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Feud	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 27184 -:- 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.

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Feud

By erobey, erobey@gmail.com

Beta'd by Sarah AK. Remaining errors are mine alone.

Disclaimer: The recognisable characters and settings were created and remain the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. Only the original characters and the words surrounding them belong to erobey alone. No money earned, just for fun!

Author's Note: My account at Fanfiction.net has been cancelled by a malicious person, twice! Censorship is evil. There is a reference to H�nvaethor [Warrior Child], which was posted there, in this chapter. Please do not let this confuse you. Please accept that Feud was written first, and though this is the first time this chapter has posted anywhere, it is hardly the first time it has played through my mind. This is the scene that inspired H�nvaethor, in which the timeline is drastically different from Feud. Feud remains within the timeline in which it began. I will try to get H�nvaethor posted here just in case anyone is curious.

Osp Erin 'Waew [Smoke Upon Wind]

The King of the Woodland Realm watched the peculiar loss of composure sweep away the Tawarwaith's bold assurance, mesmerising presence and latent power. No longer confronted with a threatening challenger demanding control of the Greenwood, Thranduil faced the disgraceful product of Ningloriel's fickle-hearted carnal appetites. In the space of a heartbeat Horthad-en-Taur [Hope of the Forest] regressed to raeg-onnant tad-dal [misbegotten two-legged animal], an insignificant and easily discounted archer, unworthy of recognition, granted leave to live by virtue of his mother's status alone.

What can be the meaning of this bizarre behaviour? One moment cooly derisive, the next instant quivering like a bowstring ready to snap.

This was a personality the Woodland ruler knew well and it would be easy to resume his reflexive, offhand manner of dealing with the faithless queen's only child. The urge to remind Hecilo of his place was strong. Administering the censure earned by so brazen a trespass upon the King's authority would be intensely satisfying. Thranduil seldom hesitated long enough to consider other options when his supremacy was infringed, but this time the possible consequences refused to be squelched. Equally adamant was the warning bouncing and dancing against his conscious will, admonishing and reminding that such disdainful disregard was generated not from within his personal evaluation of events but rather by the spiteful jealousy of an arrogant Noldo Lord.

Indeed, the shame of having the intimate details of his life choreographed by Elrond was a more potent motivator to resisting the temptation to display his might than was the notion of stolen fatherhood. If he responded as centuries of habit dictated then the purpose of this staged trial would go unfulfilled and Ningloriel's paramour would emerge triumphant, having destroyed both of Thranduil's heirs. This he would not countenance. The Sinda Lord would forfend that outcome and ally the wild warrior to his dominion though Eru himself forbid it.

How shall I salvage him when he so defiantly demands to be crushed?
The Tawarwaith was concurrently an opponent to be dispatched, a confederate to acquire, and the agent of the most precious and glorious achievement of his long labour. Through the painful loss, abandonment, and betrayals Ningloriel's child had borne the wonder of innocence had arisen: Taurant and Gwilith. Such a concept was in direct opposition to the Sinda's comprehension of nature's chaotic structure in which purity, perfection, and order were pummelled into dishonour, corruption, and bedlam.

It was a compelling example, for he had been attempting nearly all of his life to raise up purpose and honour from the senseless destruction of everything he had held dear in the world. Oropher's son was as yet unable to compare his methods and the archer's, incapable of discerning why the lowly outcast succeeded while, even with all his wealth and power, Thranduil's efforts yielded only more misery. He wished to preserve what Legolas' wrongful condemnation had enabled, yet to do so he must lift the unjust conviction without endangering his elflings' mother.

Neither could he ignore the provocation the Tawarwaith presented. Here was a conundrum the King was ill-equipped to unravel.

Thranduil's keen green gaze gauged the elf before him; an incongruous manifestation of repressed outrage and vulnerable wretchedness met this scrutiny. The eyes staring back were not attentive to the present, however, and remained disengaged as some interior reality reigned. The strange look held a different sort of challenge, as if Legolas awaited the King's next words to impart permission to express whatever dire thoughts plagued him. Thranduil was willing neither to supply the spark that would ignite this fury nor to endure the uneasy stalemate. Oblivious as to the cause for this abrupt reversal of character, the Sinda Lord refused to expend any more time in pondering the situation.

For Taurant's sake, I will see this through. I must act.
All of these reflections coursed through his mind in a streak of flashing emotion and disjointed imagery, but the puzzle remained unresolved. Calling upon the guard was not a solution whose plausibility he wished to test. Should he summon Fearfaron to come retrieve his fosterling? Would it be better to address the archer directly, inquiring what might be amiss?

Nay, such might compound the confusion in his mind; too great is the number of disasters weathered.

Whatever its cause, Legolas' peculiarly ominous fugue put Thranduil back in command of his court. Vair� had favoured him with a boon and he must snatch it up before the moment passed. The King side-stepped around Legolas and paced to his chair, stopping behind it, hands curling over the ornately carved back. He faced his subjects.

"This Council is convened to answer the legitimate concerns our people hold concerning the events of Erebor." Every nuance of tone and inflection matched the serenely benevolent expression of contrite wisdom masking his patrician features. The sound of the convicted kinslayer turning to follow his movements met his hearing, but Legolas did not speak. Thranduil's eyes shown, a mixture of triumphant relief, as they fell upon the eldest councillor. "Gandalf and Talagan have spoken their summations of these woes. We have awaited the recovery of Maltahondo in order to obtain a complete understanding of that dread day. Let us hear from the corpsman, Elder."

"Agreed, yet proper decorum must be observed." Iarwain retorted. He had as little comprehension of what was happening as did the King yet was equally eager to take advantage of the upset. "Tirno, come down, if you please, that we may conclude the inquiry."

"What?" Legolas tried to stifle his internal turmoil and focus on the events at hand.

"Here," Fearfaron pleaded. "Stand with me, Ion Edwen. [Second Son]"

"Nay, it is of no consequence; Legolas may remain," came Thranduil's magnanimous, indulgent reply as he glanced over his shoulder to peer at the fallen warrior, presenting a nondescript counterfeit smile.

Had the unexpected sound of his name falling so casually from those fatuously upturned lips not recurred, the Tawarwaith might have regained his presence of mind. He was faintly aware of Fearfaron's entreaty, vaguely cognisant of the multitude of eyes verily boring into him, yet he could not find a way to achieve clarity of thought. Fixated upon Thranduil's crimson mouth, open just enough to show the faint gleam of ivory incisors, he was totally absorbed by the nonchalant and meaningless expression of congenial tolerance pasted on for the public's benefit. Legolas hardly registered the words surrounding his name, so strange did it sound uttered in the tone and timbre he had so come to despise. It felt invasive; little else than that simple designation belonged to him.

Twice in as many minutes after two millennia of silence! By what right does he use that which Naneth conferred?

Yet his disposition had once been contradictory to his current mood. It was not silence Legolas recalled as coherent thought foundered under the inundation of memories swamping his brain, a heaving tide of impressions from his formative years.

Legolas' first skill, predating speech and bipedal locomotion, had been learning the Sinda's daily routine so that he could avoid the Lord's notice. Before he could sit unaided in the cradle, earlier even than his birth, Legolas recognised the heavy tread of Thranduil's boots pounding out disappointed wrath as he stalked through the stronghold. That sound was invariably succeeded by enraged shouting that buffeted against the delicate membranes of the babe's sensitive ears and inflicted a burden of responsibility upon the newborn's heart that redefined his percipience, overriding whatever traits bloodlines and heritage might impart. The connection between his wailing cries and the stomping footfalls was muddled in the infant's mind; which caused the other was secondary to the painful results. Legolas fostered quietude so as not to lure those angry feet and their screaming voice.

A short interval of growth granted the toddler comprehension of the sharp, deriding words aimed at his fe� whenever he came within the King's visual range. Pointedly descriptive and unmistakably meant for him to hear, but spoken to others, for the imposing ruler refused to address the queen's child directly. 'Orcion fuiol' [Disgusting Orc-spawn]', 'gwaur �h�l' [foul pretender], and 'caul �maer' [useless burden] were the most commonly utilised references to leave the King's mouth at such times. These were the patronymics Ningloriel's spouse bestowed.

Thranduil never called him by name and the youngling could not comprehend what he had done to arouse such profound antipathy. Legolas was not yet of sufficient maturity to perceive the nature of his parents' antagonism. Naneth called the cruelly dismissive elf his father and this the child accepted, along with the blatant truth that his father despised him. The impact was like robbing a seedling of water and light; development became slow and stunted.

Even so, life will not be denied its fruition and the body must obey such commands; the elfling advanced in stature of both mind and form. The child and the monarch worked out an unspoken treaty: Legolas stayed out of the way and Thranduil shunned him.

By the time Legolas achieved adolescence he understood all the sordid details involving his existence. What he did not grasp was why he must remain with this abhorrent charlatan. Why was he always left behind when Naneth departed to visit his real father? Why did Malthen refuse to answer any queries he posed concerning the Peredhel? Did the distant Noldo Lord of Imladris even know of him; had he ever used his name?

Slithering beneath the surface of these questions was an insidiously unshakeable dread that perhaps this unseen progenitor also loathed him.

That was negation of his existence on a level Legolas could not accept, however, and he shied from it. There was too much anger centred round those he loved and whose love he needed: Naneth, Malthen, and the paternal eidolon far beyond the peaks of Hithaeglir. The youth chose to foist his burgeoning wrath upon the local beacon of ill-will. If hatred was all Thranduil would give him, then he wanted that to be heated and lividly invidious rather than callously cold and indifferent.

His name became the locus for all these tumultuous considerations. So often did his parents engage in shouting arguments that he had no doubt the Lord of the Woodland Realm remembered his eneth-naneth [mother-name]. Legolas believed that by refusing to say it Thranduil sought to rob him of his fundamental identity. The speculation was infuriating and he began a campaign of subtly aggressive insolence, attempting to test the hypothesis and force the King to either speak the word or admit his reason for such refusal.

On the next occasion of Malthen and his mother's retreat to Lorien, Legolas launched his assault.

He began insinuating his person within Thranduil's daily routine. The rejected heir suddenly appeared at Council and Court, soundlessly listening in while his cold, defiant glare raked the monarch's form. Where before he had studiously avoided participation in state functions, the Queen's solitary offspring regularly attended feasts, conferences, fetes and games. He found reasons to be striding in the opposite direction when the King exited his study en route to the stables or the dining hall. If Thranduil was ascending the kitchen stairs, Legolas was on the way down. Should the Lord decide to visit his library, the novice archer invariably popped in to find a book as well. It was quite obvious the youth had Thranduil's habits memorised. Only to the vaults would Ningloriel's child refuse to follow.

Inadvertently, this plan earned Legolas a host of fresh antagonists among the stronghold's staff. These good folk, employed to provide education, supervise activities, and attend the needs of the deprecated prince, were in general apathetically amicable to the neglected elfling. It was an oft stated rule that the child was not to be near the King if Ningloriel and Maltahondo were absent. Before his rebellious indignation arose Legolas had agreed to this edict with equal enthusiasm, eagerly vacating the caverns to shelter among the branches of the Sentinel or vanish into the verdant cover of the canopy as soon as completion of lessons and duties permitted. It was thus with alarm that the tutors and valets viewed his new policy of persistent, overt presence.

The Sinda Lord's discomfort and displeasure over the radical change was evident though he attempted to disregard the unexpected imposition. The conspicuous failure of that policy thrilled Legolas and he began to crave the infusion of potency that coursed through him each time flustered irritability overtook the King's normally suave control, presaged by a meteoric rise in colour as his temper flared. There was a place in his mind where Legolas acknowledged the aberrant nature of his delight in this deliberate goading, where he could admit that the idea of forcing Thranduil to acknowledge him, even if only to shout at him in anger, was an intoxicatingly alluring concept. He would show the haughty ruler who was in control.

The plot succeeded beyond his imagination's scope; he garnered the King's full attention. The results, however, never approached the outcome he desired. Legolas' obstinate encroachment into Thranduil's world prompted swift and escalating retaliation.

The King countered the sullen juvenile's atypical behaviour by engaging Talagan as a buffer, relegating to his faithful comrade the chore of introducing Ningloriel's child to ministers, emissaries, dignitaries, and guests at any official function. Legolas was usually announced impersonally as 'the Queen's son and Greenwood's heir' which placated the silvans and afforded their Sinda Lord the distance he preferred. In response everyone addressed Legolas by nameless title, puzzled by the strange contention but eager to be plain in their intent to appease Thranduil.

Between these battles in effrontery, Thranduil called forth the prince's minders and demanded explanations, for he had no comprehension of what was at the root of the bold hostility. None could they give for no one but Maltahondo had gained the youth's confidence, and he was in Lorien. The King refused to accept their excuses and instituted sanctions for failing to control the wayward upstart.

The reprisals were minor at first but rapidly matriculated in proportion to Legolas' audacity. Access to the stronghold's pantries and wine cellars was restricted, demotion to less prestigious positions and reduction of pay followed, withdrawal of escort during travel to Lorien or Mithlond was added. In response the tutors passed on their Lord's anger, administering to their charge the tongue lashings and an occasional ringing blow their Lord would not condescend to deliver personally.

But Legolas was not deterred. In fact the lack of success pushed him to greater degrees of insubordination, culminating in the theft of Oropher's war bow. Yet even this failed and he regretted his foolhardy bid to establish dominance. The caning, delivered in wordless ferocity, taught the untried warrior his place in Thranduil's Realm with incontestable finality. Legolas abandoned the experiment that night.

At minuial, the Sinda Lord commenced his counter-attack.

Legolas' freedom was curtailed. Where before the teachers, minders, and attendants had been ordered to keep the youth away they were now instructed to make certain of his continued inclusion in court affairs. Should Legolas fail to be present, the domestics suffered additional disciplinary penalties and either one of the woodland warriors or Talagan himself was sent to retrieve the delinquent. If the veteran of the Last Alliance had to hunt for the stubborn miscreant, Legolas' paid a heavier price, for the silvan fighters only wielded scathing words while the captain preferred the cane. Both left scars upon the young archer's soul.

Ningloriel's child was forced to follow a rigid schedule of meaningless activities in which he was expected to be seen without contributing anything substantive, and everyone knew why. He was not to speak unless formally addressed by Thranduil which never occurred. Legolas was not to respond if approached by visitors, a rare occurrence prompted by the more malicious warriors, who would deliberately send some unsuspecting guest to do so. He must stand apart from the King but near enough to benefit from his disdainful regard, always under the looming surveillance of either Talagan or one of his lieutenants. He became a living representation of Thranduil's chillingly aloof primacy. This continued for over six years and not until his mother's return to the Greenwood was a reprieve granted.

And never once did the King speak his name.

Until this day. Why this day? What manner of sadistic game is he about now?

By way of answer Maltahondo walked through the open archway from the courtyard flanked by a pair of spearmen from Thranduil's own guard. Legolas watched in abstracted disbelief as his former lover entered the drama while his bonded mate lay insensible in a place the three of them now shared, an asymmetric circle locked in a disharmonic wobble of which he was the unsteady centre.

The appearance was not unexpected for he was well aware of the King's intent to make the guardsman testify; indeed he had been dreading the moment since the Council's commencement. Legolas had assumed, however, that Berenaur would be at his side for this. When fate robbed him of his mate's support, he had devised a strategy certain to prevent the corpsman from ever having the opportunity to say a single word. Thranduil's surprising familiarity had tossed him into the morass of unresolved conflict from his past and somehow time had got away from him before he could carry it through. In a cockeyed juxtaposition of recent and recollected events, he decided Thranduil had not arbitrarily chosen the number of times to pronounce his praenomen.

Once for each of the loves I have lost.

Legolas felt his throat tighten up until he was certain he would choke for failure to draw air through his windpipe. A slight twitch of his head in denial and negation rustled the heavy locks falling fluidly down his back. All his senses converged upon the small procession. Malthen was halfway through the congregation, passing among the solemnly expectant masses on weary feet, head bent low. Legolas retreated as the corpsman advanced, halting when his heel met the edge of the raised platform.

"Nay."

No single syllable ever contained so much defeat. Though barely exhaled, the abyssal silence of the crowded chamber accorded the word sufficient volume to carry clearly to every elven ear.

It stopped the corpsman in mid-step and he lifted his amber eyes to meet the turbulent confusion swirling through the darkly shadowed sapphire gaze fixed upon him. Maltahondo felt all the air rush from his lungs; he had seen this look before.

An infinite second of time froze the pair in public communion of private converse, a trial of the guardsman's soul conducted through the will of Tawar for all to see but none to perceive. For the witnesses were invisible phantoms of the phases of the archer's life only the two of them could share.

Memory called forth for both the first testimonial: Legolas at twenty-two, a gore begrimed warrior-child, tears streaking down his face as one hand upheld a necklace bearing three mithril rings and the other presented the cloth wrapped digits that had worn them, all that remained of the silvan soldiers that had accompanied the elfling on a simple hunting exercise in a purportedly safe region of the forest. The only survivor of the Orcs' raid, Legolas had been missing five days when Malthen found him in the company of a small group of humans traversing the Forest Road.

Then, Maltahondo had been the trusted mentor and confidante, a substitute father, free to follow his instincts and gather the traumatised youngling up into his embrace. He dared not imagine doing so now and the loss of that privilege was shockingly painful, but less so than the knowledge that Legolas wanted him to suffer this anguish. More than that, Legolas desperately needed to feel he possessed the power to hurt Malthen, and forced the guardsman to comprehend why through the next visual duet.

The scene presented was commonplace enough: a cluster of off-duty guards lingering in the barracks yard jesting and boasting to each other. Legolas was there, an adult archer newly inducted into Talagan's company, stiffly uncomfortable amid the group, trying unsuccessfully to appear disinterested and unperturbed while attempting to stop the tale being told about him. Malthen recognised the narrator: the minor beaurocrat from Imladris to whom he had given Legolas. As the crude elf gave explicit details of their most recent coupling, the audience guffawed and smirked, casting patently speculative leers that stripped and groped the subject's tensely rigid form. The spy from Elrond's court also let it be known that his new partner had not been untouched after-all, and the barrage of lude conjectures over whom had been the first ranged from various household servants, including the prince's bodyguard, to Talagan and Thranduil.

"Was it your father who taught you what that fine, firm arse is for?" On that query the apparition vanished.

The significance of this question from Legolas' perspective flooded Maltahondo's perception. He was unaware of the strange and strangled gargle that escaped his throat. The murmuring discontent of the assembly went unheeded. He did not hear Thranduil speaking.

Malthen could not avert his gaze from the wild elf's piercing examination nor cast out the infused revelations from his brain. He would never touch Legolas again, neither body nor soul. Do you care, does it hurt? The disembodied, divided demand sliced through his mind, part accusation and part entreaty, words laden with agony that inundated every atom of his being. The corpsman's fe� writhed in torment and tried to give answer attesting to his regret. Liar. He knew not whether it was Legolas' consciousness or his that refuted the claim.

Futilely he fought to regain command of his mental world, vainly wondering why no one in the room moved to intervene or tried to speak, unable to comprehend the level of exclusion in which this moment reposed. Nothing of the surroundings breached the intensity of the Tawarwaith's relentlessly probing psyche, imploring what was impossible to give: the purpose, the reasons, some believable justification that would explain the past away and clothe the present with a more bearable logic. That Malthen could not supply this, his charge's last request of him, shrivelled up the wilted remnant of the soldier's self-respect. Through tear-filmed eyes his soul begged for pardon and watched the dewy blue orbs transform into hard, crystallised lenses of focused fury.

Every facet of the dynamic, complicated Tawarwaith was revealed there: the betrayed and shattered ghost of the bright and beautiful elfling ruined by lustful vengeance, the passionately adoring lover, spurned, traded away to preserve anonymity; the tenacious albeit untested sniper abandoned upon that ledge of sombre stone at Erebor, a bleeding soul grieving the loss of a newly bonded life-mate, a determinedly protective elder brother prepared to die to guarantee his siblings' future.

Remember, for I will never be able to forget.
The silent sentence resounded through the corpsman's skull. The eternal instant ended. Maltahondo dropped his gaze to the floor.

Legolas' sight transferred to Fearfaron, his resolve recovered and his objective redefined. The faintest light of a smile glowed within the brilliant blaze of defiant wrath that burned anew within the aqua eyes. He had confronted the individual responsible for the most injurious sequences in his history without succumbing to the terrible rending affliction of grief. He was suddenly almost euphoric and struggled to contain the exuberant energy, storing it up for the tribulation to follow. He shared this victory with Lindalcon as well and added what reassurance he could manage at such distance and without words. The corresponding expression his brother returned was a flimsy forgery of dauntless perseverance, a veneer of fortitude over appreciable apprehension. That Legolas could not instantly remove that fear was maddening, and yet it strengthened his determination.

For Gwilwileth, Taurant, and for Lindalcon. I will not falter now.

The talan builder exhaled a great sigh, rejoicing to behold the spark of recognition in his adopted son's soul once more. Too like the disordered disassociation of fading had the archer's state been for his comfort. He squeezed Lindalcon's shoulder, around which his arm was wrapped so tightly the muscles were cramping, even harder for a brief span. It was reassurance he needed just as badly. Fearfaron was not well pleased by this strange combination of dire purpose and manic fervour so apparent in his foster child's demeanour. Smouldering embers that threaten to burst into a raging conflagration at the slightest whisper of provocation. Still, Legolas with his wits sharp was more likely to survive whatever transpired next.

His amelioration diffused rapidly through the chamber, enveloping Aiwendil and the healer foremost before distribution amid the throng. The Wood Elves soaked up the assuaging wave of succour readily, aided by the visible rejuvenation of their champion's compelling personality. The people were gratified to have the voice of Tawar return and take over for their rejected atheling. A stray hand reached out and prodded the corpsman into motion again; a second repeated the gesture and Malthen resumed his march.

He moved sluggishly and kept his face pointed at the polished granite passing beneath his boots, for he could not lift it without seeking the archer's eyes and he feared to look again upon the horrors that resided therein. The guardsman reached the collected councillors and their attendants and took a place between Iarwain and F�rlass, raising his sight for an instant to record their identities before settling on concentrated examination of their shoes.
"What in Mordor ails you, soldier? Answer when your King addresses you!"

Thranduil's strident words at last reached Malthen's ears and his head rose with a disoriented shake. He felt as if he had returned from a drunken daze, complete with the throbbing headache that generally accompanied such overindulgence, yet he had not consumed a drop of spirits. That he knew for certainty while doubt cloaked everything he had just experienced. Did any of it truly occur? No one else in the room seemed to be aware of it. Mayhap his nerves were unravelling under the press of so many staring faces and the magnitude of the confession he had agreed to publicly proclaim. He decided it did not matter where or how the insight had originated; the realisations were genuine and he must act accordingly. His duty was to Legolas as it ever had been.
"Forgive me, my Lord, what did you say?"

The Sinda stared in undisguised contempt. "What can you add to the Erebor question?" he repeated with phlegmatic, exaggerated slowness.

"Nay, he shall not speak!" The Tawarwaith moved from his spot at the extreme end of the dais to confront the King again.

"Enough of this!" The Lord of the Realm spun to counter the outcast's second attempt at arrogation. The expression of harried befuddlement that accompanied Thranduil's outburst would have been amusing in other circumstances yet in this arena promised only disaster. "He will make his statement for the record and then this Council will make its ruling. No more interruptions will I tolerate!"

Valar! Challenger to child and back again; it is unnatural!

These thoughts were but a fa�ade to hide the resurgent prickling of instinctive warning working its way up the back of his neck. The perverse temerity moulding Legolas' features was alarmingly familiar; thus had Oropher appeared when last he turned to look upon his youngest son, just before calling the charge to battle at Dagorlad.

For his part, Maltahondo had received his orders and firmly pressed his lips together, refusing to utter a sound.

"There are no words he can offer that will alter what has passed. Even if such could be wrought, would you wish it, knowing this would revoke the existence of Taurant and Gwilith?" Legolas demanded.

"Silence!" Thranduil thundered, closing the distance between them and towering over his adversary with all the menacing anger those remarks incited. Do not play his game. The inner intellect cautioned but failed to quell the defensive reaction. "You will stop foretelling doom upon the innocent!"

"I?" Legolas laughed up into the rage-flushed visage and turned to share his incredulity over the King's dense-headed obstinacy with his foster father. He observed only worry in the carpenter's glance, however, and resumed his scrutiny of Thranduil. "Once more I will say this: It is you who continually puts my siblings in jeopardy through the selfish desire to hide your true motives. It is not Maltahondo who has admissions of fault to make. Let this matter drop now or I will insist on full disclosure."

A sinuous ripple of querulous discontent snaked through the gathered onlookers and warriors alike, for once in accord in their confusion and rising indignation. What was he talking about? Was the King withholding information? Was Tirno implying Thranduil was responsible for Erebor, as had the carpenter? But he had supported the King's reasoning earlier, had he not?

The Sinda Lord wondered something more disturbing as he slowly relaxed his threatening posture and evaluated the calmly collected elf before him. He has evidence against Meril. Legolas had to be bluffing. He might suspect, indeed by her own declaration the outcast had privately accused her, but there was no proof of any link between Meril and the Lost Warriors other than that of grieving widow and bereft mother.

Unless that corrupt horse-master told secrets during their sessions of chastisement.

That was actually possible and Thranduil felt a dense concentration of heaviness collect in his gut as all the blood drained from his features and extremities to settle there. Perhaps Ailiny�ro had boasted of his connection to the new consort, the hold he possessed over her, how he would use the knowledge to obtain favours. Mayhap he held some tangible proof of her involvement; a letter or some token given to demonstrate the faith between them and seal the unholy partnership.

How Legolas would have come to possess such an article, should its existence be more than a spectre, did not quite engage the distraught father's reasoning capacity. Likewise, the fact that Rochendil had never sought to utilise this alleged advantage to enhance his position escaped Thranduil's consideration, for the monarch was almost on the verge of panic.

"What are you trying to do?" he whispered.

The query wafted across the Tawarwaith's face, displacing a fine strand of hair that had escaped imprisonment in the ropy twists. He replied by sending Thranduil a cold, indifferent smirk. He gave no other answer and the two remained locked in soundless, ocular combat, both determined not to back down.

"Ion Edwen, do not pursue this course," implored Fearfaron. Alone among the rooms occupants, he had determined what his second son intended, and dearly hoped to change his mind.

Beside him, Lindalcon stared between his brother, the carpenter and the King in accumulating distress, though he had no inkling of what was going to happen. Legolas was in a dangerous place, Fearfaron was terrified, and there were too many elves blocking his path to the dais. The humble craftsman held his arm in a grip so tight it pained and he seemed unlikely to relinquish it. The son of Valtamar exchanged his anxiety with Gladhadithen, but this time her demeanour was anything but encouraging. The briefest uplift of her shoulders emphasised her helpless dismay. Lindalcon glanced at Radagast and discovered his attention fully engaged elsewhere. The wizard seemed to have somewhat forgotten the two perpetrators of the present state of unrest and was attentively scanning the crowd, monitoring the fluctuating levels of energy roiling through them.

The scent of Thranduil's fear was instantly detected by the congregation and they edged toward hysteria, milling and billowing in the cramped confinement, grumbling and snapping at one another in rising volume as they argued over their opinions. Some wanted the whole mess thrown out of both court and council, stricken from Record and shoved as far into oblivion as the capacity of the mind would allow. Others were weary of the conflict but felt the full account must be had or peace would never reside in their green world again. The majority considered the distressing break between their civil and spiritual leaders an omen of a terrible fate about to overwhelm them. As yet no move toward physical expression of these volatile emotions appeared eminent, but the pressure was building even as the volume of their merged voices increased.

"Peace! We must remain patient and temperate or vital facts may go unheard!" Iarwain admonished. The eldest elder was not one to lend Thranduil assistance yet neither did he want the dire mood to deteriorate further. He searched for faces he trusted among the people, desperately trying to make visual contact and gather some control of the mob. Suddenly Aiwendil joined him and a surge of appreciative relief washed over the councillor.

"Good folk of the woodlands, be calm and let this inquiry continue," the Brown wizard added in a congenial tone. "Our Tirno will explain." His placid smile was warm and genuine, consoling and gentle. An uplifting compassion flowed within the soothing timbre of his voice, a river of restoring grace sorting through the effusive load, washing out ambivalence and leaving the more substantial grains of persevering faith.
Almost at once the silvans responded to the Istar's benediction. Here was an emissary from Manw� himself; certainly the Vala must be overseeing these proceedings and would not let ill come of it. Aiwendil's unwavering confidence in Legolas was sufficient to bring them to a more consolidated attentiveness and the boil settled into a simmer. The citizens stopped disputing one another and resumed their unified concentration on the dais and its occupants. They did not wait for their champion to begin his elocution, but instead interrogated their King in tones of remonstrance and irritation. Thranduil was principally responsible for Legolas' life-long purgatory whether there were reasonable grounds for the Erebor invasion or not.

"What say you, Lord?" demanded one of the silvan warriors.

"Aye, is Tirno right? What more is there to this tale?" a voice among the citizens joined in.

"Much more, and none of it has anything to do with Erebor's dead soldiers, or conspiracies and spies from distant Realms, or Judgements and justice under the eaves of our homeland," Legolas threw these titillating hints out into the air and watched the throng eagerly pounce upon them.

"What, then! Tell us!"

"No more subtleties, we would hear the truth!"

"Aye, you cannot protect Greenwood with allusions and inference!"
Perturbed confusion erupted throughout the Chamber of Starlight anew as one faction yelled against the contentions of another. Legolas was teasing them to divert attention from the corpsman. The King was using Maltahondo as another scapegoat. Tirno must be cleared. No one but the Tawarwaith could bear the burden of the Judgement and see it through; the sentence must remain.

Their disarray was mirrored in the King's mind. He could not make any sense of it, for he had convinced himself that Legolas truly wished to protect Taurant and Gwilith. Yet these insinuations threatened to turn the discontented elves into a rioting canaille bent on ousting their King. Had this been Legolas' plan all along? Did he mean to take the throne by force after all, usurping his younger brother's title?

And why should he not, it would be the perfect revenge upon me for how he was treated.

"I will not permit this," he said with quiet finality, a narrow glare of bitter vitreous hatred fused with the matching signs of despisal within Legolas' flinty orbs of beryl.

"And how far will you go to prevent me?" taunted the Tawarwaith and turned his back on the King to look upon the thrashing sea of shouting mouths, gesticulating limbs and livid faces. He was unconcerned; they were as he meant them to be.

"Far." [Enough.] Legolas let the simple word lightly leave his lips and with it the hallowed dignity of Tawar fell upon the crowd. He waited for them to quiet and they did not disappoint their feral atheling. "What I have to say supersedes the Judgement, the Lost Warriors, and any other personal considerations claimed by anyone in this room.

"Long have our people been subjected to hardship and persecution from the Dark Tower of Amon Lanc. I ask you now to think on how this came to be. Why so much interest in our quiet trees while rings of power lie uncontested in the elven Realms to the West and South?"

"Nay!" Radagast whirled round to gaze in shock at the woodland warrior, for his eyes were opened and he understood what Legolas meant to reveal. "This is not the time for news of that nature!"

"The reason resides here, below these floors," the Tawarwaith ignored the interruption and continued. "In the vaults, hidden among the vast stores of guarded treasure. King Thranduil's wealth is so great, he does not even realise himself what is harboured there. But the Dark One wonders and is determined to turn that curiosity into surety, to our detriment."

"I beseech you, Tirno, do not spread a rumour so injurious to our Realm," Iarwain also comprehended Legolas' intent, and while he could see that fact was something of a surprise to the wild elf, it was equally apparent that too much had already been divulged. The crowd was silently anticipating the conclusion of this speech, and should Legolas stop they would be just as enraged and uncontrollable as the news would render them. The ancient elda was grateful no elflings were present lest they be trampled under foot in the chaos he was certain must result.

"This is a deviously clever lie!" Thranduil was incensed. "I know every item in those caverns, down to the lowliest copper bracelet. Sauron's Ring is not there." And thus he stole the moment of universal epiphany from his cast-off heir.

A collective gasp went up from the mass of agitated elves and they froze, the fearsome concept overwhelming every attempt at coherent speculation.

"Prove it!" challenged Legolas leaping into the momentary lull and commandeering their attention anew. Once more he placed himself under the ruler's very chin. "Give that key around your neck to Aiwendil and bid him search! No unhoused spirit will hinder him and our people trust his integrity."

Low murmurs of approval sprouted up here and there and the people visibly calmed. Tirno had the situation well in hand; his suggestion was sound. There was enough doubt to prevent outright bedlam, and the throng remained tensely controlled, for in their Tawarwaith they placed hope. Legolas would not fail them.

"Aye, let the wizard seek this dire thing!"

"If it lies in Greenwood, Radagast must take it hence. Let him search!"

"Give him the key!"

"It is not a question of keys; it is a matter of trust. You dare imply I am guilty of deceit? I will not submit to an accounting when there is no reason to doubt my word!" the King yelled at his subjects but the end of his nose remained scant centimetres from Legolas' forehead, emerald-fire focused relentlessly against the archer's retinas. "And how can you suggest I would want such a vile instrument of evil in my possession? Do you accuse me of wishing to wield that soul-withering extension of Melkor's hate?"
"Peace!" shouted Fearfaron. "He did not so state; Legolas said you did not know!"

"Aye, he has not accused you of anything!" added Lindalcon.

But the antagonists heeded them not, for this was a confrontation that had been building since the day Legolas was born. Nothing short of a catastrophic cave in could forestall it any longer.

"Your words reveal you, for never did I assign any unworthy inclination to your actions! Who can say what you would do should the talisman come into your hands?" Legolas' words hissed through the minute space between them. "Mayhap you would only keep it secret, hoping the Shadow Lord would thus never arise. Then again, you might be lured to try and use it to aid the Woodland Realm. That was ever my mother's demand, was it not, to return our forest to peace?"

"What impudence! I can scarcely fathom why you speak of her; she abandoned you to your fate from the very beginning!" Thranduil mocked, straightening up his back to maximise his advantage in height and bulk.

"You drove her away! You caused her to ever flee from here and leave me behind! Do not disparage my Naneth!"

"That is a lie and we all know what drew her to Lorien! Do not place the fault for her lack of propriety on my shoulders!"

"It is you that are false and base!" Legolas shrieked back. He pointed his index finger right between the Sinda Lord's eyes for effect. "You seek to divert attention from the true menace. I say you must be hiding something important to go to such lengths to keep it covered."

Neither one realised how like the verbal wars betwixt the King and Queen was this scathing shouting match. The woodland folk, however, were entranced by the spectacle and thoroughly engrossed in the show. They quite forgot Malthen and the Judgement of Erebor. Warriors, civilians, councillors and wizard, all were caught up in the emotional whirlwind and could but hang on to every soup�on of meaning the screaming voices presented and hope their world survived when the storm was spent.

"I will not be spoken to thusly by such as you, convicted and banished Hecilo!" raged the King. "You invented this ridiculous claim to seize control of the Realm, to exact revenge! I name you the prevaricator for claiming to have Greenwood and the prince's interest at heart while plotting to undermine any hope of his elevation to power!"

"You are an ignorant fool!" slandered Legolas. "It is you who manufactures irrational scenarios of enemies plotting and scheming against you when no one has ever contested your ascendancy since first you achieved it. Exactly how does having the treasury examined translate into making me a king?" His scoffing tone earned a few snickers at Thranduil's expense.

"Do not treat our people so casually, playing their fears against them so baldly, assuming they are not wise enough to comprehend your ruse. Your fraudulent tale of the Ring is designed to incite frenzy and generate instability. No doubt under your illustrious connection with Tawar, you will promise relief by ridding us of Dol Guldur's attention, eliminating a Ring that was never there. Thus does an inventory of my resources serve your goal!"

"You dare insinuate I would use Tawar in such a fashion? You know nothing of my role here! I serve Tawar, not the other way round!"

"Lay aside the tone of noble umbrage; I am not the idiot your addled brain imagines me to be. Your actions of late serve no one besides yourself, least of all my elfling heir and his sister!"

"If you wish to ensure Taurant's future, you will allow the inspection."

"Threats again! I have every right to confine you to the dungeons for such treason; you and your perverted Noldo Lord! That must be where these absurd ideas come from; the two of you are plotting together! Do not deny it!"

"That is not true! Leave Berenaur out of it; he has done nothing to you!"

"You must be excluding invasion of my kingdom and starting this reprehensible gossip about the Ring! Mayhap you are so naive you really do not comprehend the nature of your relationship. He is using you to create this frenetic upheaval in our world; can you not see that? Why else would he link his fate to yours? He is acting under his Lord's directions and you are their dupe!"

"Nay, nay, you are wrong and I will not hear this! You seek to divert me from the issue! Why do you refuse to open the vaults? What do you fear will be uncovered? Give me the key!"

"No orders of yours will be heeded here, h�nellon. Fearfaron, come take this, this�"

Thranduil struggled for a sufficiently foul epithet to use and Legolas tensed expectantly, ready for the wounding words to slash his soul.

"�get this edlethron Orcion [exiled son of an Orc] out of my sight!"

In silence the Tawarwaith sprang, right hand at Thranduil's throat as his left swept the dagger from its confinement at his waist and poised it for a fatal jab into the monarch's jugular.

"Legolas!" Fearfaron and Lindalcon shouted in tandem and surged forward toward the dais.

Thranduil was quicker, seizing the wild warrior's wrist to halt the burrowing fingers searching for a throttling hold on his oesophagus, unsheathing Caranthir's dirk in a blur of flashing mithril accompanied by the softly eerie hiss of friction as the blade left its scabbard. And this knife knew the taste of the outcast's blood and craved more, biting in and sinking deeply into Legolas' left shoulder, deflecting the threat to the King's neck.

"Elbereth, no!" Malthen shouted hoarsely and reached for a sword he did not have.

Legolas gasped and leaped back, staggering as the fiercely cold metal left his body and the heat of his blood gushed out. A noise captured his attention and his eyes followed it to the floor where his dagger lay. In an instant of precognition, he knew he would never feel its hilt in his hand again. Instinctively clapping his right palm over the bleeding wound, Legolas realised he had achieved his objective regardless the price. Entwined within his clutching fingers was the chain from the king's neck, for it was this his blade had moved to sever, and under his hand he felt the solid mass of the key pressing into the gash.

Legolas spared Thranduil an accusingly victorious glint of blue and swiftly sped from the room.

TBC

Odd words:
canaille: crowd, pack or dogs, mob.
eidolon: an image of an ideal.
percipience: the ability to perceive things clearly.
praenomen: first name
soup�on: small amount, minute increment, crumb
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