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Feud	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 27185 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
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Feud

by erobey

http://www.feud.shadowess.com

http://www.livejournal.com/users/tawarwaith/

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/tawarwaith/

unbeta'd

A/N: Calenharn, it has been a long wait, but here is the chapter promised so many months (a year?) ago!

Tangadad Buiad [Establishing Allegiance]

The Tawarwaith watched them go with only moderate misgivings over their plans, slightly uneasy due to the disastrous result of the previous scheme generated by his surrogate family.

But Fearfaron was not involved in that; he will ensure the outcome of this project is as amicable as the talan he built for us.

The thought made Legolas smile, recalling that he had yet to secure the hammock, deciding it was the first task to undertake upon returning to the glade.

Well, second, perhaps. he revised, indulging a vivid waking dream of capturing the seneschal's sensuous lips in a kiss so deep and long as to make him swoon. The vision held him spellbound several moments before reason intervened, reminding that if he did not acquire a suitable ring and leave the stronghold, never would this delightful scene come to pass.

He turned from the arched exit and marched purposefully through the open iron-work portal into the massive treasury, curiosity overcoming every other consideration for a moment. Save for Thranduil, no elf had been within the guarded caverns; not even bearers toting new acquisitions made it beyond the vestibule for the King catalogued his goods personally and trusted no one. Even Talagan was not permitted within the vaults.

Legolas stared at the ranks of rugged oaken shelves, befuddled as to where to start his search. How would he find rings within this gargantuan haul of wealth? He wandered amid the aisles, peering into boxes and bins, and was soon diverted by the magnificent collection of swords and knives, armour and shields and helms all brightly shining and free of dust or rust.

As if someone cares for them with diligent regularity.

And that this person could only be Thranduil struck him as amusing, for he could imagine the mighty ruler on bended knee, wielding a rag and polishing paste, scrubbing away at the prized possessions. A snort of jeering laughter reverberated off the walls and Legolas moved to another section of the room.

Long mahogany cases, four in all, stood closely side by side to one another at the very back of the immense cave and to these the Tawarwaith drew near. Each one held eight drawers that spanned the width of the cabinets yet were shallow in depth. He pulled one open and gave a low whistle of astounded appreciation, for the bin was lined in creamy silk and packed with jewellery of exquisite craftsmanship adorned with all kinds of gems.

Rings and bracelets, necklaces and belts, coronas and circlets ranging in size from that which might fit an elfling to things only a giant of a warrior could put to use. He picked up and examined several rings with magnificently worked precious stones in glorious colours from fiery translucent red to murky, clouded, mottled sapphire. None of these were suitable for a bonding ring, however, and he shut the long drawer, wincing at its strident, rasping snap, and pulled loose the one below it.

In this compartment, likewise filled with finished gems, the stones were loose. While cut and faceted with the expert care and creative distinction for which the children of Aul� were famous, not one was set into metal of sewn onto cloth or leather. Again, the kinds were more numerous than Legolas' knowledge of the terms for such and the vast selection was carefully organised by colour, grade, and size.

He marvelled over these as well, finding it hard to set aside an oval, egg-shaped jewel exactly the hue of his mother's eyes. It was heavy and he had no idea what name the gem might be called, wondering if there were books that told these things within the stronghold library. The hard, smooth weight rolled easily against his palm, pleasantly cool, perfectly flawless and, though he had absolutely no use for such an item, Legolas slipped it into the pocket of his leggings.

In the front corner of the drawer was an oblong wooden box, simply made without carving or decoration, clasped with a loose hook and eye hasp. Its common form and humble appearance made the primitive container stand out in the company of so luxurious a gathering of coloured, ice-bound fire displayed by the jewels and his interest was engaged at once. Thranduil was meticulous and exacting in his desire for precision in all things, and this chunk of wood amid the gems was as a scrub oak in the midst of towering incense cedars.

The Tawarwaith took it up and opened the lid, drawing in a deep breath at the contents. The humble cask held a fortune in precious minerals, the relics of a legend from the First Age, proof of the verity of the ancient tale whose principals were long departed from Middle-earth, victims of the chances of fate and the greedy fingers of death. Legolas beheld the Emeralds of Girion.

He could do nothing but stare, flummoxed; he had never realised the priceless ornaments were in Thranduil's possession and wondered at this, for such infamous objects would have been a favourite topic with which to impress visiting dignitaries from foreign realms. The King delighted in story telling and would have made the history of these gems one such that it would require three days in the narration. Legolas felt a keen disappointment, for he did not know the real tale of how the gems came to be as he was certain Thranduil must.

He decided it was likely the jewels came into the Sinda Lord's hands long after his majority, probably even post-dating his commission to the Guard and assignment to Talagan's corps. For once this career had been allowed Legolas seldom returned to his rooms within the fortress. Only to visit his Naneth did he set foot in the cavernous stronghold and, while she was fond enough of riches, Ningloriel had no use for the chronology of their existence.

Yet surely she would have known if these gems were part of her husband's horde.

Legolas could not deny he felt a bit cheated, for throughout his elfling days the one enjoyable activity he had shared with his sire he had been those stories Thranduil told during formal banquets and feasts for the entertainment of guests. Wistfully Tirno pushed through the small, green stones of varying size, five hundred altogether, as bright and cheery as new leaves in spring's earliest moments. They were unbound; at what point in their history the emeralds had been freed from the delicately constructed golden necklace into which they had originally been set Legolas could not guess.

How fine these would look fixed within mithril circlets for the prince and princess of the Woodland Realm.

There were more than enough to decorate a sword's scabbard and to create another less ostentatious necklace as well. And for Lindalcon a hair clasp, and a ring and matching pendant to give to his love, whenever he should meet her. A jubilant smile lit Legolas' sky blue eyes as he snapped the lid shut and tucked the plain wooden box under his healthy arm. He would see it done, from these gems would gifts be made to mark his siblings' twenty-fifth begetting day anniversaries and for each one's Coll o Gwedh.

Humming a merry little tune he had picked up from Mithrandir during one of the Istar's earliest visits in the Wood Elf's memory, the Tawarwaith shut the repository and moved to the next case. Surmising only more gems would be discovered in the first one's remaining compartments, he set the box of emeralds on top of the cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. He found what he had been seeking immediately. Revealed within was an abundance of gold, silver, and mithril bands, each one plain and free of adornment, lining the bin the way leaves covered the forest floor in autumn.

"Ah! Herein does my treasure's token lie!" he exclaimed in soft tones of warm satisfaction.

He set about examining the rings one by one, setting aside those wrought from the purest gold of the correct size for his Berenaur's index finger. Many were inscribed on the inner surface, but this was no deterrent and in fact he deemed it a fair omen to choose a ring that had graced the hand of someone's beloved from days long past. Even if the wearer was removed to Mandos, still a true bond would never diminish, and the physical sign of such a trust would be a perfect emblem for his devotion to the Noldo Lord. And he hoped, though he dared hardly even think it, to find one that had belonged to someone tied to him by blood, perhaps even one of his uncles.

Nay, be honest within the silence of your heart at least, he chided his hesitant reluctance to admit his goal, you seek Minya'dar's own bonding ring.

With a sigh he ceased his hunt for a moment and leaned upon the solidly constructed case, feeling the strain of the last hours return as a sudden wave of light-headed dizziness swept through him. Steadying his balance, Legolas gauged the small pile of golden bands set upon the richly coloured tight-grained surface, considering if he should stop searching and choose from among these. Before he could answer his internal query, the sound of booted feet descending the spiralling granite steps reached his hearing.

The rhythm of the gait, the length of the stride, and the weight of the tread, all were familiar and recognisable in an instant. He had just sufficient time to regain his composure and stand straight before Thranduil paced through the open gates, pausing just a half-step to note the gore coated key still lodged in the mechanism of the lock before resuming, a soft curse over the loss of protection for the stash preceding him.

The King stopped, startled to see his rejected first-born there, staring in bold defiance, loathing and bitter wrath openly displayed in flashing eyes of deep indigo. His gaze travelled the elf, rigidly poised in offensive posture, instinctively prepared to meet the challenge despite having one arm bound up in a sling and a shoulder swathed in cotton gauze. Thranduil's brow creased in indignant lines of disbelief; the cast off warrior was wearing Oropher's panther skin cloak about his shoulders, clasped at the neck with the Sinda Lord's H�n�ren [Heart of Fire], a blood red ruby occluded and dark, the gift of his mate's naneth upon their betrothal.

As Thranduil was processing this visual affront, a casual flick of the Tawarwaith's wrist cast the right side of the heavy cape of plush black fur behind him.

"What are you doing here?" the King demanded, but remained just inside the gaping gates.

"I am looking for something. What do you want?" Legolas sniped back, sounding more assured than he felt. He was astounded to see the bruises and lacerations, recently treated and fading but still visible, marking Thranduil's comely features. He could not hide his astonishment and gawked at the swollen cheek, now dark purple, and the matching round knot protruding at the temple. "What happened to you?" he blurted out.

"I will give no answer to you," countered Thranduil, one hand rising to palpate the tumescent mass carefully, slowly advancing toward the Tawarwaith. "Do not pretend to concern over my well-being. And this is my storeroom, every item within it belongs to me. You are trespassing; leave at once!"

"It is of no consequence; I have no wish to cause you discomfort by asking you to reveal who gave you such a thrashing. Yet I will stay."

"Hah! Several misguided Wood Elves attempted to avenge your injury, if you must know, and they have been dealt with appropriately. Your design to incite mayhem and unseat the House of Oropher failed. Now get out!" Thranduil, by then less than an arm's length from his first-born, flung out his pointing hand to indicate the exit.

"I have never entertained such an aim!" Legolas jumped slightly at the sudden move but recovered well, holding his ground. "Mayhap the woodland folk have grown weary of your arrogance and bigotry. And I will go when I have found what I seek.

"I have every right to be in here; we are the same blood, you and I, and do not ever tell me otherwise again. Nor anyone else, for that matter. But neither would I have you announce the fact; it is not exactly a connection I am proud about." The Tawarwaith's sneering disdain was blatant and he took a step forward to strengthen his claim.

The words did not come as a surprise to Thranduil and his lips compressed into implacable lines that emphasised his obstinate chin, which lifted even higher as he glared down on the outspoken upstart. The King was not certain which was more objectionable, hearing the child of Ningloriel demand acknowledgement or his repudiation of the Sinda's character.

"You comprehend the curse of the lock and key, good! Let it be as a caution to you; guard your words and reign in your insolent demeanour in my presence, henellon [boy child]."

"I will say what needs to be voiced and present whatever outward display of respect, or lack thereof, you have earned. How could you do something so vile to your own brothers? Do you not fear to face Oropher's wrath for such treachery?"

"I will not defend my actions to you, and of Oropher you are ignorant. Do not speak my father's name!" roared Thranduil. "And that cloak belongs to him; remove it at once!"

"Oropher of Neldoreth is my Minya'dar!" Legolas yelled back and pointed at the spot between Thranduil's furrowed brows. "He would not begrudge me its use in such a situation. Indeed, I believe he would have pummelled you unconscious for stabbing one of his grandchildren."

"Completely inaccurate! He would have struck you down himself ere you came close enough to pose a threat to me! How dare you presume to know his mind? He would not be well pleased with your penchant for violence against your own family," Thranduil snarled and slapped the accusing finger out of his line of sight.

But his eldest did not reply, instead standing mute and motionless as though a new trance had overtaken him, staring into Thranduil's fierce green eyes with an expression composed of equal parts shock and dismay. What now? worried the King and his heart gave an involuntary skip of instinctive fear for the next move the unpredictable wild elf would make.

Legolas was afforded a moment of clarity, observing his interaction with his estranged father as though from beyond his body, and the words of Fearfaron resounded in his thoughts. Memories of his Naneth engaging in such volatile encounters assailed him; such confrontations had driven him to hide in the Sentinel throughout his elfling days.

Following these unpleasant recollections, the remarks of his uncles reproached him. How would he be able to minimise Thranduil's paranoia and its accompanying isolationist policies if he continued on this path? Images of his baby brother and sister completed the catalogue of self-chastisement; the Tawarwaith realised he needed to alter the established pattern before the construct collapsed into bloodshed anew.
"Aye, Minya'dar would be appalled to have witnessed that scene. I have not been thinking very clearly since Berenaur's dunking. It is true, I deliberately bated you, was using you for my own ends." Legolas sighed and frowned as he flashed a speculative glance at his openly wary sire, but was not overwhelmed with gloating satisfaction to observe the evidence of the King's confusion.

Ai! Minya'dar would indeed be horrified to behold this scenario and Fearfaron would have dragged me out of here rather than permit a repeat of the Council Chamber episode. Nonetheless, it is bitter to beg absolution of this ogre.

"I ask pardon for the threat and the ruse; and thank you for the restraint you demonstrated in not plunging that foul dagger directly into my heart. Then you would have been guilty of a crime Minya�dar would never forgive and a surfeit of such burdens already bows your back." Legolas placed his unharmed hand against his heart as he spoke and bowed just half way. It was enough to make his head spin, however, and he swayed as he sought to regain his equilibrium.

A strong grip encircled his healthy arm and remained until the light-headedness retreated. Legolas was shocked to find he was being supported by Thranduil, an unreadable expression swimming through the emerald coloured gaze that seemed intent on piercing his very fe�. He blushed and pulled free, stepping back to make use of the sturdy cabinet to ensure his balance.

"I am surprised," Thranduil began and stopped with a shake of his head, for he was truly dumbfounded. Did Ningloriel's child just admit to fault in this fiasco and ask forgiveness? He cleared his throat and started over. "I do not wonder that your thoughts have been in disarray these last many days, even before the troubles the Noldo Lord encountered. The Erebor situation has been a trying burden for you; for all of Greenwood." He managed a tight, uncomfortable smile while his eyes reflected the quandary in his thoughts.

An awkward pause commenced.

Legolas refrained from speaking, holding his breath without realising it as he awaited the remainder of the speech. Surely that is not the whole of it. Yet he was torn, awaiting Thranduil's apology, not knowing if he could grant forgiveness to this elf though such Oropher would be pleased to see. His mother's departure from Arda replayed through his thoughts.

Because of Thranduil's callous demands she is gone.

His uncles' long centuries of torturous enslavement also demanded repentance, yet no further words fell from the monarch's lips. Irritation made itself evident, collecting in a controlled scowl that marred the Tawarwaith's mild features as he exhaled a disgusted sigh from his nostrils.

Thranduil caught his breath, watching this particular arrangement of facial muscles transform the youthful countenance before him. It was Ningloriel's face, ever mocking him with the uncannily beauteous resemblance, yet Oropher's spirit shone through the azure orbs; the look presented was one the Woodland King knew all too well. Ever was that demeanour presented to him when he sought to discuss with his Adar the many benefits his gift of wealth bestowed and the fierce reputation his hand-picked forces earned for Greenwood's elves and their first King.

Thranduil blinked but the haunting similarity did not vanish. He coughed lightly as a means of removing his sight from the chastising glare without loss of authority, feeling distinctly the age-old disappointment Oropher always tried so hard, and failed so fully, to hide.

"Well, I came to retrieve a suitable bauble for Echuiross. She is distraught over the proofs of the insignificant scuffle your precipitate actions incited," he said with his customary haughtiness and stepped over to the cabinet holding the myriad gems.

"You allowed her to see you like this?" railed Legolas and his frown deepened into open outrage, quickly forgetting his determination to be the one among his family able to control his temper. "What were you thinking? She must have been terrified! You cannot just present her innocent mind with the notion that her Adar is vulnerable."

"It was the furthest idea from my thoughts at the time, I assure you," Thranduil barked over his shoulder as he pulled open the middle drawer and leaned down to search its contents. He made an impatient grunt. "Light!" he called, and of course nothing happened for the trapped fe�r were freed.

"Ulmo's Balls!" he hissed and shot Legolas a putrid glare as he straightened up. "I was concerned for her to come to harm from you, possessed by my brothers' spirits. What insanity drove you to risk that when you so boldly claim to have my children's good foremost in your priorities?"

"Ah! I did not know anything about them then! I am not at fault and when Gwilith learns about her uncles she will be pleased that I let them go."

"She does not need to ever find out, is that clear?" Thranduil moved closer to menace his challenger anew. "You will not relate that story, for you do not understand any of it. I am her father and I will provide the details for any history of which she needs to be made aware, not you!"

"Nay, I am not subject to you! I am her brother and if I deem it wise�"

"You are once more a citizen of the Realm and thus will follow my decrees. To defy me is treason!"

"Then call me a traitor and be done with it!"

This brought the conversation to a halt again and the pair engaged in a staring match of such intensity it was a wonder the gold in the small pile of rings on the case top did not begin to melt. Thranduil was at a distinct disadvantage, unknown to Legolas, for the Sinda warrior never could hold Oropher's disapproving gaze of unrealised expectation. He turned back to the drawer and its dazzling contents to cover his retreat from the contest.

"Nay, you take things too literally, Tirno. I will not abide interference in my decisions regarding my children's upbringing, however," he murmured with a sidelong glance to see how Legolas might take this indirect apology.

The Tawarwaith's brows shot to his hairline in surprise, having no means to comprehend how he had won this round, and he was unable to find any words to say in answer. He watched as Thranduil rummaged through the drawer, picking up this ring and discarding it, fingering that chain of diamonds and replacing it, forehead contracted in exaggerated concentration as if he was studying a report on the activity of the Wraiths within his woods.

The King was expending this effort in order to appear unconcerned when in reality he was desperately attempting to find a means to move from confrontation to conciliation. Legolas had made the initial effort and he was impressed by the degree of maturity required to openly accept responsibility for all that had taken place in the Chamber of Starlight. An improvement over the usual sulky impudence he presents. Here is the persona I hoped to gain as an ally, the brave fighter determined to salvage the glory of Greenwood.

More importantly, Taurant's fits of crying had abated and Thranduil had no wish for them to begin anew. Besides, he had already promised his daughter, twice, that Limlas would come to visit soon. She would indeed be distressed if he went back on his word. And Meril would find such a victory far too sweet. The monarch cleared his throat again.

"Why are you still down here, and alone at that?" he queried again in less a tone of command and more an expression of genuine puzzlement, and he eyed the jumble of golden bands and the little wooden box. The sight of the plain container drew him forward at once and he reached for it. "Why did you remove this?"

"These are mine," Legolas was quicker, being closer, and had the slender cask tucked under his arm in an instant, defiance blooming in his vibrant cobalt orbs once more.

"Those are certainly not your property! As I said, everything here belongs to me," Thranduil's irritation at this obstinacy reasserted itself. "You truly must learn respect; your Naneth's influence is too extensive a component of your character."

"Leave her out of it!" Legolas curled his hand into a hard tight fist and gritted his teeth, desperately trying to focus on the issue rather than allow the monarch to goad him into another acerbic shouting match. "I claim these as recompense for my years in exile, by your own decree unjustified," he was quite pleased with this notion his nimble brain supplied so swiftly, "and I have plans for their use."

Thranduil peered closely, surprised by the reply, but found it difficult to counter. He wondered if Mithrandir had informed his rejected heir of the means by which those gems had come into his horde. Nothing could he discern but Legolas' determination to hold onto the emeralds, however, and so he merely shrugged.

He did not care about the jewels, really; they were a reminder of unpleasant circumstances, marking the ignominious beginning of the disgraced archer's unexpected rise to power and his own near loss of the Realm to outside influence. It was fitting for the Tawarwaith to keep the dearly purchased prizes. But Thranduil's hand, already in motion, continued to the mound of simple bands and casually spread them out. He lifted a brow in sardonic inquiry.

"And these?"

Legolas' reaction, a bright flush of discomfort, was unexpected and the King struggled to contain his amazement on seeing it.

"I need a bonding band," Tirno mumbled as he ducked his head to hide the burning advent of his embarrassment.

"Ah, of course," Thranduil grimaced at the idea of the same-sex pairing, a concept he thought indicative of moral decay and a deplorable regression to a status of purely somatic desire, devoid of the commitment of genuine love. Cavorting in decadent excess with wily Erestor of Imladris, no less! The King huffed a grouchy breath and shook his head. At least I will have the satisfaction of Elrond's displeasure over losing so valued an advisor. "The seneschal has recovered?"

"Somewhat. Fearfaron believes a renewal of our bond and an exchange of the proper symbols will help him remember me." Legolas could not conceal the forlorn despair and unspoken fear underscoring this simple sentence, and frowned to know he had revealed this weakness before his father.

"I see," Thranduil studied the elf, suddenly the very picture of dejected worry, and could not help feeling he must do something to prevent further decline into grief and fading. Taurant would sense the change, surely, and suffer right along with his older brother. "The talan-builder is probably right; I have seen others recover from the Enchantment as long as full immersion was prevented. Erestor's history should become complete in short order." The look of gratified hope that suffused the Tawarwaith's eyes eased the King's mind considerably; he managed another meagre smile and returned attention to the pile of rings again.

"These are not all from warriors of the Woodland Realm; there are many here from elves of Lorien, Mithlond, and even Lindon, slain at Dagorlad. The best quality rings are not found scattered in random disarray in a drawer." He moved next to the Tawarwaith and bent to open the lowest compartment. Within was a series of small leather clad cases, some embossed with crests and family names. He gestured with his hand. "Within are such that would be fitting. Each adorned the hand of a member of a noble family from either Neldoreth or Greenwood."

Legolas stared at the open bin, outraged that Thranduil would not only steal such relics from the dead but then fail to return the treasured effects to the felled warriors' surviving kin. Still, he could not deny his amazement over being offered the premier collection from which to choose. The Tawarwaith sat upon his heels before the neatly organised boxes.

"Hannad," he said softly and registered his father's non-committal grunt. How can I get him to show me Minya'dar's ring? Legolas opened a few of the little cases, clicking them shut after only cursory examination of what was within them, and sighed.

"Are none to your liking? You have hardly even looked before discarding each in turn," Thranduil groused and scrutinised his eldest child's open displeasure with bewilderment.

"I am sure they are all fine.

"

"But not suitable for your mate? Why?"

"I desire something that belonged to my own people."

"Those are such."

"Nay, I meant my kin by blood."

"Ningloriel's folk?"

"Eru's Arse! You are deliberately being thick-sculled! You know what I mean! The Noldor mark one's lineage through the father's bloodlines; I would have proof of mine to give Berenaur." Legolas stood, angry and red-faced, and turned away, stalking to the high shelving where he could attempt to camouflage his distress.

He realised how unrealistic his hope had been and to his utter horror felt tears collecting in his eyes. He blinked fiercely and swallowed, keeping his back to the monarch. Valar! I have made numerous concessions and still he jeers and mocks me! Why does he not take his trinket and go? His overwrought mind supplied instantaneous answer: He will stay until I leave; I must select a lesser ring. A huge sigh rocked his frame but still he did not return to the cabinet, unwilling to have Thranduil enjoy his abrupt emotional outburst.

"Calm yourself!" the Sinda Lord admonished sternly. "And watch your tongue! You charge is irrational; I am not Mithrandir and cannot read your thoughts. I have no means to understand your wishes without asking. Valar, why must you be so contentious? For the little ones' sakes, I would have peace with you, Legolas." Thranduil frowned to see the archer's shoulders jerk and his spine stiffen, for he had thought his words were quite generous.

"Again! That is three times this day!" Legolas was unprepared for this offer and the use of his name once more abused his raw nerves.

"What?"

"Make it four!" The Tawarwaith turned to face the King, unable to reign in the bilious acrimony suppressed for centuries.

"What madness is this?"

"My name! Legolas! How it just runs right out of your mouth as if you were in the habit of speaking it regularly! Does it not feel as strange to you to form those sounds as it does for me to hear them in your voice?" Legolas stormed back until he was close enough to hear the King's breathing, unmindful now of the potential tears in the burst of rage.

The King's mouth was actually hanging open, for this was obviously what had prompted the outcast's earlier bizarre fugue and likely initiated the physical attack, for Legolas could have merely snatched the key, breaking the fine chain without need to draw a blade at all. That Ningloriel's child spoke truth he realised with leaden shame; recalling the variety of insulting labels he had applied to the elfling under his protection. Anger came right on the heels of the guilt, for Thranduil felt he had been cheated as much as Legolas had been neglected. It was an uncomfortable juxtaposition of feelings.

The dilemma was unlike any Thranduil had faced since the death of his mother. Then he had been consumed with sorrow and simultaneously incited by rage, longing to cling to Oropher for comfort and overcome with rage enough to pummel him senseless for failing to protect Naneth. He had needed his father to explain why she was gone; hoped Oropher would provide the means to destroy every foul creature that had taken her away. The experienced warrior could provide neither and Thranduil's fading fe� had only refused to follow Naneth's because the heat of his anger ignited an unquenchable ferocity of purpose born of vengeance.

His grief fuelled the furnace that smelted the raw ore of his being, refined his essence, sublimated the lighter components of his psyche and distilled a formidable soul: indurate, self-righteous, and ruthless. Without ever facing death and N�mo's judgment, Thranduil had been reborn. Nay, remade and transmuted into an instrument of retaliation, an insurgent grappling for dominion of his world against its very creators. Still, the remnant of that elfling's wounded soul survived, tucked away deep within this perilous warrior, protected until his Naneth returned to claim him.
Would she be proud or would she spurn me, even as Adaren [my father] did? Thranduil knew the answer for his child-self had grown strangely loud of late.

And the woodland King would not silence this thin voice, this wraith of his initial persona. It would be impossible for he believed it was his youthful spirit, untouched by the tragedy of death, whom he sheltered at the core of his being. It was from this child that the surety of his convictions sprung. For that elfling's loss, abandonment, and betrayal were all his schemes and plans wrought, his hopes and dreams nurtured and nursed, enemies and detractors obliterated.

Everything he did and thought was designed to guard the hidden child he had never outgrown, and because the child had not matured the adult was never appeased, perpetually searching for a means to reintroduce that personality. He could not help but think of them both, his mother and his youthful innocence, lost so long ago, and found Legolas more like this internal elfling-self than he cared to admit. For within his inner-image, Thranduil held the title of Greenwood's liberator, striving to thwart the advance of Darkness and retain the autonomy of the Sindar elves, making safe the world for the motherless and mistreated among the forest folk.

That ego-flattering mirage dissipated in the Tawarwaith's presence, whisked away, smoke upon wind.

He was afforded an instant of externalisation, observing himself from beyond the carefully constructed barrier of the just guardian and noble defender. What he beheld instead was a bitter, self-absorbed tyrant, single-mindedly pursuing a phantom reality that his own cynical reason paradoxically denied had ever existed. Even Taurant was but a new medium through which to project this internal vision of personal superiority. He had been so fanatical in propagating this creed that he had failed to comprehend that walls meant to shield him from hurt and harm had instead blinded him, laid him open to manipulation and diversion of purpose.

The unwanted enlightenment evoked a dissolution of the proud crusader facade. He was no better than Elrond or Galadriel, controlling their lands through rings of power, always seeking to enlarge their influence over the rest of the free peoples. Nay, worse, for my actions serve nothing but my own glorification. Is this what the legacy of Oropher is to become? The King returned from his ruminations subdued, blocked the chimera from perception, and focused on the instigator of these disparaging revelations.

Studying the Wood Elf, scarcely more than a hand's breadth dividing them, it occurred to Thranduil that he must give answer before the Tawarwaith resorted to violence once more, for Legolas was actually trembling with the effort to contain the wrath of millennia. Thranduil drew a deep breath and lifted his right hand, intending to secure a comforting grip upon his eldest's shoulder, only to have it summarily blocked as outrage flamed higher.

"Nay!" hissed the Tawarwaith.

"S�th! [Peace] It is not my intent to do harm to you."

"All you have ever done is hurt me!" Legolas was beyond reason and a rolling wave of nausea swept over him as he realised with acute humiliation that a couple of tears had escaped despite his unwillingness to lose control. He steeled himself for the scoffing laugh and acidic derision the King was sure to direct upon him, furiously dashing away the betraying moisture from his cheeks.

"Aye," said Thranduil barely loud enough to be heard. "I am a fool, but more so cruel. You were but a child; it was none of your doing, the machinations of Ningloriel and Elrond."

Prepared for denials and insulting derogation, Legolas gasped in disbelief, shaking his head, and the confession only fuelled his ire. How dare he try and mitigate the results of his disregard so late, so ineffectually? He would placate me with polite words stripped of their meaning, just to spare himself the recount of his sins! His limited control slipped away completely; the only means he knew to prevent dissolving into hysterics was to unleash his anger. He launched into a bitter, acrimonious tirade.

"Cruel? You are despicable! An Orc would not behave so basely! You should have believed her! How could her word be less honourable than that Noldo Lord's?" He raised his fist to strike out and the box of gems clattered to the ground. The noise halted his assault and with a shout he inflicted the blow upon the case beside him instead even as Thranduil raised his hand to fend off the attack.

"She never lied, not ever! Whatever she did that was not one of her flaws and you should have known this! No wonder she turned to another if you did not even bother to learn the least bit about her nature!" Frantic to stop, Legolas could not, and his eyes, wild and bright with unhidden self-disgust, revealed this to Thranduil.

"Balch? [Cruel?] That is but a word! How can you sum centuries of cold hatred to such a small bland sound so�so�succinctly? With such nonchalant indifference? Ai Valar! You should have had me killed! You should have made Talagan throw me in that bloody river you created for then I would never have known anything."

"Enough, Legolas, enough! Do not say such things!"

"Nay, to destroy me then would have been a kindness and that was beyond your capabilities! You made Naneth and me bear the burden of Elrond's scheming and now you refuse to hear of it?"

"I admit my fault, only be calm!"

"It is not enough! How can you try to pacify me thus? I want her back! Can you do that?"

Thranduil was alarmed, not knowing what to expect next nor how to dam the river of misery, a reservoir filled over a lifetime of seclusion, scorn, and abuse, breached and pouring forth at last. He wished for the threatening forest warrior to return for this elfling in the throes of emotional breakdown was far more frightening. Soldier's ways he understood, but this child's misery was too like his own to bear witnessing. This is far worse than dealing with Ningloriel.

"Think of what this will do to Taurant," he urged, "for all that befalls you grieves him as well." Spontaneously he grabbed his eldest by the biceps and gave him a jarring shake.

Legolas flinched and wrenched free, emitting a soul-broken howl of both pain and regret, and sank down to the floor. He folded up next to the case, collecting up the emerald-bearing box, and leaned against the sturdy furniture as he cradled his injured shoulder's tightly bound arm. But he spoke no further and gradually regained command of his shuddering breathing, eyes shut to prevent looking upon the King's face, for the worry he had glimpsed there raised another sensation for which he was not prepared. A sharp stab of angry jealousy over the reference to his baby brother's welfare flowed through his veins and startled Legolas right out of his ranting tantrum.

I do not wish Thranduil to care for me; I wish him to leave me alone! he lied.

Thranduil passed a quaking hand over his forehead, horrified that he had broken his word so soon and brought the injured elf more pain, Is my resolve so shallow? though he could only comprehend the physical manifestation and knew not the wound his stated preference for the youngest child had inflicted.
"I cannot think," he confessed aloud, "What is required to mend this?" he began quietly and immediately was seized with an idea he was certain must lift the Tawarwaith's flagging fe�. "Echuiross wishes to see you and has invited you to tea."

Legolas did not speak or raise his eyes, remaining crouched in a protective huddle, head resting on knees drawn up to shield his broken body.

Thranduil�s brain chugged, as he stared around aimlessly, running a hand over one of the long thick plaits trailing against his chest. His vision rested on the scattered rings still strewn over the cabinet's surface. Another flash of insight broke through his confusion and he hastened to the last of the four cases. He eased open the top drawer and took from the items there a square wooden container inlaid with mithril in an intricate design of oak leaves within which was worked his own name.

The box had been commissioned by Oropher and within had been the Sinda Lord's gift to his youngest child on his twenty-fifth begetting day anniversary: a magnificent opal set in a mithril buckle to replace the plain one adorning his sword-belt. This item was not currently within the box, however, and almost eagerly Thranduil knelt and held his gift out to his rejected child. But Legolas still had his eyes shielded and the monarch sighed dramatically in hopes of gaining the distraught elf's attention.

"Here; see if this will serve," he coaxed. Still no indication was given that his words were heeded. "Legolas, I cannot undo anything that has happened to you. I have been trying to restore your life as much as possible by lifting the banishment and the Judgment, yet you resist and defy me at every turn."

"It is for Taurant, not me, that you have undertaken this change." Morose and petulant woe suffused these muffled words spoken against the elf's leather-clad thighs.
That tone more than the words stunned Thranduil, for he was unprepared to hear such a note of envy surround Legolas' speech. He frowned, for he could not pretend to harbour for Legolas anything like the affection he felt for his newborn heir. I shall be doing well to replace disgust with irritated disapproval. He experienced an even greater shock upon comprehension that this described the highest level of affirmation he had ever experienced from Oropher. Another disgruntled sigh escaped.

"Aye. Yet we share this goal, do we not? You would bear much to ensure his, as well as Gwilith's, future happiness. Would you not?"

"I did not say otherwise."

"Yet what I ask is not something that will be a hardship; not this time. Take this." Again Thranduil held forth the elaborate box.

"What is it?" Legolas opened his eyes to stare at the ornate little container resting on his Adar's palm, but did not reach for it.

"It was my father's, your Minya'dar's." Thranduil would never have believed he could so urgently hope for Ningloriel's child to accept a gift from his hand, yet he was consumed with impatience, willing the reluctant elf to take the object from him.

Legolas could not deny his wonder any longer, considering what sort of jewel his grandfather, not known for love of riches, would have cherished so highly and whether it was set in a clasp or a ring, for the container was too small for other options. Tentatively, he stretched his fingers for it and flashed a quick peek at the King's face.

The air of giddy anticipation displayed there was a unique expression for Thranduil to direct at him and Legolas fairly snatched the box up, settling into a more comfortable cross-legged posture to investigate the contents. Without further hesitation he lifted the top and stared at the simple ring lying on the blue velvet padding.

"My Naneth had it made for him, so Oropher told us. She had picked him out when she was only an elfling, it would seem, and informed his mother that Oropher and she would be bound as soon as she was of age. It happened just so, according to him. See the inscription? It is a good omen and not one that marks the ring as another's so badly."

Legolas was amazed, for he had what his heart had so desired after all. He took the heavy golden circle out and turned the band to see the words inside, finding just a single one: 'Uir' [Eternity.] He smiled to read it and stood, slipping the ring into his pocket where his fingertips brushed the robin's egg stone. This he drew out and presented on his palm to Thranduil, who had risen as well.

"Hannad, H�ren Adar. [my Lord Father] For Gwilith; I am sure there is a story for this one she will like."

Thranduil took the gem and watched his oldest child dart through the wrought iron barrier, amazed that someone prostrate in sorrow only seconds ago could move with such speed.

TBC.
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