the King prompted, no less amazed than his subjects.

"It is I who have been remiss, my Lord, in providing a formal explanation! I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, called Estel among the elves of Imladris. I thank you for the hospitality you have granted to strangers amid your lands!" said the Man, bowing in perfect imitation of his old tutor.

Thranduil scanned the human's face keenly, certain his ears had detected a sarcastic undertone to the polite words, but no hint of disrespect or umbrage graced the mortal's visage.

"You are most welcome, Aragorn!" the small group began moving toward the main entrance to the King's halls as he preceded them, a slight gesture of his hand inviting their accompaniment. "Allow my seneschal to change your accommodations to better reflect the noble House you represent!"

"You are indgracgracious, my Lord, yet if you will grant it, I prefer to remain close to Legolas, my war-brother!"

Such a remark was but a thinly cloaked reprimand, for it exposed to all that while their King had fulfilled his promise of aid to Tirno, he had not been generous in the allocation of his resources. Aragorn had learned of Thranduil's forced commitment from Lindalcon and had been displeased to see how slight was the Sinda Lord's concern for their comfort. While it was not wise to bait a warrior as fierce as Thranduil who had lost so much at the breaking of the Last Alliance, the Man could not quite help himself, knowing the torments the outcast elf had suffered while the King remained insulated in his luxury.

However, if Aragorn's statement was an affront, the King permitted no indication of it to be displayed before his people. Instead he smiled indulgently at the Man as they closed the distance to the Chamber of Starlight.

"That is well. If the healer proclaims the Tawarwaith strong enough to be moved, then new rooms can be arranged for all!" he said amiably, but Aragorn's words had done little to endear him to the King.

As the group entered the Council Chamber, both Imladrians exhaled gasps of dazzled appreciation, for it was already tinnu under the eaves and the lamps of the cavern were lit, filling the air with the dancing glimmer of flickering light gleaming among the embedded crystals in the blackened rock of the ceiling. They halted and stared up in wonder at a sky neither had ever beheld, familiar yet completely different as recognisable patterns amid the stars gave way and merged into new constellations with names unknown to them. There was no time for further inspection of the spectacle, however, for the captain urged them to continue with a rough shove upon each of their shoulders.

Aragorn spared the Sinda warrior a forbidding scowl before he moved again, but Talagan just chuckled mirthlessly.

From an archway deep within the chamber's bounds came a bustling clutch of robed elders, hurrying forward behind Iarwain to meet the King's entourage. Like everyone else, they had gone out to see the activity in the courtyard, and had scurried inside through a side door in order to intercept the group. The ancient Eldar stopped before Thranduil and eyed him warily.

"What is happening here, my Lord?" he said quietly, casting his glance in Erestor's direction.

"A visitor, Iarwain! Erestor brings important news from the outlanders, and we will speak within my study. Rest assured, if the matter impinges upon the spirits of our people you will be informed and your wise counsel sought at once!" Thranduil barely kept the sneer from his tone as he spoke.

"As you say, my Lord! The Council will await word of these proceedings!" Iarwain frowned upon the haughty Sinda Lord but stepped back out of the path to allow their progress to continue.

Aragorn and the wizards had followed this brief exchange with interest, but Erestor's attention had been drawn to the carvings on the stone pillars. In awe he stared at the huge frieze before him, for they had stopped before a section which depicted the Final Battle of the Last Alliance before the gates of Mordor.

In perfect detail, every Sinda and Sylvan elf lost in the war was rendered as he or she had appeared on their last day of life upon Arda. Oropher was easy to distinguish, for he had been known to Erestor, and likewise his sons' identities were clear. Yet it was not among these the Noldo's eyes remained. His regard had frozen upon two warriors among the host of nameless Wood Elves, for they were twins, identical one to another, and bore an uncanny resemblance to his own beloved charges, Elladan and Elrohir. He was given no chance to question this unlikely coincidence, however, for their group was moving forward again and quickly left the starlit chamber.

Their progress was not disturbed further, continuing until the study was reached and all entered into the windowless cavern. With disturbingly loud finality the heavy oaken door was shut and bolted, and the King moved to stand behind a tremendous desk of laurel wood. He smiled a frost-fringed grin and motioned for them all to sit, for there were many comfortable chairs ringing the sturdy table.

"Talagan, see to the fire and fetch our guests some fitting refreshment," Thranduil ordered and did not care if his old comrade was angered to be addressed like a servant. With no knowledge of the strenuous journey made by Erestor, the King assumed his colleague and life-long friend had perpetrated all the injuries visible upon the Noldo's person.

Too often had Talagan's zeal for exacting penance from those he deemed threats to his Lord brought about complications Thranduil was forced to contest. And now, when the King should be closeted with his infant and his mate, he must be here, unravelling yet another of the captain's debacles.

Once everyone had a goblet of the King's finest vintage in hand and the blaze was springing up cheerily in the grate, Thranduil shared his chilly grimace with his guests again.

"Now, Erestor of Imladris, tell me what Elrond Peredhel has been up to in my woods!"

Continued in Part Two