Feud
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Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,612
Reviews:
413
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Díhena Vreg (Fierce Forgiveness)
By erobey
Beta'd by Sarah AK (remaining errors mine alone)
www.feud.shadowess.com
Disclaimer: The setting and known characters belong to Tolkien and his estate. Only the words surrounding them and the original characters belong to erobey alone. No monies earned, just for fun!
Díhenad Vreg (Fierce Forgiveness)
The Chamber of Starlight was not resplendent or magical, no awe-invoking display of Maiar puissance pervaded the high-domed hall and convection in the air was insufficient to redistribute even a single mote of dust amid the restive First-born within its bounds. The lustre of the thousand gems failed to draw the eye, indeed the clear stones looked almost dull and cloudy, as if the available light was too feeble to penetrate the smooth facets and play within the crystals' planes.
The crowd of citizens was moderately diminished compared to the initial meeting's numbers and even though the courtyard was filled there was room to manoeuvre and breathe. The soldiers were present, sans Talagan however, and the complete Council along with their assorted apprentices, except for Lindalcon. Thranduil sat upon his elegant and portentous chair and waited, calm and patient, posture regal and collected, refraining from fidgets or any outward sign of irritation.
Mithrandir and Aiwendil, Aragorn, Fearfaron and Gladhadithen were notably absent.
Of witnesses there remained but two to speak and neither had yet arrived. The entire assembly remained subdued and sombre as they awaited the appearance of Maltahondo and the Tawarwaith.
By nightfall of the previous day, everyone had learned of the disastrous outcome of the collaborative practical joke thanks to the ranting vociferations of Talagan. The woodland folk were horrified to have caused so drastic a reaction and milled in tense trepidation for Legolas' entrance, dreading to learn if they had permanently robbed their chosen champion of the only happiness he had ever found. It was enough to make them want to quit this assembly, leaving the formality of withdrawing the charges to Thranduil and Iarwain. Yet they could not quell the morbid fascination the archer's plight invited and not a soul truly considered leaving.
The Eldest Elder stood in his customary spot before the dais, motionless in formal attire of flowing robes that failed to present the aura of authority normally enveloping his person. Somehow events had gone far from his ability to influence and he was deep in contemplation of what must be done to re-establish dominance. At last accepting the failure of his attempt to seize control of the Greenwood through manipulation of the Tawarwaith's fate, Iarwain realised he had made the same mistakes to which Thranduil so commonly succumbed: underestimation of both Legolas' resolve and intelligence. Believing the wild elf lacked comprehension of the power struggle occurring beneath the sham of the hearing had cost the Friend of Oromë the victory in the battle of wills. It had been so easy to assume that having no interest in such contests was the same as ignorance.
He had learned unequivocally what Tirno thought of him and how unlikely he would be to ever back the Council in opposition to Thranduil. Or vice versa. It was Iarwain who had drawn the losing lot, forced to assume the responsibility for bearing the news of the hearing's resumption to Legolas. In vain had Talagan argued with Thranduil against the convocation, at least until the fate of the Imladrian was determined. Iarwain had likewise attempted to dissuade the Sinda King from pushing the finale of this long-drawn trial.
But Oropher's son had been unmoved. The day had been one of prolonged unpleasantness for Taurant; fussy and refusing to eat, the elfling had continued his off-and-on crying throughout the night that followed. Thranduil could not help but be troubled over his newborn's state and upon learning of the foolish joke; the agitated father was livid with wrath for the participants. Had Lindalcon been within reach, the King would have imprisoned him for his actions. Talagan barely escaped this doom.
Angry and resentful of his captain for allowing the fiasco to transpire in the first place, Thranduil had led Talagan away to the private study and therein berated his friend's lack of wisdom and outright stupidity. This was exactly the sort of hardship he was determined to prevent from befalling Legolas, now that the outcast and Taurant's future were so closely linked. Had he not just cautioned the captain regarding distressing the Tawarwaith? Indeed, the irate parent came to the brink of stripping Talagan of rank and position, so enraged was his mind.
The two warriors emerged from seclusion after little more than an hour's passing and Talagan immediately left the fortress. Cowed in shame and grim with purpose, he gathered a small contingent of soldiers and galloped into the twilit wilds with less than normal dash and daring, his mission undeclared.
As for Iarwain, Thranduil had no interest in giving him additional time in which to devise a method for turning events in his favour. The hearing would ensue exactly as planned, with or without the noble from Imladris in attendance. The Elder had trudged forth from the stronghold to fulfil the invidious duty of informing Legolas, relegated to the lowly status of errand runner for the King.
Iarwain had found the archer in the glen struggling with his friends to get the unconscious seneschal up into the newly constructed talan. Had the situation not been so deplorable the sight would have been highly amusing, for there were entirely too many people involved in the endeavour and arguments broke out over how to do the lifting and who should bear the burden for making the transfer successful.
"I shall carry him up on my back," Lindalcon had declared quietly, unable to look his brother in the eyes.
"Do not be absurd," scoffed the Man. "He cannot hold on and is easily taller than you by a head. I say let the wizards have the chore." Aragorn confronted the Maiar. "Will you fail to produce some useful demonstration of the exalted might of Aman, even now? Render Erestor as weightless as these leaves and lift him upon the very air." His tone had not been very complimentary nor had he seemed surprised by the Istari's protests.
"Enough! No need to be so spiteful!" Aiwendil's admonishment followed at once.
"Aye, our gifts do not include unmaking the very structure of nature solely to prevent a strain upon your back, Aragorn," groused Gandalf.
"Mayhap it is best to let him rest here at the roots of the tree. I can secure bedding and blankets," suggested Fearfaron.
"Nay, I do not want him next to this thawing mire, for it would soon saturate any number of mats and covers," cautioned the healer. "Erestor is already chilled and, with the heart's rhythm reduced by reverie, he is susceptible to falling deeper into unconsciousness if his body's warmth diminishes further."
At this they all broke out in quarrelling contention, hovering over Erestor's prone body, each claiming to have the best solution, and more than anything resembling a clutch of yard fowl fighting over a rind of bread.
"Baw!" Into the squabbling turmoil rang the Tawarwaith's furious command, loud and forceful enough to awaken the hibernating beech. The ancient tree's limbs began to groan and sway in sympathy with the wild elf's rage and Legolas laid his palm upon the bark to steady it. He had endured as much as he could of his friends' bickering and was quite weary of their attempts to intervene in his life, no matter how well-meaning was the intent of such meddling. He strode forward and the cluster fell back from his advance until only Pen-rhovan stood beside Berenaur.
"Get me some rope and then get thee to Mordor, the lot of you!" he cursed them in a voice frayed and anguished that broke against the final syllable, glass upon stone.
It was undoubtedly a shock to the group and had they not already been speechless this would have struck them dumb instantaneously. They were as immobile as the slumbering beeches and the stricken Noldo lord. Lindalcon recovered first and was off like an arrow, fleet feet flying for the carpenter's home to retrieve the hithlain cord.
Hesitantly the Spirit Hunter approached his distraught son, hand outstretched and gaze discerning. He was relieved not to be rebuffed and sighed, satisfied when his hand wrapped tightly around the warrior's upper arm in its preferred location. Nonetheless, Legolas remained as distant and withdrawn as he had been on the twelfth anniversary of the Judgement and avoided Fearfaron's scrutiny.
Lindalcon's journey was short and he returned with alacrity and the required item. With consolidated effort and no further discussion they heaved Erestor up, having tied the rope round his chest and under his arms. Legolas clung to the trunk as he was lifted and steadied him to prevent the seneschal's head from connecting with the boll.
It was not until Erestor was safely deposited on the lowest platform that anyone had taken note of the councillor's presence. It had been Legolas who made the discovery, serving cutting recognition upon Iarwain from his cross-legged position next to his insensible mate.
"What do you want?" he had demanded, rising. "You are not welcome here. In fact, let all the populace know this place is never to be approached without my specific invitation, in advance, to do so!" Somehow having this pompous, self-aggrandising elf witness his despair was beyond Legolas' ability to tolerate courteously.
"Forgive my intrusion," entreated Iarwain, realising he was facing Tirn-en-Tawar rather than an insignificant soldier condemned in Judgement. "It grieves me to be the one to inform you. Understand, this was meant to be a consideration, not an added hardship," he began and hesitated as the wild elf leaped from the platform to land in scarcely restrained menace before the ancient elda.
"What nonsense are you blathering?" shouted Legolas. "Do you find this amusing? Were you part of this appalling deed?"
"What?" the elder gasped out.
"Nay, Legolas, he knew nothing!" cried Lindalcon from above, desperate to forestall any additional hurtful consequences arising over his lack of judgement.
"Valar! I would never be involved in such activities," insisted Iarwain. "I am here to inform you of the resolution of the Erebor hearing that will take place tomorrow at minuial in the Chamber of Starlight. All charges are to be dismissed and the Judgement overturned," he rushed to get the words out before Legolas could insert further vitriolic accusations.
Against the background of relieved and gratified statements and exclamations from his friends, the Tawarwaith sneered at the chief councillor in derisive contempt.
"You no longer have the authority to do that," he snarled, "and neither does Thranduil. You both are mistaken in your estimation of the sort of power you actually hold. Ignorant of the facts in this matter, you have only sought to gain a more secure role in the governance of these lands, regardless of the innocents who would suffer for your selfishness. You and Thranduil are too alike for my taste! How can you stand there and speak with such arrogance, as though bestowing some beneficial grant upon me? I will tell you this: neither of you will have your way. I am the one who will decide Erebor. Begone from my home!"
Iarwain had hastily retreated, having no difficulty appreciating this explicit dismissal from the voice of Tawar, as the elves, the wizards and the mortal stood gaping in disconcerted silence at the fury emanating from the bitter pronouncement.
In the nerve-wearing, noiseless atmosphere of the Council Chamber, Iarwain shuddered a little under the impact of the memory. But for the necessity demanded by his office and his curiosity to learn how Thranduil would fare under Tirno's censure, the Elder would have remained apart from the conclusion of this trial.
The King and the Councillor stared at one another. Smooth and inexpressive faces eclipsed the deep distrust and mutual despisal that filled the space between the sets of coolly complacent eyes, one pair viridescent as emeralds, the other as pale and grey as the sky at dawn.
Predictably, Iarwain broke the staring match. With a grimace and an indistinct sound that was either a clearing of the larynx or a low-decibel expletive, he turned to confer with Fêrlass over some non-existent point or other. They examined a scroll, pretending to review the actions of the most recent hearing inscribed upon it.
Thranduil did not allow his pleasure over this minute mastery to reconfigure his countenance. He continued to survey the councillor, delighting in the discomfort he knew this would inflict upon his rival, interested over what had brought about the ancient one's manifest sense of defeat. It was not the solution to Erebor concocted by the King and his captain. Iarwain had returned from his interrogation with Maltahondo blatantly unsatisfied yet unable to come up with any way to block the guardsman's testimony.
Iarwain had to be aware, Thranduil reasoned, that the warrior was enhancing the facts considerably yet with no method for proving this he could tender no objections. None that did not involve demanding Meril appear for testimony. And he cannot validate such a subpoena without tangible evidence that implicates her. Iarwain would discredit himself and the entire Council should he make any unwarrantable suggestions of her complicity.
And draw upon him my swift condemnation. With the support of the warriors once more assured, the population would heave their elder into the Enchanted River if I so commanded!
The thought pleased Thranduil and he allowed himself the luxury of daydreaming the event in glorious detail as his narrowed, gloating leer remained upon the Elder.
The subtle sonance of re-ordering among the collected troops captured his attention, however, and he turned to see what was amiss. The healer and Meril's eldest emerged from the ranks and took up residence in the forefront of the warriors, Gladhadithen securely supporting the young elf with a protective arm about his shoulders. Thranduil was on his feet immediately and stalked across the dais to confront Lindalcon. Here was the perpetrator of his infant son's most recent episode of distressed anxiety.
"You! I would cast you into the blackest pit beneath these halls if I believed it would remedy the harm you have caused my child! By what flash of inspiration did you invent this scheme? Are you Taurant's brother or the usurper still?" he demanded in scornful and angry timbre as he towered over the son of Valtamar.
And his words were not strange to the assembly, for none doubted the bond between the former and the nascent heir.
"Far! (Enough!)" countered Gladhadithen, angling her body to create a barricade between the two, tightening her hold on Lindalcon as she felt him try to disengage. "He is punishing himself enough and Legolas has already scolded him. Cease your threats!"
"Nay, he is right; even worse do I deserve," mumbled the bereft elf, head low and shoulders slumped. Really, it would almost be a blessing to be locked away in some dark hole rather than witness the outcome of his indiscretion if the seneschal awakened and failed to recognise Legolas.
"Indeed! Mayhap some sort of corporal punishment is in order. What says the Law and Custom in such cases, Iarwain?" demanded the King.
"That shall not be! If you lay hands upon my brother, I will end your immortal life and that of any who seeks to obstruct me."
These chillingly brutal words wrung a collective and alarmed expulsion of air from the lungs of the assembled Wood Elves. As one they pivoted in a cacophonous swish and bustle of leather-shod feet compressing stone, swirling garments rifling the air.
Legolas stood in the open archway, Fearfaron and Aiwendil at his back.
The forest champion did not tarry there long and the crowd rapidly divided as he moved through them straight to Lindalcon. Without preamble he reached for the guilt-ridden youth and pulled him from the healer's hold, linking both arms around his back and hugging him tight.
"All is forgiven if you can pardon my cruelty on tinuial last," Legolas whispered and exhaled a gratified release of tension as Lindalcon's arms closed round his waist with desperate pressure.
"Valar! I do not fault you for those words!" the broken declaration seeped between Lindalcon's jolting sobs as he struggled to contain the outpouring of emotion.
But the youth could not prevent his tears and leaned his head against his brother's shoulder, astounded to feel the comforting pressure of Legolas' hand soothing up and down his spine as nondescript murmurs in placating tones met his ears. Lindalcon truly believed he had caused Legolas to hate him. The confrontation at dusk had borne the marks of finality and but for the healer's interference he would have departed the city that night.
After the Chief Councillor's rapid departure from the glen, the small collection of folk that comprised Legolas' family had remained stiff and still in awkward indecision. Confounded as to how to solve the dilemma, their eyes moved in rapid and brief inspections of the wild elf, his sleeping mate, each other, and the floor. Dealing with Legolas' macabre mourning was not a simple task, for everyone was now profoundly aware of the truth in Lindalcon's assessment of the archer's manner in such situations. No one wished to provoke him beyond the thin boundary separating his sorrow from its violent expression.
Fearfaron had finally found his resolve and hastened to get down but by then Legolas was already climbing back up and soon stood among them. The carpenter surveyed his adopted child with tribulation in his heart. Never had he seen Legolas in this dark a frame of mind, not even when he had threatened Thranduil with Caranthir's dagger. Searching the fiery gaze for the elf he knew and loved, he found instead a fearsome feä more reminiscent of the rotten pith of Thranduil's icy heart. The Spirit Hunter had shivered in spite of himself and impulsively reached for and squeezed Legolas' arm tightly.
"What can I do to help you?" he had whispered.
"Nothing."
The word was flat and the gravity of the two syllables crushing. Beneath its weight the fragile shoots of hope and happiness so newly sprung must surely perish.
Legolas had turned away as he had spoken, pulling free of his father and leaning to take up the hithlain cord again. Grabbing his mate under the arms, he had dragged him across the floor a ways, shooting Lindalcon a murderous glare when the younger elf moved to help. Once he had the seneschal positioned as he wanted, the Tawarwaith climbed to the second level and pulled him up. Repeating the manoeuvre, he soon deposited Berenaur on the highest platform. He set about inspecting the room meant for their sleeping quarters, giving no indication he was listening to the questions and comments arising from below.
"Legolas?" Aragorn had queried in concern. He knew not how to reverse the effects of the dunking but was not one to give up and admit defeat so easily. "I will check through my healer's guide and see if there is any suggestion of a remedy there." He leaned down to secure the rope ladder in order to descend, intending to gather his pack from the fortress.
"Aye, a good plan," condoned Gandalf. "Gladhadithen, perhaps there is something mentioned in the histories of similar cases. I shall return to the stronghold and search the library archives there."
"Very well," the healer had shrugged, rather doubtful this was true for she would know of it. Still, it gives him something to do. "I shall stay, for Erestor could awaken at any time."
"Aiwendil, your assistance would be welcome, for your knowledge of herb-lore is greater than mine," Mithrandir added and thus the Istari departed from the glade, climbing down first as Aragorn stepped back from the trapdoor out of deference.
"It is not a matter of herbs and toxins, though," Lindalcon had complained. He stood dejectedly right where Legolas' balefully glinting blue orbs had halted him, subdued with guilt and beside himself with the sense of futility that filled his heart.
"How so?" demanded Aragorn, delaying his descent and peering back over the rim of the opening. "The chief symptom indicates a highly soporific and potent ingredient."
"It is not from any natural substance extracted from bark or root or leaf," asserted the Wood Elf. "It is an enchantment of the feä."
"Indeed, this is Thranduil's doing, for it was he that made the creek as it is now," Fearfaron had elaborated Aragorn's benefit. "He diverted the flow from the Forest River and created a mote of protection. In it he has suspended the souls of innumerable elves, compelling them to guard the Realm by instilling confusion and loss of memory. No one knows how it works."
"Probably not even Thranduil truly understands it," Gladhadithen added.
"In that you may be correct, though it is not so hard to comprehend," Legolas' sarcastic tone had filtered down from the high flet and they flinched to hear such acrimony in his voice. "The spirits in the water must drain away some of the life energy of the one that has the misfortune to fall in. If not drawn out quickly enough, too much is lost and the victim dies, whether he has filled up his lungs with the water or not."
The horror of this analysis silenced them a third time. Aragorn had abruptly continued his retreat and vanished from the area as quickly as he could without running, less than optimistic that his studies would reveal anything useful. Yet he refused to simply stand around waiting, conceding victory to Thranduil's curse. Elbereth! Has the Sinda ever wrought anything that was not harmful to Legolas?
Legolas was pleased to have them cease their pointless discourse. He was glad to see the Man and the Maiar go; in fact he wished they would all find someplace else to do their fussing and fretting. Too late they wanted to make sure of the facts and learn of the consequences. He frowned down at the remaining three elves still in attendance and returned to his previous consideration.
He was deciding whether to just lay out the bedding on the floor or try to secure the netted hammock properly. This was a task the new couple usually completed together, another tradition of bonding-rites, and Legolas was unwilling to do it without Berenaur's participation. He studied the furled mesh and the fluffy down-filled mattress with longing, tentatively reaching down to feel the supple luxury of the silken ticking. His eyes filled at once and he angrily righted himself, kicking the roll open and snatching the knotted web away. With a violent curse he balled it up into tangles and stuffed it into a trunk near the tree's boll, slamming down the lid.
Below, Lindalcon could not stifle his sobs as he dissolved into his fourth discharge tears.
"Urug rein!" (Orc shit!) Legolas stomped to the edge and knelt down, glaring in exasperated fury at his brother. "Can you not be silent? Must I listen to your self-pitying display in addition to dealing with this tragic excuse for a joke?
"Nay, it was no prank at all. Eighteen years in isolation and twelve years of torture were not enough to satisfy your thirst for vengeance? You are beyond the cruelty of Thranduil, surpassing Elrond in the deviousness of such a plot!"
"Legolas!" admonished Fearfaron in stunned disbelief.
"Nay, it is not so!" bawled Lindalcon. "Saes, avbedo sin pith!" (Please, do not speak these words!)
"Tirno say no more!" cried Gladhadithen.
"Ah! You are all treacherous!" the archer turned away as his irrational tirade continued. "It is so easy to see it now. Lindalcon engineered the most effective way to destroy me once and for all. Mithrandir smoothed over the hurts of the past so he had to inflict new ones. What better way than to give me someone to love and then rip up my soul by snatching him away forever!"
"No, Legolas. I did not mean that to happen!" Lindalcon pressed his palms over his ears and scrunched his eyes into a wrinkled compression of lashes and lids.
"Have you also arranged for the Galadhrim to show up and claim him so that I can witness their joyous reunion? That would just about be sufficient to prompt the dagger's use a final time. But you shall not stay and relish the realisation of your revenge. I do not want you here! Get out!"
Lindalcon was already on his way down the rope and was soon racing from the clearing toward the stronghold, the healer in frantic pursuit.
Gladhadithen had caught up with him in Ningloriel's garden and forcefully terminated his flight by tackling him to the ground. Too distraught to notice who had hold of his legs, Lindalcon had landed a couple of bruising blows to her head before her insistent reprimands brought him to his senses and he collapsed in a heap of heaving distress.
She had let him cry into the withered, brown grass until he was too exhausted to weep any longer. Then helping him stand she led him away to her healing wards, remaining by his side throughout the night, comforting, consoling and explaining the mental state that had generated Legolas' unreasoning accusations. She had assured Lindalcon un-numbered times that his brother would eventually regain his equilibrium and seek to mend the rift.
Locked in the Tawarwaith's embrace, Lindalcon was never so pleased to acknowledge Gladhadithen's wisdom as he was now. He lifted his head and disengaged enough to search Legolas' eyes, equally as shiny with bright remorse as his own. The brothers exchanged slender smiles and resumed their crushing closeness with more jubilant sounds.
"You are quick to tender pardon for one who has endangered your lover and the well-being of an innocent babe," snapped Thranduil, well aware of Tirno's negation of his authority but cautious as to how to re-assert it. "All night has Taurant wailed and fretted over yesterday's stressful events. Does your magnanimous behaviour indicate Elrond's seneschal is free of the enchantment's deleterious effects?"
"It does not," Legolas loosed himself from Lindalcon's clasp and passed the younger elf into Fearfaron's care. He boldly faced the woodland sovereign. "Berenaur has not awakened."
Behind him the talan builder shushed the younger elf's anguished groan and the crowd mimicked Lindalcon's dismay in disjointed murmurs of regret and remorse.
"Whatever the outcome may be," Legolas resumed his address, "it is you who provided the means to create this misfortune. What makes you certain this is what has affected the infant? What of your own part in Taurant's despair?"
Now an expectant tension permeated the gathered elves and a ripple of uneasy whispering rolled through the throng. They wondered if the King would choose the moment to publicly recognise the fallen archer or punish him for such insolence.
"Take care," warned Thranduil. "This hearing is meant to conclude in a solicitous manner where you are concerned. Nonetheless I will not suffer your imputation."
"Will you not?" Legolas' whole demeanour was mocking in its presentation of exaggerated surprise. "It is you who must tread cautiously for command of this trial is no longer in your grasp."
"Peace!" called Iarwain and moved to flank Legolas. He reached out, intending to physically turn the Greenwood's champion toward him and found his wrist clamped in Legolas' painfully tight fist-hold.
"You are not permitted such liberties," he hissed and shoved the Councillor's arm away.
Then Legolas stepped up onto the dais and placed himself close enough to the Sinda Lord to feel the vaporous moisture of his every exhaled breath.
Continued.