Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Feud	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 27132 -:- 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
- 75
- 76
- 77
Feud
www.feud.shadowess.com
By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK. Remaining errors are mine alone.

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: I would like to thank the very kind and thoughtful reader who nominated Feud for the MPA this year! It is very touching and I feel very thrilled. We all know it won't win, it is just too long! But my heartfelt thanks to you, whoever you are!

Chapter 70: Thranduil sui Adar [Thranduil as a Father]

In dread anticipation Thranduil departed from the Chamber of Twilight and the throngs of disgruntled and dissatisfied Wood Elves. Glad he was to leave behind the tactile hostility vented in every breath and murmur among the common folk and each growling glunch shot his way from amid the warriors as they exited the stronghold. Yet as soon as he stepped within the internal hallways, the King knew there was a more urgent matter to attend than deciphering the cause of his troops' defection and his subjects' mutation from acquiescent compliance to assertive belligerence. From high in the private chambers of his new and happy home life the plaintive wails of the infant prince filtered throughout the caverns and enveloped his very soul with depression and woe.

{Why does he cry so?}

The sound was not the screech of a hungry stomach needing sustenance nor the teeth-grating squall of complaint over soiled cloths and venting gases of a nascent body. Nay, Taurant wept as though real tears must be pouring down his downy cheeks and gut-rending grief consu his his spirit. As unheard of as it might seem for an elf less than a month freed from the safety of his mother's womb, the child was beset by some malady of the heart. And his father was beside himself in anguish as a stirring of guilt besieged his conscience. This was a sound he had heard before; though intervening years had buried it under other memories.

{You were warned!}

Meril's clear and lilting voice encircled and weaved throughout the disconsolate desolation of her babe's distress, crooning a lullaby in hopes of easing the little one's burden. Within her words the strain from failing to placate the infant and the increasing frustration for her lack of maternal power over whatever was amiss in Taurant's world clung to the song as bitter cold fills the wetness of winter rain. That she was pacing across the width and breadth of the royal apartment's voluminous chambers added to the brittle tremor affecting her serenade; the short stride and choppy steps offering testimony to her fraying nerves.

{She was warned!}

Thranduil did not hasten on his way but instead progressed ever slower as he climbed the numerous steps up through the main gallery toward his lofty abode under the stony skin of Orod Im'elaidh [the Mountain Amid the Trees]. He felt helpless. Doom dogged his whole life; inescapable was his fate of wretched despair and unending sorrows. What had he done to earn such troubles?

{Well do you know! Do not play the innocent!} His interior intellect mocked in sneering disparagement and would not be silenced.

How could this disastrous destiny pass beyond him to engulf his beloved children, truly incapable of any evil thought or deed? Was the pain and torment carried in his very seed? Perhaps, if that were true, then Ningloriel's child was the first to bear the affliction of the curse. Thranduil paused upon the stairs and ground out a bitter groan of impotent regret, for it was manifest that this was not far from reality. Misdirected delusions of extant events, all products of his lax character, had marked his heart and governed his actions.

{Again, you already possess this insight! Go and see what you have wrought upon your unblemished prince! Why do you tarry in the halls? He will yet be wailing however long you take to reach his side.}

With a severe shake of his shoulders and head, Thranduil straightened his spine and lifted his drooping chin. At least let him face truth squarely and do what he might to take from his tiny heir the burden of retribution.

{Manwë hear me! Let the blame and the punishment rest where justice demands, not upon this innocent but rather on his parents. Spare my children!}

With this plea ringing through his mind the King found his legs and bounded up the remaining flights to reach his family, throwing open the door to the front parlour with vehement determination to shelter the next generation of his House from further harm.

At once he froze nearly upon the threshold, for there was Gwilwileth curled up in a soft upholstered chair, her red hued cheeks stained by tears that coursed with alarming regularity as each eye filled, brimmed, and spilled over and over. She was virtually silent, just a soft hitched sobbing accompanying her steady stream of worried effluence.

Upon seeing her Ada come through the door, the distrait elfling gave up on her efforts to be calm, lifted her watery countenance and opened out her chubby baby arms. Quivering for a moment as she tried to contain her fear and confusion, the child's lower lip quaked as she valiantly sought to suppress the building wail of utter bewilderment and fright inundating her world.

"Ada! Tauron crying an' Nana so angry! Want Lind'on! Want Limlas! Where Lind'on, Ada, where?" the barely comprehensible flow of speech burst out amid her sobbing cries and shaking frame.

In seconds the King had reached his daughter, scooping up the child in sheltering arms, clutching her with protective desperation next to his laden heart. He shushed her gently and rocked Gwilith in his clasp as he sank upon the chair and attempted to comfort her. In his pocket he found a handkerchief and pulled it forth to dry her nose and cheeks.

"Ai! There now, there now, Echuiross [Early Spring Rain]. What is this distress? Lindalcon is well; he has left the Council Chamber on some errand, that is all. Naneth is not angry, hêniell nîn [my girl-child], she is only wearied by concern for Taurant. Who is Limlas, sell dithen [little daughter]?" He asked this even as his inner self scoffed, asserting that he was fully aware.

"Legolas."

Gwilith confirmed his assumption and unconsciously his hold around her tightened as the familiar disgust arose within him. That his outcast heir had somehow managed to find favour with the common folk and the lower ranks of the Wood Elf warriors was one thing. For Ningloriel's son to win the affection of his daughter was something that burned in his gut like wine turned to vinegar. He felt Gwilith whimper under his grip and sighed as he relented, softly patting her curling chestnut tresses in commiseration.

"I am sorry, sellen [my daughter]. He is gone from the stronghold with his friends. I do not think he will be sleeping within the walls any longer now that he is healed of his injuries. His home is with Fearfaron." Thranduil tried to answer as pleasantly as he could, not wishing to upset his elfling further.

"Limlas not stay?" The undisguised confusion and hurt in the flutey, bird-song voice actually made Thranduil cringe. Her tears started anew with greater force and she gave forth voluble expressions of her petulant distress noisy enough to drown out her brother.

"Gwilith! Gwilwileth, do not carry on so! He is a grown elf and has a home of his own. It is not that he wishes to be away from you, hênen [my child]." It seemed to the father that his children were holding an unofficial competition to determine who could holler louder, for surely Taurant's cries increased in amplitude almost instantly.

"Want Limlas here!"

"Shh! Do not fret, you may see Tirno again. He may come to visit," even as the words left his lips the King's eyes grew huge in disbelief over what he had just promised. The fact that his daughter's tears diminished to a trickle and her unbridled ranting was replaced by a small smile and a glimmer of her usual lively cheer only minimally ameliorated Thranduil's dismay.

"When, Ada?" Gwilith demanded.

"I do not know exactly, hên vell [dear child]. Perhaps when next Lindalcon takes you to the gardens to play. I will speak to Nana first and we shall decide."

"Really? How good of you to include me in your planning!" Meril's words were hard to discern over the woeful bawling produced by her son, but she was confident Thranduil heard.

She stood in the archway of the second room, her private study, with Taurant pressed against her bosom as his baby body trembled under the unleashed feelings his small frame was so desperately attempting to vent. She jiggled him gently as if this artificial jostling might help minimise the jarring caused by his unending sobs and tearful keening. The glare she sent her husband was surpassed only by the acidic character of her vocalisation.

Thranduil flinched at both and shifted Gwilith from his lap as he stood.

"Hervessen [my wife], allow me to take Taurant. You have consoled him all day." He held out his arms and offered her as gentle a smile as possible under the stress of their ragged nerves. "You see to Gwilith and find some solace in the gardens; take tea there together. I will try to calm our elfin prince."

Meril scowled deeply. If Thranduil thought she would ignore his offhand remark and have the outcast's acceptance in her home remain unchallenged, he was mistaken. {I will make certain to apprise him of that fact.} She was, however, beyond weariness and truly needed to be free from her babe for at least a few hours to regain her own strength and composure. Carefully she transferred the inconsolable soul over to his father's waiting armd wad watched as Thranduil adjusted Taurant into a comfortable position, cradled in the crook of his elbow, so he could peer down into the scrunched up, puffy, red-blotched, completely miserable little face.

Taurant seemed not to notice the change in parental possession and continued screaming and hiccuping every breath that entered and left his lungs. Squeezed down into expressive lines of utter desolation in a visage seemingly composed of vivid red skin and a hugely gaping mouth, the green eyes were unwilling to acknowledge his father. The infant's small hands were wrapped tight around his fingers and flailed out now and then as his plump legs kicked together in frog-like spasms.

"Ahh! Glîbrog, Glîbrog! Tirio nin, tirio Ada! [Ah! Honey-bear, honey-bear! Look at me, look at Daddy!]" The Sinda Lord accompanied this ridiculous demand with the bizarre demonstration of extending his tongue to touch the tip of his nose as his dark green eyes crossed to focus on the maroon muscle's progress. This had no effect and so he tried again. "Tirio nin, Taurant! Tiro sí, penlend! [Look at me, Taurant! Look here, Sweet One!]"

The small face unfolded as the mouth shut and the eyes were unveiled. Two enormous orbs of emerald seemed to suddenly fill the quieter countenance as the elfling locked his tear diluted vision upon his sire.

A bright smile lit the King's eyes, which he sharor aor an instant with Meril, and he immediately tried the one look sure to work whenever Gwilith had become unwieldy in her babyhood. Thranduil puffed out his cheeks into big round balls separated by lips pulled into a ridiculous pout that pushed up to touch his elegant nose again as he opened his eyes wide, crossing them. He added in a peculiar sound that issued from his nostrils, since his mouth was sealed, reminiscent of a cricket or a frog. Each time he made the noise, he would suck his cheeks back to normal and then puff them full again.

Taurant stopped crying and just stared.

In spite of her wrath, Meril's eyes softened as she watched the Sinda Lord making faces and odd chirpy noises to try and distract Taurant out of his sorrow. Beside her, Gwilith bubbled out a giggle and pointed at her Adar.

"Ada be the cabornîf! [frogface]" she laughed and glanced at her Nana.

Like Lindalcon, Meril found her daughter's exuberance hard to resist and she shared a genuine grin of delight with her daughter.

"Aye, Adar is an old mundgabor [bullfrog] sometimes, is he not?"

Thranduil uncrossed his eyes long enough to send her a soul smile through them, then returned at once to his demonstration of the depths of paternal love expressed in terms of his silly pantomime.

Meril and Gwilith left, passing into the interior rooms and thus to the balcony stairs, the girl chattering away at her usual level of irrepressible intensity. Her mother's calm and noncommittal answers gave proof that she realised the child merely needed to talk away her raw emotions. Their voices diminished as they descended down into the gardens, and soon Thranduil could hear them but faintly. He relaxed his facial muscles into their normal construction and observed his son's reaction to that.

Taurant looked back from those clear intelligent eyes of his and made a few more minor hitching sighs as his small form finally released the strain from hours of unabated shrieking. His mouth opened but this time no ear-slicing scream issued forth, only a tremendous yawn that stretchhe dhe diminutive lips, a thin, red rim round a great, crimson cavern. The involuntary intake of air seemed to go on for eternity until at last his lungs blew out the mighty breath in a wispy sort of mew. A couple of blinks of his lavishly lashed lids preceded the sudden concealment of his penetrating green gaze. His thumb found its way inside the over-worked mouth as the other hand latched onto his father's long hair. A half-hearted sucking ensued and this was followed by a sudden spread of warm wetness at his crotch as his diminutive body completely relaxed into deep repose.

Thranduil laughed softly and carried his child to the nursery to change the damp cloths and the babe did not even stir during the procedure, lying in limp exhaustion with shut eyes the while. Dry and redressed in a long gown of spun flax, the infant prince did not wake when he was again lifted up and tucked against his father's chest. Thranduil moved to the rocker and settled in, establishing a soothing rhythm that was as much a comfort to himself as his slumbering son. The Sinda Lord began to hum the melody of an ancient lullaby as he rested his cheek on the fine mass of silky hair and carefully rubbed his fingers against the prince's back.

{Taurant is so very small!} Of course he had noted the same with Gwilwileth, but the concept was just as jarring now as it had seemed then. How would this tiny thing ever become an independent elf? So vulnerable was this beginning of life, so easily thwarted could it be if the strength Taurant required was not poured forth from his parents' feär into his. It was as vital a nourishment as the milk he demanded seemingly unceasingly from Meril's breast. The child's distress this day had proved this more than any word of lore or advice from scrolls on child rearing ever could. He was apparently reacting to his mother's uneasiness over the events in the Council Chamber.

The image of the Tawarwaith, glaring in bright blue rage as he boldly asserted his kinship to the new prince and the outspoken woodland princess, invaded these musings. Thranduil tried to recall what Ningloriel's child had been like at Taurant's age, but of course he could not summon an image for what he had never seen.

{Heard him, though, in those early days. Surely then he generated more noise than in all the years after speech became his tool to use.}

Who had cared for the child he had never considered, yet this day he wondered, for surely it was not Ningloriel. While she had seemed to like the idea of a child to call her own, the actual practice of raising one was not within her command. Too much mess and loss of rest and responsibility was demanded in such a task, none of it focused on herself.

She had doted on him intermittently once he was older and in control of his bodily functions. The King seemed to recall the garden was their haven during the elfling years. Or rather it was hers and she would let him spend time with her there. {Did she ever sit thusly and hold her son as he dreamed?} It did not seem likely, given what he knew of her nature, yet she must have done in the first days, before the shrieking started. Then she had fled to Lorien, as she always did when bored or stressed, and was gone for two loa.

And Thranduil remembered the terrible argument between him and Ningloriel that preceded both actions. His refusal to even look upon the newborn had initiated her flare of rage.

The infant's screaming had continued on and on ceaselessly, night and day, and Thranduil recalled his vocal threats to strangle the babe if it was not silenced. He had demanded the healer deal with it, and told her to employ some herbal drug, he cared not, as long as he need not hear the crying any longer. How Gladhadithen managed he had never asked, but the wailing had ended after two unbearable months of lamenting tears. The child, and the elf he grew to be, was amazingly silent after that.

{Easy to overlook and forget about, if that is what one wished, as did I.}

What this early deprivation might render upon an elf he had met in living evidence already. The son of Oropher comprehended the irony that in large part he had contributed to the creation called the Tawarwaith whether the elf was of his seed or not.

{But can I deny he grew from my germ? I would have confirmation, yet there is no one to give it.} He was lying to himself again. There was means to gain the proof but he no longer truly desired it. The carpenter's words were ringing soundly through his soul. {'Elrond's actions only make sense if Legolas is yours.'} Fearfaron had been just in expressing deriding scorn for Thranduil's lack of compassion for a virtual orphan within his House.

Since that conversation the concept had taken root, slowly insinuating its choking runners and creeping vines throughout the fertile furrows of his convoluted mind while the more stubborn parts of his brain refused to let the insight supplant his familiar, habitual disdain for the outcast. Yet he had come to accept the former prince was his child. Embracing that notion meant acquiring responsibility for what had been lacking in the Tawarwaith's childhood. Unwilling had he been before but Taurant's despair showed him the path he must take if he would spare his youngest the bitterness endured by his oldest.

Thranduil cuddled his infant heir closer as if to shield him from the penance owed for this neglect.

{The source of Taurant's upset; did the babe sense the danger and peril I faced in the room below? Did he feel the anger of our people turning against us?}

Thranduil, however, knew this was not the reason for his son's distress. The cause for the new-born's unrelenting anguish was wound around his mother's betrayal of his older brother, for Taurant had been in the archer's arms, looked into the blue eyes. It was all part and parcel, the past catching up with the present, laying siege to the prince's future. It was the Tawarwaith for whom the infant wept.

{Or rather, for the enmity from the step-mother, the conflict between the forest champion and his father.} The King stopped rocking at the import of that phrase. It was the first time he had mentally recognised the elf as his own without hesitation. Meril's false claims he shoved aside lest the uneasy bewilderment this would bring also engender the babe's renewed ranting. Best to handle that difficulty when Taurant was snugly tucked in his cradle behind the closed nursery door, then he would speak with his mate in private.

{And what of Tirno's thoughts on it all? Does he look to me as his progenitor?} The idea seemed preposterous. It was no surprise that this elf would despise him; threats and vengeance were what Thranduil expected.

And yet it was confusing. Legolas had so vehemently stated his claim of a brother's bond in blood to both Taurant and Gwilwileth then had drawn a dagger to threaten the sire the three must share if the kinship was true. Next he reversed himself and defended the King's actions regarding Erebor, demanding the Judgement be left intact, even when the carpenter would haveotheotherwise and Lindalcon revealed the depth of his distress over the situation.

{Fool! It is not you he supports, but the father of his brother and sister! Their benefit, not yours, defines his actions. He told you as much.} The interior persona sneered at his dense-headed attempt to think things through.

This being the case, it made no sense for the Tawarwaith to have instigated the mutiny of the troops during the noon break. Thranduil shook his head, frowning, and rose from the chair cautiously so as not to rouse the resting child. Out to the balcony and down the steps he softly trod, verily tip-toeing to prevent a return of the harsh shrilling cries that had so wracked the little one through the morn. The King came upon his daughter and wife amid a bed of soft ferns by the brook; they were stretched out flat, cloud gazing.

"Meril," he called and both heads craned up to peer in his direction. His consort sat and reached out for their son, and carefully he handed Taurant over. "Watch him awhile; I must tend to something urgent regarding my troops."

"Ada, stay!" Gwilith commanded loudly but Thranduil smiled and shook his head.

"Worry not; I will return to read you a story and tuck you in. That is, if you are good and let your brother sleep!"

Gwilith nodded solemnly and Meril said nothing, allowing her cold demeanour to communicate her displeasure at this abandonment. With a last glance over his shoulder at his family, Thranduil strode through the garden toward the barrack's grounds, determined to get to the root of the uprising, using the same gateway Aragorn had earlier destroyed. An odd thing he found that to be when he came upon the tattered remains of the wooden pickets strewn over the lawn, and absently noted the need to order repairs.

Instantly upon ing ing foot within the warriors' domain his presence generated a strong sensation of strain and displeasure amid the scattered groups of stalwart fighters. With no word spoken to call them forth, the barracks emptied and the hard clay ground was soon hidden under the press of numerous booted feet. They made no move in his direction, merely tracking his progress with silent disgust, and the depth of their antipathy made the Sinda Lord want to shiver.

Thus he endured for one short span what Legolas had faced so frequently in his youth.

Soon the King was ringed in by a wall of elves, very angry and thoroughly dangerous. Into the centre where Thranduil stood stepped Talagan and faced his old friend with fiery reproach.

Thranduil was not cowed by this display of hostile solidarity, however, and turned slowly about to meet the eyes of any warrior that would dare, for he was Oropher's son and was bold enough to confront whatever challenge might present itself. Warriors' ways he understood, and he could not believe these soldiers stood in such open defiance over the perils of war and the fate of chance. Finally, having given any that would take it the opportunity to share their personal displeasure, the King turned to his comrade of his elfling days.

"Talagan," he began, "to you I come to understand the meaning of this opposition. What is the cause for this lack of faith among my troops?"

"We have shown no treasonous behaviour, Lord, rather we uphold our sworn oaths to protect our people. We stand in defence of the innocent. Our wrath is just if what has been told holds truth. For that determination, we need to hear an accounting from your lips," answered the Sinda to murmurs of agreement and nodding heads.

Thranduil's brows arched in surprise and he let his eyes wander throughout the throng again, judging the level of indigna and and seeing that the elves believed they were in the right. This was not about war, then, or treasures, or even Lost Souls and Wandering; none of those things could be said to involve innocence on any level for the participants. That they would risk those same vows of allegiance Talagan invoked and oppose their King bespoke the seriousness of this mysterious misdeed.

"Of what do you speak? I am not aware of fault of the kind to which you allude. Be plain and state your charge or make your queries, that I may answer," he commanded, easily as righteously incensed as were they.

"The Noldo Lord has made a charge against Maltahondo of the most heinous sort.e gue guardsman defiled the innocence of a child, a defenceless elfling with no family willing to safeguard his welfare. Word has reached me that you were aware of it and did nothing."

The King visibly startled. Whatever he had been expecting his old friend to say this was further from it than he currently stood from the shores of Eldamar. His eyes narrowed and he stared in shock at Talagan, unwilling to really accept that he had just been accused of conspiring in the rape of an elfling. His face coloured a vivid purple in his fury and he was forced to clench his hands together to keep them from forming fists and striking the captain down.

"How dare you!" he managed to hiss out through bared teeth. "What manner of treacherous lies has that Imladrian miscreant and friend of kinslayers been feeding you? By what sorcery has your mind been turned to such imbecility to even consider this claim; you, Talagan, who have known me my whole life?"

"It is not the Imladris Lord only that says this!" one of the Wood Elves announced.

"Aye! We have heard testimony from the healer that Maltahondo admitted his crime before the wizard and the carpenter." Another seconded.

"Vile then is he!" shouted back Thranduil. "Yet I was not a part of this evil act! What causes you to think thus? If I would be indicted let the evidence be presented before me. I am no rapist of children! Valar! I am a father myself!"

"That letter." Talagan quietly inserted the simple words and watched carefully his comrade's reactions.

Thranduil's confusion was genuine enough, for he had no idea what the captain was talking about yet. Seeing this heartened the Sinda warrior and he relaxed slightly.

"I do not know what you are referring to," the King said, taking a deep and calming breath upon registering his friend's release of strain. "Please explain."

"The letter you showed me from the Lord of Imladris indicated Maltahondo was Legolas' paramour. Do you recall it now?"

"Aye, Talagan, I remember the letter and do not deny its contents were inflammatory and bizarre, even grotesque. Still there is not a connection that I can see. I say now, be open in what you charge or I shall deem it an act of treason designed to overthrow the just rule of the House of Oropher and hold you to trial before the Council."

"The connection is our Tawarwaith!" a Sylvan voice proclaimed vehemently. "The healer revealed that the guardsman abused the trust of his office and took the elfling for his own pleasure."

"And this long before the child was of age, or had even enough knowledge of such matters to form any judgement on the rightness of submitting to these acts," added one of the Sindar warriors, and shot a stream of spit into the dirt in disgust. "These are the ways of Orcs, not eldar."

Thranduil's thoughts were in a whirlwind of disarray and denial. He knew not which emotion to give preference: indignation over being likened to so lowly a criminal or repugnance for the act having been done by an elf retained in service to his House. No matter that Maltahondo was sworn by a debt of blood to Ningloriel's people; he had dwelt in the stronghold and been entrusted with the welfare of the Queen's offspring. It was truly not in Thranduil's disposition to wish such a horror upon any elflng; not even the bastard of his worst enemy deserved so horrible a fate.

{'How could you hate a child? An innocent you had in your care.'} Fearfaron's accusing voice interrupted his busy thoughts.

"Ai, can this be possible? Would Manwë allow so foul a deed upon one of the First-born, by one of our kind?" he mumbled as he shook his head, clapping both hands over his ears as if they were wounded just to hear the story.

"Why do you call so readily upon the Powers? They heed us not. We look after our own affairs; but for Namo's final decree of fate we expect nothing from the Valar," said a quiet Sylvan voice. "The crime did not originate on the distant shores of the Undying Lands."

"Aye, this was under my hand to prevent, yet I was too blinded by false treacheries to ever look upon the child," whispered Thranduil.

"I judge you did not realise," said Talagan with great relief, and no one contested this, for everyone could see their King was overwhelmed by how easily this evil had slipped past his best defences and resided comfortably within his home. "I hoped that was thee yee yet there were over-arching circumstances that cast this doubt upon you."

"Nay, I did not see," Thranduil said flatly and dropped his hands listlessly to his sides, "and I comprehend what you infer. It is true I wished the child never born, but I did not wish his death, at least not as such and certainly not by so dire a method. The calling of a warrior often hastens the journey West, and for that end I did hope, but nothing more."

"More than sufficient for malice to be done!" growled a Sinda archer. "I am guilty of the same foul hope."

The truth was unpleasant but easier to admit once their King had set the standard. Had Thranduil dissembled and attempted to put off responsibility, the assembly might have turned him out from the Greenwood at once. As it was they murmured in disquiet and grudging admiration for their leader's honest confession.

"A fine line but at least our King did not cross it," said Talagan. "None of us were cognisant of the despoilment, not even Gladhadithen."

"Too fine. Inaction and passive disregard are dishonourable," complained a Sylvan.

"Let it go, he was unaware!" replied another.

"Nevertheless, something must be done about it!" a third called out and his words met with solid approval.

"In this I agree. Yet never have we faced a situation of this nature and I do not think any Laws deal with it. How could an elf do this thing?" Thranduil wondered aloud.

"I have questioned him on it and he denies fault on his part, stating that Ningloriel gave him the elfling," quoted the captain in disgust.

"He lies!" blurted Thranduil, the expression on his features lending the two simple syllables a venomous virulence. "She was not a good mother, but even I would not accuse her of hating her child. He was the only thing she cared about besides her ambitions and her comforts."

Many assenting comments followed this rebuttal; it was easy to believe an elf low enough to abuse an innocent entrusted to his protection would be sufficiently cowardly to lay blame for the act on someone unavailable to refute the claim. Better that than envisioning the possibility of a life-bearer despising the product of her creative power.

"Aye, he is a worm. We com come to feel he is the one responsible for Tirno's failure at Erebor. Maltahondo had reason to want his transgression kept secret!" a warrior asserted and most were vocal in their avowal.

"Nay, I do not concur. The Tawarwaith is going to great lengths to prevent the forthright account of events on the ridge. He is not protecting the guardsman, surely." Thranduil sighed heavily and rubbed his brow in irritation. This discussion was only making things murkier rather than clearing them up.

"The Noldo Lord, he asserts that Tirno loves Maltahondo," the difficulty this idea still presented was obvious in the soldier's halting report.

"Gladhadithen says so, too," proclaimed another in equally displeased tones.

"Ai, Valar! What an odious situation! He may or perhaps he only misbelieves this, for what example does he have and to what can he compare his feelings? Certainly not his mother's association with me!

"And even if it is true there are those he loves more strongly. Did you not listen to his words this morning? He stated so quite clearly; he will do whatever he must to ensure the future of the infant heir and our princess of the woods," said Thranduil and blinked in wonder to hear himself take on the role of defender of his off-cast heir.

Talagan could not suppress the sharp inhalation that turned into a fit of coughing, as though it was he who had just swallowed a gagging aggregation of pride mixed with black feathers. To hear these words from such a source he would not have ever dreamed possible.

"Where is this proto-orc being held," Thranduil continued, flashing an annoyed scowl at his old friend, "for so I assume Gladhadithen meant when she referred to his resting recovery. I think a second interrogation might be fruitful."

Talagan motioned and together the group moved across the grounds and around the back of the barracks toward a small out building where the healer's art was practised.

"Hold," Thranduil paused in the courtyard ten paces from the healing wards, eyes trained upon the bolted door before which a stout swordsman sat, leaning back in a chair braced against the barrier, arms locked over his chest, warily watching the crowd approach. The King could not prevent a wrinkled expression of scandalised condemnation from contorting his patrician features as he considered the creature beyond that door.

He did not truly wish to confront this despicable elf and trade words with something so degenerate. Not since he had last held Orcs in his dungeons had the King felt such a fulsome sensation of revulsion creep across his flesh. He had no doubt of the verity spoken by Mithrandir and Gladhadithen; questioning Maltahondo would produce nothing new.

Besides, he had much to say to Meril and needed to hear her thoughts on all that had thus far transpired. That she was angry he already accepted, yet Thranduil was beset by the nagging notion that he would soon be teetering between fear and rage himself. These emotions must be acknowledged and eradicated before further distress was visited upon their elflings.

{And I promised Gwilith a story.}

"A snake speaks but a single language with its doubled tongue and all its words are false. Flog him." With that command the King turned and hurried back through the garden toward his waiting family.

Tbc.

Kirameki: thank you for the review! Yes, I will try not to let too much stuff happen before Malthen takes the stand. But how else could I get those two together?

MorierBlackleaf: hey, I like your reviews! And I never write much when I leave one either, so there. I am glad you liked this and thank you so much for telling me!
- 75
- 76
- 77
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