Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Feud	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 27233 -:- 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
- 68
- 69
- 70
Feud

www.feud.shadowess.com

By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com

Beta'd by Sarah AK

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

A/N: If you missed the chapter "Pondering Difficulties…" (Chapter Twelve on the Feud site) that is where we learn about Elrond's family abode in Lorien, in case you were wondering. Due to error on my part, that chapter was missing from the initial list on some sites!

Chapter 63: Tiriathach? [Will You Look?]

Namië and Nirmë cantered under the boughs of the first scattered clusters of Mellyrn trees, crossing the unmarked borders of the Golden Wood just as Anor passed her zenith on the day of the convening of the Council of Erebor. Splashing noisily through the shallow ford of the Nimrodel and into the shelter of the elysian weald, the stallions carried themselves with intrepid daring, necks arched imperiously, manes adorned in tri-toned streamers undulating with the rhythm of their waltzing gait. Bright in the subdued gilded glimmer of the woods shone the white stars upon their brows, for their forelocks were trimmed short between pertly pointed ears trained first ahead, then behind, then side to side, and back again.

The lyrical jingle of the rings of mithril mail upon their legs sang an understated and soothing melody fair to discern by all save Orcs, for whom the sound was a precursor to death, and upon the faintest tinkling of the silvery links the demons fled in terror. If today the ringling song had the air of a jaunty jig hidden in its bell-toned resonance that was to be expected. Any hint of fatigue the long journey may have given the horses was forgotten; they were at home on familiar paths and their spirits rose in anticipation of green hay and a thorough rubdown.

Into the Naith of Lorien, single-file, rode Elladan and Elrohir, youngest leading, oldest guarding the rear, unchallenged and unchecked as only Lords of the land would do, black hair lifting and tumbling behind them in the play of the gentle breeze, long cloaks flowing down their backs to drape upon the chargers' flanks. The song of a lark preceded them, clear notes flying ahead up high in the branches, proclaiming their approach. The twins smiled for no bird's calls were these, they knew, but rather the clever signals of the Galadhrim heralding the return of their Lady's kin.

The brothers steadied their eager mounts as the war-steeds headed with graceful purpose straight to the opulent talan of Elrond of Imladris. There Elladan drew abreast of Elrohir as the stallions slowed to a trot and then halted next the winding white stair at the mighty tree's base. In synchrony the pair dismounted, slipping to the ground on opposite sides of the horses, and each gave a playful tousle to the up-pricked ears of their respective chargers, murmuring thanks and dismissing the equines to partake of much earned oats and grooming. A single glance conveyed between the twins how much they envied their four-footed friends, longing for the chance to be refreshed as well. They moved in accord to the stairway and raised their heads to gaze in loving welcome upon the elf awaiting there.

Descending down to meet them, long, delicate fingers of one hand trailing along the vine covered banister as the other held up the skirts of her gossamer gown, came Arwen their sister. Fair she was and legendary was the rumour of her beauty throughout the lands and while for many she was Úndomiel the Evenstar, remarkable for her resemblance to Tinuviel, her brothers knew better.

Dark were her long locks but not as black as the endless ebony the twins bore, for the golden light of Valinor danced among the gleaming strands worn loose and trailing far below her waist, for never had she cut it. Milky was the complexion of her skin and her cheeks were kissed with a perpetual bloom of rose. Full and coloured like a fine vintage wine, her lips were ever prepared to bless the world with smiles and sweet song, kind counsel and lively conversation. Eyes of hazelled brown might glitter in cautious appraisal or softly caress a careworn soul, yet sorrow veiled them always and a look of burdened weariness often flickered there beneath the perfection of her arched brows.

The same expression filled the twins' moonless midnight orbs now, for while those who knew only legends gazed at their sister and beheld Luthien reborn, to Elrohir anladaladan the likeness brought to mind was much dearer and closer to their hearts. For them, to look upon Arwen was to see the remembrance of Celebrian as she had been before the tragedy amid the snowy peaks of the High Pass, and it hurt.

In silence the trio stood still, attuned only to each other, to acknowledge it all. So perpetual was this anguish they endured, the sting of recognition and recollection within the brothers' hearts and betrayed within their eyes, the guilty apology for feeling that upon seeing her, the sorrow she harboured for instigating their less frequent visits to Lothlorien, their equal dismay for compelling her to remove to the Golden Wood thus to spare them the false image of their mother. Such a convoluted morass of emotions to confront upon what should have been a joyous reunion after a separation of over a hundred years.

Arwen's gaze, wet with dewy brilliance, darted to and fro between her brothers' and then in the same instant all three reached out and clasped one another, arms encircling, foreheads softly touching, lips bestowing kisses to six assorted cheeks blushed with high emotion. They broke apart with slender smiles and Arwen moved to ascend to the veranda but Elladan's finger touch upon her arm halted her and she knew there would be frwoe woe to weather.

"Telim farol Adar," Elrohir said. [We come seeking Adar.]

"Úsí ho," answered Arwen. [He is not here.]

"Istam," Elladan spoke. [We know.]

"Man od Erestor?" asked the younger twin. [What of Erestor?]

"Gwann gochain," added Elladan, "aladtoll hain." [They left together but neither returned.]

"Údhartha ho vi Lorien," their sister calmly replied. "An altîw tollen o ti." [Nor is he in Lorien. And no letters from them have come.]

A minute meeting of eyes between the brothers was sufficient and they embraced her again, for she might be capable of hiding her fears from others but to them her terror was as a screaming gale whipping through their souls.

"Aderthatham na chain!" [We will be reunited with them] Elrohir whispered with dark and gritty vehemence and strode off to seek Orophin and Dambethnîn, hoping for some knowledge from the pair, confident he would meet his siblings later at their grandparents' talan, and thus they parted.

Arwen and Elladan briskly paced across the leaf lined pathway in agitated haste to reach the Lord and Lady's abode. They had no need to voice the grim truth of their history. Celebrian had been found and returned to the bosom of her family, but they had lost her nonetheless.

"We saw a messenger from Mirkwood; what word from the Sinda Lord?"

"I know not, the letters were not addressed to me. No doubt Miny'adar [First-father, grandfather (Quenya)] will tell us later if there is anything important. Miny'ammë [First-mom, grandma] just sent for me to bring you!"

"Perhaps she has news of our father?"

"The summons did not mention him."

They fell silent and soon the sound of racing feet could be heard approaching from behind. They stopped to allow their brother and Erestor's bond-mates to reach them. The two Galadhrim were plainly distraught, Orophin looking as though he had just returned from battle while Dambethnîn seemed prepared to start one. The cause of the disappearances they could not supply.

The five elves did not pause to discuss what none of them could answer and instead hastened to the Lord and Lady, hoping for some comforting reassurance that all was well, trying to strengthen their souls for the opposite report.

Galadriel was waiting for them on the stairway, anxiety and distress working her features into a pensive arrangement of tight lines, and Celeborn was no where to be seen. Without speaking, the noble Lady of Light turned and led the way up the long winding stair to the interior of her lofty rooms.

The dwelling was palatial and opulently but sparsely furnished. Unlike Imladris, Lorien had seen war and the ravaging tumult of Durin's Bane. Much had been lost, and in the face of grief over those First-born destroyed in that unholy massacre, Galadriel found personal possessions rather a poor compensation. She held, instead, to what memory provided, for this was a far richer background upon which to conduct her life than the accoutrements of pomp and power could ever be.

She welcomed them to her private suite, a wide and broad platform ringing the great tree, divided into discrete chambers by the placement of silk screens painted in her own hand with the scenes and landscapes of Aman and her life there. One of these smaller sections she had furnished as a comfortable study and within this the six collected.

The room was centred around a large wrought iron brazier that stood upon squat and sturdy legs, undoubtedly made by ven ven craftsmen, designed in the shape of an opening flower bud. Within the grate no fire burned, for it was yet too warm at summer's end to need one while the sun was high. Above the firetrap amid the overhanging branches an exquisitely worked circular mesh of mithril allowed smoke to pass from the enclosed space while preventing any stray cinder or spark from venturing up into the boughs.

The metallic gauze was as fine as spider silk, meticulously crafted beyond the skill of any dwarven smith, filled with a romantic splendour surpassing anything elven hands could create. It was said that the artefact was indeed taken from the loom of Vairë, a gift unto Galadriel when she departed with the host of the Noldor. Within the pattern of the woven metal the Vala had worked an intriguing spiral of integrated symbols, emblems, likenesses and words. Yet gazing upon it but once and returning later, one would not see the same design, for the elements within the utilitarian object realigned as some things faded while others moved to greater prominence. The few privileged to view this object were awed to comprehend that this work of art was in truth Galadriel's own life foretold within the subtly shifting, shimmery strands.

Beneath the iron fire berth the smooth sanded wooden floor was carefully protected from the drying heat and scorching embers. A wide round hearth of kiln-cooked tiles, a metre's diameter, graced the planks. Just beneath and out to the perimeter of the grate the tiles were unfinished and unadorned, serving their function without additional ornamentation, revealing the beauty of the deep blue clay from which they were created. Beyond this distance each of the ceramic squares was glazed pure white and in letters of gold the genealogy of the Noldo queen was recorded, worked out from her earliest kin near the centre and reaching almost to the edges of the circle. At this outermost rim were blank white tiles, waiting to be taken up and inscribed when the next generation of the bloodline would be born.

Grouped around the brazier was a ring of low, footed divans, luxuriously upholstered in damasked satin dyed a shade of blue seen only in the unending ice of Helcaraxë. These seats were sumptuously ample and two could easily sit with comfort while one could lounge in relaxed delight. Between these benches and the grate were three arcuate tables constructed of the salvaged wood of fallen Mellyrn. Of a height to accommodate the graceful couches, the legs of these stands were carved into openwork filigree such that the supports seemed more like an interlocking puzzle of river reeds than solid lumber.

With a graceful gesture of her long fingers Galadriel bade them be seated as she walked to a cabinet near the tree's trunk and began preparing refreshment. She returned to them bearing a silver tray, and upon it was a sapphire coloured long-necked decanter filled with dark lilac liquid, cups, and two rolled parchment scrolls. She set this down and surveyed her guests carefully, hands clasped lightly at waist level before her.

Elladan and Elrohir were seated side by side, palm against palm with fingers entwined to form a single tight fist that rested on Elladan's left knee. Orophin and Dambethnîn occupied another seat, arms wrapped all around each other as Dambethnîn rested her forehead upon her beloved's shoulder. Arwen sat alone, straight-backed and deadly pale, while restless fingers fidgeted in her lap worrying the fabric of her skirt. Galadriel went to sit beside her and encircled her granddaughter with a comforting arm as she smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

"There is little need to tell you the news is not of joy for our family, our people," she began and Dambethnîn sobbed. "Peace, they are both alive and relatively unharmed!" she added hastily and everyone's shoulders lifted and fell in relieved exhalations.

"That is well, yet much sorrow covers your reassurance, Miny'ammë!" coaxed Elrohir. "Please, it is best not to drag it out."

"I hear you, Inyo," [grandson] Galadriel smiled sadly and bowed her head in assent. Yet she reached out and poured everyone a portion of the violet wine before she would continue. When all held a cup, she lifted hers and met each set of eyes firmly. "Valar Valuvar!" [The will of the Valar be done!] she said and drank. The others murmured the prayer automatically and likewise sipped, except for Elladan who quietly set his cup back on the table, stubborn defiance written upon his tense features.

Galadriel sighed and reached for the papers.

"Here are two messages carried to us from Mirkwood. The first does not affect us overly much yet it is still worthy of notice. Eru has blessed the Woodland King with a new heir to replace the disgraced prince."

Instantly Elrohir snatched at the paper she was holding up and opened it out, a look of dismay on his fine features.

"Though that defeats any hope of re-instating the first-born child, perhaps it is not so unkind a fate. From the portents I have seen, the archer was never destined to rule the Greenwood as its King. He was meant for something else, and I cannot tell if his fall has taken that future from him or no. It is the other document which must concern us here."

So saying she read aloud the contents of the letter, a duplicate of that sent to Imladris. In silence her words hung over them as each tried to make themselves believe the sentences she had just spoken.

"That is…that is simply not possible! Adar would not be so foolish," blustered Elladan finally, his face growing dark in his rising wrath. "That Sinda has ever sought to find blame for the failings of his House by pointing to ours."

"Nay, brother, it is true," countered Elrohir calmly. "had had to go, do you not see? Ningloriel left. She abandoned Legolas to that dread Judgement! Ada went to ensure his well-being and to bring him out of there if he might."

"Enough of that, Elrohir! The archer is no kin of ours nor of any importance to Adar," Arwen's words were scathingly sharp and brittle.

Her brother stiffened at her hostility and Elladan squeezed his shoulder in soothing consolation as they shared their silent sorrow for the stubbornness of her spirit.

"What of Erestor? How was he involved in this? Where is he, my Lady?" pleaded Orophin.

"I know not the details of this undertaking, but can deduce that he was acting as Elrond's accomplice and second. However, I believe they are now parted. Elrond has contacted me and is back in Imladris but made no mention of his seneschal. Erestor is not with him."

Orophin groaned. He and Dambethnîn folded in upon each other in their distress.

"Have you spoken to Adar again since receiving the ask asked Arwen. "What does he say of Erestor? Does he know of the accusation yet?"

"I have informed him of Elladan and Elrohir's safe arrival, for he requested such some days ago without moninoning why they would be searching for him. Other than acknowledge my communication, he has ignored all my questions and locked me from his thoughts."

Elladan got up with a small exclamation of frustrated disgust and walked out to the edge of the balcony beyond the silk enclosure. Elrohir joined him and the two communed exclusively for a time.

"I do not like this," said Dambethnîn between her quiet sniffles. "If Erestor is not at Imladris, where is he? That document does not indicate he is in custody, does it? Is he in Thranduil's dungeons?"

"Valar! They would not put one of the First-born in those cells, surely." Orophin stated, but his tone revealed his lack of certainty for the claim. He knew not what to expect of a King who would condemn his own son based on battlefield errors made upon the chances of war.

"Nay, he will be fine," Galadriel assured him warmly. "I believe the real target of this charge is Elrond, and if Erestor is in Mirkwood he will be accorded proper respect. Thranduil does not use the dungeons these days, though for a time he tried tormenting captured Orcs there, hoping to learn of the plans of the Necromancer."

"What if he is not in the stronghold? What if he is lost in that dreadful Mirkwood amid the spiders and the wargs? He could end up in Dol Guldur!" wailed Dambethnîn and fresh tears flowed from her reddened eyes.

"Nay, by Eru, that will not be!" swore Orophin. "My Lady, we must go and find Erestor." Both he and his bond-mate stood, arms linked about each other's waists and eyes urgent in their pleading for Galadriel's blessing.

"We will accompany you," said Elrohir as he and Elladan returned to the group.

"Peace, this rash decision I will not allow," Galadriel cautioned and rose from her place next to Arwen. "Already Celeborn is arranging for emissaries to journey to the Woodland Realm and investigate the situation. We have conferred and decided the least volatile region in which to effect a solution to the dilemma is here in Lorien. Convincing Thranduil and his Council to come here is a delicate matter best left to diplomacy."

The less than pleased expressions on everyone's features attested to the lack of confidence felt for the success of such an endeavour.

At this lull in the conversation Celeborn entered the room and moved to his wife's side, reaching around her to lay a comforting hand upon his granddaughter's head, a soft smile in his wise hazel gaze for Úndomiel. It pained him not to behold this replication of his beloved Celebrian and he encouraged Arwen to remain amid the Mellyn. Hersencsence eased the empty ache in the ancient Lord's heart left behind by his daughter's departure. He turned next to his vigilant wardens.

"We would ask that you and your brothers lead a small contingent of warriors to escort Elrond here," he addressed the Galadhrim couple kindly. "Dambethnîn, I understand your need to be beside your bond-mate at this time and bid you accompany this guard. Nothing more can be done until I return from Mirkwood with news."

Upon this pronouncement Arjumpjumped to her feet in surprise.

"Miny'adar, you cannot be serious," she scolded. "You must not lower yourself to go to that place and treat with those barbaric elves. We should not even be considering these claims, for there can be no truth in them. My father would not be found skulking about the borders of that accursed realm with his seneschal. For what purpose would he plot such a course? There is no valid explanation anyone has advanced to me thus far that would account for such actions."

"Then where was he, Arwen, and why did he lie to us about his true destination?" demanded Elladan. "As much as I dislike the thought, I feel that Elrohir is right. Ada went to Mirkwood because of Ningloriel's desertion of her son."

"I have told you before that elf is not a subject I will even consider discussing!"

The brothers simultaneously flinched in response to her strident expression of bitter resentment.

Galadriel went to them, noting the digits interlocked once more, Elladan's left hand to Elrohir's right. She took up their melded clasp between her slender white fingers. The sight twinged her heart, for there was suddenly an overlay of fragility upon the battle hardened hands in hers. She merged her thoughts with theirs to share her love and concern.

"You will have to admit the possibility exists for this explanation to be true," cautioned Celeborn, laying his hand on Arwen's shoulder to calm her unreasoning anger. "Understanding that your Adar has flaws need not mean you love him less, child."

"Do you believe he begot that elf?" demanded Arwen crudely; eyes brightly lit in staunch defence of her sire's character as she gazed upon her grandfather. "If so, you are wrong and do not understand Elrond at all!"

"Thêl dithen [Little sister]," breathed Elrohir sadly, "it is you who refuses to confront the reality of our father's life! Ningloriel was long an important part of it, many years more than was Naneth!"

The look she turned upon him was stronger than any words she could have uttered, colder than the bitterest blast of Caradhras, packed with the centuries of injured betrayal her heart had so long denied.

"You would denigrate our mother thus? How dare you speak of her and the Wood Elf Queen in the same breath, giving over to that troublemaking inu greater stature than Celebrian of the Golden Wood?"

"Nay, that is not what I meant," Elrohir whispered and drd hid his eyes, turning to his brother in anguish. Elladan reached for him immediately.

"It is not Elrohir's fault, Arwen," he spat, angry for his brother's pain.

"Indeed, that is unacceptable, Arwen!" warned Galadriel.

"You need not wound your brother in order to shield your parents or yourself," corrected Celeborn. "Do you doubt that I love my daughter? Yet, I understand well enough what her union to Elrond was, as did she. Her refusal toogniognise Ningloriel does not mean she did not know of Elrond's mistress. It was something she was able to endure, and so must you.

"Ningloriel bore but one child: Legolas. I did ask Elrond, if you must know, and he denied paternity. Still, he was strongly attached to the Woodland Queen, and I suspect she may have wrung some promise from him to watch over her son after her departure. That would be reason enough for your father to go to Mirkwood."

Arwen's visage bloomed with two dark streaks of crimson across her pallid cheeks as she received these rebukes. Then her features just crumpled up and her body followed suit, leaving her slumped face down upon the divan as shuddering sobs broke from her and the long restrained emotions tore free in a squall of noisy tears. Galadriel was at her side in seconds, crouched on the floor gently rubbing her back, softly shushing compassionate endearments against her granddaughter's ear.

Her sorrow triggered an uncomfortable silence in which the twins consoled one another, minds and souls fused. Orophin and Dambethnîn sank back onto their divan in fresh tears of their own. Celeborn sighed and retrieved one of the cups of wine and drained it, feeling the need for something restorative to bolster his spirit. Gradually Arwen's crying abated and she sat up again, letting her grandmother tenderly wipe away the salty smear from cheeks and nose as if she were an elfling needing care for a bump or a bruise.

"Goheno nin, saes, Elrohir," [Please forgive me, Elrohir], she spoke and inhaled a deep breath to steady herself.

"Gerin úrîn o ten," [It is forgotten], her brother smiled and opened his arms to her. Arwen quickly joined him and the three siblings clutched tightly to one another a few moments to heal the rift completely.

"That is as it should be," intoned Galadriel. "To weather this calamity we must remain united, whatever has occurred."

"Please, I do not mean to be selfish," Dambethnîn said quietly to her Lord. "Yet I would beg a favour. If I must turn my feet away from my beloved's path, then at least grant me some reassurance of his well being. Will you not look into the Mirror, my Lady?" She turned her solemn golden gaze upon her queen and waited in hope for this boon.

"Worry not, we will go with Miny'adar to find Erestor for you," stated Elladan.

"Nay, you will not attend me on this journey."

"You surely cannot expect us to sit idly by while this is happening," added Elrohir.

"If you need actions to sustain your impatience, return to Imladris with the Galadhrim to be part of your father's escort. It will do him good to have you by his side at this time."

The twins turned identical frowns of annoyed resistance upon their grandfather at this pronouncement, but knew better than to argue with the venerable Lord. Their eyes joined in wordless communication and then Elrohir spoke again.

"As you wish, Miny'adar. But in that case I have also a request. Miny'ammë, will you look and learn the fate of the exiled prince?" he beseeched earnestly. "Our family is strong and whatever comes we know we have one another to depend upon. Legolas is alone and his need must be great for Ada to go to such lengths to aid him. We must ae hee he is not safe in Imladris, for surely Adar would have revealed this to you already were it so."

The Lady of Light removed herself from her family's circle to consider these petitions. She stood apart on the balcony, overlooking the fair city she protected and the people she guided. Long were the centuries behind her and far away was the land of her birth, yet it seemed to her soul that here had her heart always dwelt, only waiting for her body to join it to abide between the Anduin and the Celebrant. This was her place, her centre.

Galadriel's gaze dropped to her hands, clasped together in her customary manner, and the gleaming spark of Nenya bound about the forefinger of her right hand. The dubious responsibility had fallen to her to guard this treasure as one of the last of Finwë's line in Middle-earth. The ring more than any other trait of appearance or personality marked her as Noldorin, set apart from the Galadhrim though she was their Lady.

She had told herself it was for them she had taken it up, to keep them safe and preserve upon Arda some small piece of what the eldar were meant to represent. Yet Nenya had not saved them from the ravages of the Balrog nor did it prevent the servants of the Dark One from trying their borders or assailing travellers ere they reached Lorien's protection.

She knew it was a purely selfish thing, this ring. Like the Sylvans of the Greenwood, the Galadhrim would have found a means to survive without it, without her. {Perhaps they would have been better served had I returned with my people to the Undying Lands!} No loss of culture would have been suffered, for she did not hold illusions of the place among the First-born her faithful elves of the trees would own in Aman. Lothlorien's citizens were not renowned for advanced learning or artistry as were the Eldar in Valimar [City of the Valar in the Undying Lands].

The Mellyrn Taur would not perish either, though surely it would darken even as the forest east of the Anduin had slowly altered into the forbidding danger that was Mirkwood. This she would not allow, and here she was honest enough to admit her pride drove her desire to keep Lorien just as it had always been. As long as nothing changed, this small piece of the Music was hers to watch over and keep. Without her, without Nenya, none of this beauty would last out the Age.

{And Celeborn will never leave nor am I ready to go without him.}

Of course she would look. The Mirror was irresistible. Not for her grandson's peace of mind or the reassurance of her stalwart wardens would she concede. The Mirror was for her alone.

Through it she gleaned a sense of the shifting patterns of power playing through the song of Arda, and thus she managed to direct the energy of Nenya to ward away such changes from reaching her world. In a strange symbiosis of cause and effect, sheersterstood that the effort to divert these phrases of the song she wished not to hear altered the Music as a whole. The sense of control this lent to her psyche was shocking to her; she feared it and the undeniable excitement produced in response. Thus far she had managed not to be consumed by the sensation, and truly she felt herself impervious to any outside influence that might coerce her use of this gift.

{But for how long?} Galadriel sighed and shook her head slightly. Such morbidity did not become her and she strove against it. She would do whatever was required to prevent corruption from overtaking her and by association Lorien. {For as long as need be!} she answered herself confidently and returned to the room with a smile.

"I will look, if that will grant you ease."

Tbc
Reviews:

ff.net:

Chloe Amethyst: I, too, was glad to have someone put Elrond in his place! And Glorfindel is just the elf to do it! I agree he has a much better perspective on who is really going to be hurt by this, and it isn't Elrond. He sees his Lord as pitiable, and he is right, but he wants to make Elrond back into someone he can respect again.

I have always had a soft spot for Glorfindel, and found it so strange that he was given the task of returning to Middle-earth to serve the House of the descendants of the very half-elf he had already died to protect! I know he would never treat Legolas badly.
- 68
- 69
- 70
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Feud