Feud

Summary: The spirit hunter returns the gift of the trees to Tawar.

Chapter 9: Manadh an Annaldír [Final Bliss for Annaldír]

He was standing balanced on the slimmest and youngest of branches at the very top of the Sentinel, watching over Tawar in the silence of minuial [dawn]. He always preferred minuial to tinnu [dusk]; something unusual among his people, but it was not something he could seem to do anything about, not even if he would choose to do so. Legolas was drawn to the sense of renewal the trees experienced with each morning's unveiling as they upturned branches and leaves to the life-giving warmth and light of Anar.

At times, he felt that he needed the trees as the trees required the daylight, for the sustenance of his very being, and he craved to be among them when they awakened. There was a certain anticipation and longing in this one moment, as a promise unfulfilled but expected, a hope unrealized but eminent. Neither Isil nor Anar held sway and only the most brilliant stars could look upon the earth and be acknowledged.

He felt the presence of Tawar strongly at dawn: the complex, sub-eternal timelessness; the long chain of life reaching back past all the ages to the first shaping of the earth under the hands of Yavanna and Aulë. He mused on this conundrum for Tawar was neither merely an extension of these Valar nor just a creation designed by them to serve their purpose. Tawar came from a greater source served also by the Valar, having taken form under Eru's perfect direction of the swelling melodies of the Ainur. Thinking this, Legolas was filled with sorrow to suddenly understand the sacrilege of the evil that sought to destroy his home.

Indeed, Tawar had been dissected and decimated into isolated islands of life: the forests of Greenwood, Fangorn, Lothlorien, and the remnant woods of the Old Forest, Ithilien, and Imladris. Each longed and mourned for the loss of the connection from root and leaf once unbroken throughout the regions of Middle Earth. Each grieved for the finality of the loss of the great forests of Doriath and Duinath in Beleriand. Even then, Tawar had been sundered and suffered the encroachment of evil into the earth, the first victim of the Shadow's jealous hand. Now only the winds and the waters carried the fëa [soul] of one segment of Tawar to another and taught the new saplings of the great heritage they bore.

Legolas found that he was crying and did not care. He suddenly realized he was also not alone in the Sentinel as movement to his left caused him to turn to see who intruded upon his meditation. The elf was familiar and yet not exactly as he should be and so it was a heartbeat or two before Legolas recognized that his companion was Annaldír.

His comrade smiled and moved closer as the wind picked up and they were tossed gently in the twisting rustle of the brown, gnarled arms of the Sentinel. Legolas could feel the breeze sting across his battered back, objectively aware that he had come away without tunic, boots or weapons. He tensed a little under the insistent burning, turning into the gust so that his hair whipped out behind him and brushed across Annaldír's face lightly. The elf laughed and grabbed up a handful of the twisted locks and tugged gently. Legolas smiled back over his shoulder, the joke understood: he was known to be very vain about the beauty and length of his golden mane.

Annaldír's grin faded as he let go the strands and reached out to lightly press fingers to the damage left by the scourging. Legolas was amazed that he could not feel the touch, having expected a sharp flash of discomfort. He wondered if he would encounter any sensation if he tried to grasp the hand that he could see upon his shoulder. Annaldír smiled and shook his head, shrugging with only his left shoulder, as he always had when bewildered but not really worried.

{You can understand me,} thought Legolas, and felt the confirmation from his comrade's eyes. {Why are you here?}

Annaldír stared out over the tops of the trees that barely showed any green in the pre-dawn half-light. Legolas sensed his contentment and ease of mind and spirit as the wind blew through him. Annaldír fluttered like a collection of new leaves in a storm and was carried away as a swirl of golden mist.

"Legolas," he heard his name spoken just above a whisper and woke immediately. Pushing himself up onto his elbows in the unfamiliar surroundings, he looked towards the voice in confused panic, at the same time catching his breath at the surge of searing agony that flowed through his body.

"Lie still," the voice commanded. "You were dreaming." The figure standing over him in the shadowy starlit room brushed aside the gauze netting and sat on the edge of the bed, gently placing a hand on each biceps to ease him back down.

It was Fearfaron; Legolas finally made the connection and allowed himself to relax, turning his head on the pillow so he could look at the elf. His vision blurred abruptly and he was surprised to find the tears from his dream were real. Fearfaron reached over and brushed them away carefully, but said nothing. He remained unmoving there until he knew that Legolas was sleeping again.

It was many hours before Legolas woke, and Fearfaron allowed him to sleep knowing he needed the deep somnolence in order to heal properly. He looked in on him from time to time, but he neither stirred nor made a sound other than the steady drawing and exhaling of his breath. It was nearly midday when a low groan reached the carpenter's ears and he hurried to his son's chambers to find Legolas struggling stiffly to rise without causing himself any unnecessary discomfort.

Fearfaron went to help him up, taking hold of his arm as he had the previous night, and Legolas folded his legs up under him on the bed and propped his elbows against his knees. It did not look very comfortable to the carpenter and this was confirmed as Legolas soon bent his head down into his hands.

"I may have something that will help, but it will burn at first when it is applied," Fearfaron offered and got up when Legolas nodded briefly. He returned with a small jar and made Legolas turn and hold onto the wooden headboard before he smoothed the clear viscous salve over his back and sides.

It stung intensely but quickly faded, and Legolas breathed more easily once it was done. He sat back up on the edge of the bed and smiled uncertainly and looked around at the room in the bright daylight, remembering the strange dream. He was not sure if he should mention it, although he had a vague memory of Fearfaron appearing in the night and waking him from the vision.

Instead, he reached for his tunic to get dressed and the carpenter took it from him and held it to make it easier. Before Legolas could move Fearfaron collected his boots and knelt on the floor to help him put them on. Legolas felt uncomfortable being waited on by the older elf but was afraid to refuse in case the carpenter would be offended. Fearfaron smiled in secret amusement; Legolas' thoughts were clear in his eyes though he believed they were well concealed.

When the archer first joined his son's company, Annaldír had told him of the prince and described this characteristic. Once Fearfaron met him in fact and witnessed it himself, the tendency became a source of shared amusement between father and son. It was the characteristic he liked best about the archer, this complete inability to be false where another's feelings were concerned.

"Come, " he said, still smiling warmly as he rose and took Legolas by the arm and helped him to his feet. "You should eat something and then I think we should prepare for a few days out in the forest. We will not do any collecting today, but I feel the need to be among the trees and away from the city."

Not waiting for a reply the carpenter led Legolas out to the main room and sat him down at a small table overlooking the busy pathways below. Legolas noticed Fearfaron had his climbing ladder pulled up to indicate he was not to be bothered. They ate a light meal of fruit and clear water and then Fearfaron gathered up a pack that he had prepared some time earlier. Legolas went to retrieve his own things and single file they made their way down the ladder to the pathways of the city.

As before, the citizens of the Woodland Realm avoided Legolas, but this day could not help themselves from staring as the two passed by. News spread quickly among the eldar and most were aware of the events of the previous night. The mood Legolas sensed was a mixture of discomfort, pity and hostility. He had the unpleasant sensation that most of the residents blamed him for the ugly change in Ailinyéro's nature. They saw him as the author of the grief that had driven that elf to the brink of insanity.

Those that radiated pity viewed him as one dead or dying from the shock of the violation, and he wondered briefly if this would turn out to be truth. For all he knew, the empty feeling in his soul might be the beginnings of death. He had never known an elf that died from this cause as such a crime had never been committed in his memory. {But then,} he thought, {perhaps I just choose not to think about it.} Certainly those few elves taken alive by orcs must die of such outrages against their bodies and souls, for none ever returned or were found alive.

The discomfiture wafting from averted eyes and abruptly turned heads no doubt arose from the elves' consideration and worry that the Darkness had engulfed their people and hope was failing if elves could commit such acts as kin slaying and rape.

The Wood Elves were in chaotic disarray; their comfortable protection under the trees no longer enough to shield them from the larger troubles stalking the free peoples of Middle Earth. In what amounted to moments reckoned against the immortals' life spans, their prince had fallen to the deepest sin of the Noldor, Thranduil's Kingdom had lost its heir, the guard was compromised by base blood lust, and an upstanding member of the citizenry banished for attempted rape.

{No wonder they wish me dead}, Legolas thought for the third time. It was his turn to sigh sadly and Fearfaron looked over with concern.

They had been walking in silence through the city, the carpenter leading, but he decided to slow a bit and fell into step next to the archer. Without a word he reached over and took Legolas' pack from him, noting that the archer was carrying it awkwardly at his elbow, unable to bear it as intended due to the painful injures of his back. He scrutinized the younger elf and also took the rolled wolf skin cloak, tucking it under his arm. That done he nodded in satisfaction and offered a slight smile.

"You have not healed fully and it will not do to tax your strength too much," he said. Legolas nodded. He swallowed with difficulty, finding his mouth and throat suddenly dry.

"I need to tell you," he began. "To thank you…." He wanted to express his gratitude to the carpenter for saving him from a horrible death, for surely Ailinyéro would not have stopped once the line had been crossed, and Legolas would have been brutally and repeatedly raped, probably by all the elves present that night. Somehow he could not make his voice cooperate and the words caught on the back of his tongue.

But Fearfaron just held up his hand to prevent further attempts.

"No need to speak of it until you are ready. I am not awaiting the proper and polite responses. We will have plenty of time to discuss whatever you like. I, too, have much to say. We will just listen to the trees for a time though, if that is to your liking as well?" he said. Legolas inclined his head, agreeing, glad for the silence, and they continued on their way.

Having left the activity of the city, they were now up in the trees moving rapidly into the woods. They encountered the deep forest soon enough and after a couple of hours Fearfaron decided he would like to sit awhile, quietly noting the fine gleam of sweat on the archer's face. Though uncomplaining, he was obviously not feeling comfortable. The carpenter chose a solidly accommodating branch on an ancient myrtle and placed their gear securely in the crux of the trunk behind him. He sat and waited as Legolas slowly seated himself on a nearby branch, drawing his knees up so that he could rest against them, lowering his head wearily.

"That always annoyed Annaldír," he said abruptly and Legolas' face lifted in an instant, surprised by such words. Fearfaron gestured in the archer's direction. "That bad habit of yours; concealing fatigue because you think you have to be more than the other warriors. Annaldír said he thought you were overcompensating because you feared others would assume your status granted you special treatment."

Legolas felt his face getting warm and just stared, not knowing how to answer such a comment. He did not want to be disrespectful, either to his benefactor or the memory of Annaldír, and the carpenter chuckled to see the familiar expression of anxiety for others' feelings cross the elf's features.

"At first, Annaldír thought you were unduly proud and did not want to admit to any weakness, that you were determined to demonstrate that you were better than the others." He noted the clouded look that filled the archer's eyes and easily identified the mixture of anger and hurt.

"It did not take him long to decide that you only wanted to prove yourself to the company, to earn acceptance as a warrior rather than having it granted as a privilege of birth." Fearfaron was satisfied to see the negative emotions fall away even as the warrior's eyes did.

"Annaldír liked you; more than that, he respected you," the carpenter continued quietly and Legolas flashed astonished eyes at him for a fraction of an instant before looking away. Those eyes were too bright and Fearfaron suspected Legolas was fighting to master tears, his head again bowed against his knees. He said no more to allow his companion time to recoup his self-control.

Legolas did not know if he would be able to endure this without completely losing himself in despair. Hearing these words from Annaldír's father was like being struck, pounded in the stomach so that he felt he was suffocating, unable to draw air into his lungs. If Ailinyéro held mastery of tormenting the body, Fearfaron was displaying an equal capacity for flaying his soul. How could he calmly sit and hear these words of praise and admiration his comrade had told of him, confirming that he had indeed killed a good friend to himself as well as the only son of Fearfaron.

It was unbearable; the guilt felt like a physical burden in his heart so that each beat resulted in considerable strain to the muscle. Surely the pumping was so much louder and slower now that the carpenter could hear it, too. How could he tell Fearfaron the depths of his sorrow? What difference did it make, even if he could adequately express this?

The void in the carpenter's life could not be filled by such expressions and words; and Legolas' dream seemed to confirm that Annaldír was not in Mandos' Halls. If the dream was true, the lost warrior was here in the Greenwood, with no intention of leaving it. He did not know what to do, to tell Fearfaron of this dream would only cause the elf more suffering yet surely it was his right to know.

Fearfaron had transferred his eyes up into the canopy to watch the soothing play of sunlight among the thinning auburn leaves as it danced among the shifting foliage and dappled the ground far below. He listened, pleased in the sounds of the forest and the welcome the trees held for them, knowing of their chore over the next few days to salvage the wood of the fallen beeches and clear the way for the new growth that would fill the void of their passing.

He inhaled deeply, satisfied that he understood the necessity of the voids in the pattern of the energy that flowed through their wood. He found a consoling parallel in the emptiness left by his own son's death, for surely the trees were at least as immortal as the eldar, dying only if struck down by violence.

He thought of the two other trees that had fallen because of the death of the ancient beech felled by the storm. That great tree had no more intention of destroying the others than Legolas had in his own failing on the battlefield. Of course, the tree could not prevent the strike of lightening from finding it. Fearfaron was not so sure, anymore, that Legolas could have prevented his discovery by the enemy. He was also unclear if even such a gifted archer as was Legolas had the speed required to recover to a new position, redraw, and shoot with accuracy after becoming a target himself.

He was a carpenter, not a warrior, and though his son spoke highly of Legolas' skill, it did not seem that he could be completely flawless. {And should anyone suffer condemnation for that,} he wondered? No, and while he respected the Law, it was clearly out of place in this particular situation. The Judgement should be reserved for acts of cowardice or obvious neglect of duty, in his opinion.

As for the Wandering, Fearfaron had been dreaming of his son recently, and felt he had his answer for this as well. Yes, he had made up his mind to express his opinions to the Council formally and withdraw his complaint against Legolas. It was good, he felt, to know the right way to go and to act upon it. He glanced back at Legolas and sat forward, suddenly alarmed.

The archer was sitting rigidly still and yet waves of tremors were sweeping through his body. His hands, the right one lifting and falling against his temple in a strange patting motion that seemed unconscious, covered his head protectively. Fearfaron reached over and grasped the hand to stop it and Legolas raised guilt stricken eyes to him. The carpenter recalled his words and realized that what had been intended as reassurance had instead been heard as disparagement. It had not been his design to be cruel.

"No!" he snapped; shaking the fingers he gripped tightly as Legolas just stared vacantly at him. "Annaldír would not want this to be; does not want this to be," he continued sternly and Legolas at last seemed to hear this.

"I know; he will not go to Mandos' Halls. I am sorry!" His voice broke and he watched in trepidation to see what Fearfaron's response to this would be. The carpenter looked at him in bewilderment; they were talking at cross-purposes, it seemed.

"Do you speak of your dream? I heard you say Annaldír's name last night," he probed carefully. Legolas looked as though he was well past his limit already, but Fearfaron had been eager to hear of this dream and could not restrain his query. Legolas was nodding his head.

"He is with Tawar; he intends not to leave Tawar until the world changes," he continued in a voice filled with sorrow. If Annaldír never went to the Halls of Waiting, he could not be reunited with his family in the future, nor could he ever be reborn. Fearfaron would never see him again; he was truly lost to him forever.

Now Fearfaron was completely confused and looked about him into the branches as though Annaldír might actually be nearby. Mentally he chided himself; the archer was obviously under extreme duress and not speaking with any sense. The carpenter pulled at his hand again as though to get him to come back to reality.

"Legolas, what does this mean? Can you tell me of the dream?" He asked as calmly as he could. He did not know how to manage this elf if he truly relinquished his sanity. He wished he had consulted the healer before taking Legolas back into the trees; he had thought it would be better for the elf to be away from the prying eyes and ears of the city.

Legolas took a deep breath and looked away from Fearfaron before answering. His other hand dropped from his head and slipped inside his tunic, rubbing gently at the old scar on his chest. He was hurting there for some reason.

"I was with Tawar at minuial," he began, "and then Annaldír was there also. He looked peaceful and laughed at my hair. He was sad about Ailinyéro, what he did. I asked him what he was doing there and he told me," here Legolas frowned and shook his head, "that is, it felt as though he was happy as he looked out into the trees. He was peaceful," he repeated inadequately and stared down at the branch between his feet.

Fearfaron was silent as he considered these words and watched Legolas intently. He felt a thrill run through him as he often did when a powerful storm was nearing the woods. The air around Legolas seemed charged.

"At the end," Legolas added softly, "he became as a mist of sunbeams carried on the wind."

Fearfaron inhaled loudly and twitched as these words were spoken. He stared at the hand he held tightly clasped in his own. It was as if he had for an instant shared the archer's impressions and seen this last moment of the dream as Annaldír shimmered and merged into the growing light of dawn.

The carpenter's heart was pounding in the intensity of this vision and he was overcome with the emotion his son had transmitted to the archer. It was indeed a deep sense of peace and contentment, and the carpenter suddenly found himself weeping loudly and squeezing the archer's fingers even harder, hoping for a renewal of that connection to Annaldír he had felt so briefly.

Legolas was exhausted; he felt as he often did when he had been running from spiders for days with no sleep. The connection with Fearfaron had been electrifying and frightened him, as he had never experienced anything like it before.

He did not know how to help the carpenter; it was as he had feared. The truth had propelled him deeper into despairing misery. Legolas could not look at him and see the turmoil the sounds of his sobbing lamentations suggested. He did not want to see the sorrow twisted features on the gentle elf's face.

It was so blatantly wrong for Fearfaron to be suffering in this way. Never, as far as Legolas knew, had he been anything but kind and friendly to all. Meeting him through Annaldír had been one of the most pleasant experiences associated with belonging to Talagan's company of archers, and Legolas hated to be the one to visit such utter despair into his life. Lacking any coherent idea as to how to offer comfort when he was himself the perpetrator of the pain, Legolas could only squeeze back on the hand gripping him so tightly.

"I am sorry," he whispered as Fearfaron's crying slowed and his breathing became more even. He felt the carpenter tug gently again at his hand but still resisted turning his eyes to meet him. He heard Fearfaron draw a deep breath and hold it a few seconds before exhaling it in a long sigh that sounded, somehow, as though it was escaping through lips no longer drawn down with melancholy. Legolas dared a swift glance towards the elf and was surprised to see a placid smile on his face. He yanked more insistently on Legolas' hand and maintained the pull, forcing him to adjust his place on the branch and move closer. Fearfaron's grip slid up to its preferred resting-place on the archer's upper arm and stayed.

"Legolas, I do not know what that was, but I thank you for it!" The carpenter said with heartfelt appreciation, grinning broadly at the stunned expression the archer turned towards him. "We have both encountered Annaldír in dreams. I suppose he has tried to reach us in whatever way each has that is most accessible. For you, this seems to involve the Greenwood. He has tried to express his happiness in a way you can comprehend it; through your connection to the trees!" Legolas was not certain what Fearfaron meant.

"Are you saying he is not with Tawar, really?" He asked cautiously. Fearfaron did not fully understand what Legolas' concept of the Great Wood included but sensed it was more than just the confines of the Greenwood.

"I did not say that. I only mean that perhaps in your understanding such a connection or joining with - Tawar," he hesitated briefly over the word, " would represent a supremely happy state of being. Is that so?" Legolas considered this and found it logical; he did feel that way and had ever since his awakening of the previous day. That gave him a shock; was it only yesterday he had taken on his new identity? Somehow it seemed it had been his for all his life. He returned his attention to Fearfaron.

"Then, your dreams of Annaldír do not show this same vision?" he asked.

"Yes and no," the elf responded. "In my dreams we are reunited as a family. We laugh and do silly things together for fun, as we did when Annaldír was a small elfling. It always ends with the three of us working to build a new talan, a new beginning in our new home. It is in a beautiful ancient tree and there is a clear stream through a bright meadow nearby. We are all content and no troubles cloud the day.

"I have taken these dreams to mean that Annaldír has found his way and is not Wandering. I have taken it to mean that we are not to be forever parted. These are the concepts that mean Manadh [final bliss] to me, and so Annaldír has used them to let me know he is happy. Do you see? It is the same vision of peace and contentment, just the surrounding images are different." Legolas dearly wanted to believe this was so, but doubts nagged at him still.

"What of Mandos' Halls? You did not see him there either. How can the reunion you envision take place if he is not there?" He asked, worried and perplexed. But Fearfaron merely waved his hand through the air as though this were a mere annoyance, less irritating than an insect to be swatted away.

"What of it; are there trees there?" he asked irreverently and Legolas raised his brows, surprised. This was almost like sacrilege but he did not want to correct the elder elf about this; he seemed happier with his new understanding. Fearfaron could not help laughing out loud as he observed Legolas' typical hesitation to call attention to another's' errors for fear of seeming insulting or rude.

"Do not be so concerned! Who has ever come back to say what Mandos Halls are? Perhaps it is your Tawar; perhaps it is my quiet treetop talan by a brook. Whatever it is, Annaldír is in the part of it that suits him and he is well!" he concluded firmly and gave Legolas' arm a soft squeeze.

Legolas wanted to believe this more than he had ever wanted anything. Yet, he was afraid to hope this could be true for fear of suffering greater distress when the ruse was found out. He feared Fearfaron's devastation would break the elf's heart if this explanation were learned to be false. The carpenter could easily read these concerns in his companion's eyes and shook his head.

"Legolas, there is no need for distress. My heart is entirely healed in this moment; for your dream and your sharing it with me has confirmed what I hoped my own revealed. Annaldír is Released; I intend to make formal petition to the Council when we return," he concluded. At last he was rewarded with a slight smile from the archer's lips and allowed his own to grow in return.

Fearfaron sighed deeply, a long and quiet breath of pure joy and contentment, as though there was too much bliss inside his being and he must vent it or be consumed by it.

TBC