Idhren teriais, ar Yr eden.    [Pondering difficulties, and a new course]

The starlings' argumentative twittering drowned out the songs of all but the most voluble jays, mockingbirds, and occasional raven's rasp.  The flock was congregated in the boughs of an elderly willow, its long verdant tendrils cascading down and dusting across the grassy bank by the Celebrant.  The river's accompaniment was understated and melodious, softening the raucous chatter and drawing eye and ear to its liquid languidity.

A small twist in the water's course carried it over and around a small outcrop of granite, gleaming and glinting a sleek blackness speckled with adamantine flashes where Anar glanced upon individual crystals of muscovite and quartz.  It was as though the river sought the rocks, desiring the added variation in her silvery interlude that the instrumental stones provided.  It was a comfortable symbiosis: the granite could not sing without the caress of Celebrant, and the river's vocalization was enlivened and given depth as the waters flowed over the contrasting planes the stones offered.  Celebrant chortled and laughed, sighed and burbled, dancing across the rounded rocks.

Minuial was only just passed and the sky wore a coat of pale dappled blue amidst an invasion of gray-bottomed cumulous clouds marshalling in from the southwest.  The lightly cooling breeze admitted to the approaching equinox even in the eternal golden glow of Lothlorien's enchantment.

Seated within the natural elegance of the river meadow upon an array of silken throws and satin bolsters, Ningloriel, Queen of the Woodland Realm, awaited the arrival of her caller.  Shrouded in regal impatience, she heard none of the Silverload's morning melody, saw not the twinkling reflection of Anar upon the granite, disregarded the incessant chatter of the grackles, and swatted away in irritation the soft caress of a willow frond.

She was unaccustomed to being kept waiting and whenever she stayed in Lorien held unofficial court here at the river's edge.  Her wealth and status assured her a gratifyingly large assembly of elves willing to acquiesce to her imperial demeanor, and if she was aware of the underlying mirthful condescension of the Lorien nobility she concealed it masterfully.

On Ningloriel's Edwen Aur [Second Day] in the Golden Wood, Galadriel was always the first caller; Ningloriel having paid her respects to the Lord and Lady on Minui Aur [First Day].  By Canthui Aur [Fourth Day], a regular attendance of friends and relatives would be established.  By the sixth, Ningloriel would have received numerous invitations to call on these elves in kind.  But Lefnui Aur [Fifth Day] of every week was exclusively reserved for only intimate friends, and for Ningloriel this day was permanently awarded to Elrond, Lord of Imladris.  The Queen of the Woodland Realm also timed her visits to Lorien to coincide with his so that this opportunity to meet with him was not missed.  Today was in fact Lefnui Aur and Elrond was very late.

Ningloriel rose gracefully and stalked to the water's edge, startling a pair of cranes fishing for their breakfast.  They added their disgruntled flapping to the fullness of Celebrant's symphony as they exited hastily and relocated to shallows further downstream.  The queen paced back to her silken throne and picked up a cushion, kneading it in an unconscious manner as her agitated energy spilled over into the environment.  Maltahondo cleared his throat and she looked over to his unobtrusive position among the glade's encircling birches.  She lifted her brows into delicately flawless arches of interrogation.

"Would you like for a message to be sent, my Queen?" he asked and she threw down the pillow in frustration.

"No message is ever required; this you know!  What is your meaning?" she demanded.

"Only that much has altered in recent times.  You may no longer be first on the Lord's agenda.  Also, word of your decision to leave has disturbed many; your choice may not be as easy for those remaining here to accept," Maltahondo meant his words not so much as explanation for Elrond's tardiness but rather as a gentle reprimand to his queen.  He felt she had not thoroughly considered the impact her immigration to the Blessed Realm would have on her subjects or her son.

"You would question my trueness, my loyalty?  You cast doubt on my love for my only child?" she growled in her most imperious voice, yet Maltahondo remained calm and did not respond, waiting.  The Queen clasped her hands together before her, a gesture indicative of supplication.  "What would you have me do?  You were there; he refused my requests and will not come with me!  Yet I cannot stay, dishonored in my own House while my husband beds that common Tawarwaith to get him new heirs!"  Her strident voice was anything but pleading and shattered the peaceful mood, silencing even the starlings' continuous bickering.  Maltahondo set his lips together firmly and gazed back at his queen as only an old and trusted advisor may do to one of high blood and go unpunished.

"I would have you stay and care for your son; he needs it.  Think on it carefully, Ningloriel, what his condition was that day!  He is strong, but this may be too much when added to the ordeals of the last twelve years.  Even mountains give way under such sudden shifts in their environment," he said calmly yet with urgency in his voice, truly concerned for Legolas well being.

More than any other elf, Legolas had always depended on the former corpsman.  As a child, it was only Maltahondo the elfling sought out when troubled dreams, or scraped limbs, or loneliness invaded his world.

Though the most frequent topic of his parents' vicious arguing, neither seemed to find time to devote to their offspring's care and nurturing.  As a youth, he trusted only his personal guard's opinion of his progress in perfecting his archery skills, and it was Maltahondo he had asked, in round about and tortuous wording, about his attraction to males. Even the brief tenure as the prince's lover had not removed the archer's genuine respect for the older elf, though Maltahondo had to admit he found this made it doubly difficult to escape from his own sense of guilt concerning the illicit affair.

The fact that Legolas never even complained or questioned why he had ended it, or why he had chosen the youth another lover, emphasized the unconditional trust Legolas had gifted to the warrior.  Legolas would never believe that his Malthen would ever do anything intentional to harm him.  Having betrayed this absolute trust for his own gratification, Maltahondo deeply regretted the outcome of his selfish satisfaction at the expense of the prince and wanted to become again the true and faithful guardian.

His first glimpse of the fallen archer in twelve years had been shocking in the extreme.  Through his communication with the other patrols, Maltahondo had kept track of Legolas' activities and whereabouts, allowing himself to be cajoled into a false sense of ease concerning his fate.  He had even let himself feel proud of the way Legolas had strived to complete the Tasks of Release.

He had also been lulled into an artificial belief that the reports detailing the monthly tortures were greatly exaggerated.  Recalled from the southern patrol by Ningloriel's order and her stated determination to leave, Maltahondo had been in the city Caer-a-tadui [a twelve-night, two weeks] when the Edinor-en-Baudh [Anniversary Day of the Judgement] came, and learned of the sexual assault from the Watch Commander that had intervened.

Ningloriel still did not know of this; she had been embroiled within her own confrontation with Thranduil and Maltahondo had not had opportunity to relay the news, so rapid had been her preparations for exodus on the morn.  Even so, Ningloriel had made no comment about her meeting with Legolas at the Forest River or her assessment of his health.  Now, she sank back onto her cushioned throne and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head and rocking her body to and fro.

"I will never forgive Thranduil!  Legolas is so changed; I know not my own child any longer!  Alas, he is dying and his own father has condemned him to this fate!" she wailed in stormy sorrow as tears filled her hands and slipped through the spaces between her fingers, falling to spot the silken covers below.

Maltahondo had to employ tremendous effort to check the all too familiar upwelling of anger that surged around his guilty heart.  Always was it so for Ningloriel; Legolas fate was determined and she would make no effort to intervene, casting blame upon Thranduil and turning inward to ruminate and complain of the damage to her own soul instead.  Maltahondo realized that Ningloriel would never face down the customs and traditions of her people, not even to prevent Legolas' death, preferring to wallow in self-pity for the sorrow and distress his plight had wrought upon her.  Maltahondo thought he had never before witnessed such completely self centered behavior or an elf so emotionally distanced from their child.

Maltahondo also now understood how he had allowed this attitude to color his own evaluation of Legolas worth, treating him as something causal to the fulfillment of the emotional and physical needs of others rather than as an individual with those same needs.  From this knowledge did the guardsman's guilt blossom, for he knew that Legolas loved him and had gifted to him his body's innocence in trust of that love.  And he had taken that gift and sullied it, returning him only pain and fear in the exchange.  He had taken it, using as excuse what he chose to interpret as the invitation of Ningloriel, whom had brought him to Legolas that first night.  Never mind that she had been his lover off and on for some years.

Later, when the regret was too much to bear when looking into Legolas trusting eyes, he had added abandonment to his crimes.  In many ways, Maltahondo's failing in his obligation to protect his young charge was even greater than was his parents', for Legolas never seemed to expect anything other than neglect from them while Malthen was always there for him.

Great was his remorse upon thinking on this and he determined he would remain behind and try to undo some of this damage if by his will and action he might.  His internal musings were disrupted by the just audible footfalls of another elf and he looked back at Ningloriel to see Elrond by her side, a hand already resting in a gesture of comfort upon her shoulder as she wept.

"Why would he not come?  In Valinor, he would find peace and rest and I should not then be alone there!" she railed.  "Now he will fade and I know not if I can bear such grief!  Why is he so stubborn?  How can he disregard his own mother's feelings?"

"Perhaps he feels a certain sense of obligation and responsibility.  Under the custom you have raised him by, no other interpretation can there be," Elrond answered her, and Ningloriel rose, turning and throwing her arms round his neck and leaning her head against his shoulder, sobbing.

"Elrond, I had begun to think you would not come to me!  What can be done; counsel me!  How might I persuade him?  Or barring that, you must find a way to help him, for how can I leave otherwise?" she said.

Maltahondo silently retreated from the glade, glad to be able to remove himself from his queen for a time.  He was resolved; he would see her safely to the Havens and then return to the Greenwood and search Legolas out.  He now felt the passing hours keenly; worried that the journey's length would steal from him any opportunity to make Ningloriel's pronouncement of her son's doom false. Let Elrond placate the grieving mother; he would concentrate on saving the child.  He glanced once more behind him as he passed among the ring of trees, observing Elrond gently rubbing the back of the Queen's neck as he spoke reassurances into her ear too softly spoken for him to hear.

"Ningloriel, it is not for me to do.  The answer is for you to find him and help him through his ordeal.  If you do not go, he need not have this added burden.  Return to Mirkwood; tend to your son!" he urged quietly, but she only sobbed louder against his tear drenched neck.

"This I cannot do!  You know our law and custom forbid me to interfere with the Judgement once it is set!  And is this the only reason you would bid me not to go, for Legolas' sake?" she whined plaintively and Elrond frowned in exasperation.

"Surely that is the most important reason to a grieving mother, and thus did I name it first!  My feelings are immaterial when gauged against the loss of your son to fading!" he softly rebuked her, but Ningloriel would hear this not.

'What of you, would you fade it I should go?" she demanded petulantly, lifting her head to gaze with her tear glazed eyes into his clear and solemn ones.  He smiled gently and kissed the tip of her red and sniffley nose before answering.

"You know better!  I have too many depending on me here; I cannot abandon my children or the people of Imladris."

"Glorfindel can take your place and remove this duty from you; or better one of your sons may do so!  You could leave with me by week's end, Elrond!" she insisted, but he shook his head.

"I must stay, and even were I to go Celebrian awaits me there as you know.  Love there has never been between us but respect and friendship are not to be betrayed.  She is my mate still, Ningloriel."  His voice was firm and his words unyielding, spoken with the ready cadence of long practice and frequent utterance.  Ningloriel pushed him back from her and strode to the river's edge, glowering down at the cheerfully singing water falling upon the gleeful rocks.

"You are as bad as Thranduil, thinking only of your lands and power!  I believe you have wooed me solely as a spy against my own people!  Your heart has never been engaged in our liaison!" she spoke in wounded pride and hoped to hurt, yet Elrond remained calm.

"Believe as you will.  I have given my reasons and I have asked you not to go.  I do not beg nor will I seek to dissuade you from this course if it is what you truly need to do to survive.  My feelings should be clear to you after so long a while, Ningloriel.  Truly, I will mss you and grieve for you, but fade I must not," he stated, but she remained with her back to him in silence.  "Besides, if I go with you how can I look to your son?" he added as he slowly approached, and reaching her turned her to him.

"You will see to him?  He needs a healer; Maltahondo says he is in serious condition.  When I saw him . . ." here she covered her face again as though to blind herself to the vivid image in her memory.  Elrond drew her close to him, enfolding her in a comforting embrace.  "He does not even look like my Legolas anymore; he is a wild and fey creature!  Elrond, he was wounded; he had been beaten!" she cried against his chest and he made soothing sounds as he patted her back.

"I will try to help him.  You know there is little I can do unless he finds his way to Lorien.  We must send Maltahondo to try to find him and bring him out," Elrond promised.  Ningloriel pulled back again, shaking her head.

"Nay, I need Maltahondo to come with me!  You will have to go for Legolas yourself; I will not go to Valinor alone!" she responded, and Elrond stared at her, unknowingly harboring nearly the identical opinion of the Queen as her guardsman had earlier.

The rest of that day Elrond remained with Ningloriel and tried to persuade her to send Maltahondo to search for Legolas. She remained adamant that her personal guard would accompany her to Valinor, however, and finally the lord of Imladris conceded defeat.  He thought, all the same, that a private conversation with the warrior might prove more fruitful.

Elrond suspected that Maltahondo had been Ningloriel's lover for centuries, far longer than he himself had been her paramour.  He also had suspicions that the guardsman was Legolas' true sire, despite Ningloriel's own belief that Elrond was the father.  He rejected this completely, having been cautious of spilling his seed within her.  He felt sure that Maltahondo could be convinced to take the fallen prince under his care and lead him back to Loren for healing if he required such treatment.

Elrond, free at last from his mandatory cosseting with the Queen of the Woodland Realm, made his way through the tailored and tended groves of mellyrn trees towards the talan of Orophin, guardsman of Lorien.  Here he expected to locate his seneschal, Erestor, with whom he wished to discuss the situation at hand.  With annûn [sunset] approaching, the Lorien elf's shift on patrol would be ending.

Erestor had formed a successful long-term arrangement between himself, Orophin, and Orophin's mate, Dambethnîn [My Answer].  Together they comprised a lustful troika of love pleasing and satisfactory to them all.  None seemed to mind the long absences imposed upon Erestor by his obligations to Elrond's House and Imladris.  Orophin and Dambethnîn had each other, and Erestor kept a string of younger elves to satisfy his carnal needs while at home.

He definitely preferred them much junior to his age, and took them as close upon their majority as he could get them.  In fact, the citizens of Imladris, knowing his reputation, had a tendency to send away their young to Lorien to achieve this milestone untouched by the salacious hunger of the tall, lean, predatory Erestor.  Orophin and Elrond met at the base of the tree within which his talan was perched.

"Suilad, Orophin," said Elrond.  "I am afraid I must demand much of Erestor's time this night.  I will return him to you as soon as I am able!"

"Your timing is most irritating, Elrond," spoke Erestor from above before Orophin had chance to respond to the greeting.  The Lord of Imladris merely waited, staring up into the noble branches of the ancient Mallorn.  Erestor sighed in exaggerated dismay and turned to Dambethnîn standing beside him.

"Namarië, Penbara," [Fiery One] he said and wrapped his arms tightly about her and kissed her as though he would not see her again for a Great Year.  She smiled within the kiss at her lover's pet name for her, sliding her fingers up through his locks of blue-black gleaming hair, pushing it behind his ears and caressing them erotically as she did so.

"Namarië to you, Penraun," [Deviant One] she murmured, calling him by his nickname within the triad.  As soon as their embrace was sundered, Orophin, having climbed up to the talan, swept Erestor into a tight hug and indulged in a searingly passionate kiss as well.
"Hurry back," he whispered as they parted and Erestor stole a last quick kiss.

"With all speed as I may, Penraeg," [Bent One] he responded, grinning lasciviously as he turned to descend down the rope to the ground where Elrond stood patiently waiting, trying not to snicker at the silliness of these elder elves' endearments for one another.  When Erestor at last was striding along at his side towards his own talan, he raised his eyebrows in mock disapproval and shock.

"Really, Erestor, at your age one should conduct one's affairs with some pretense at dignity if such cannot be achieved in reality!  After all, elves associate you with my House and realm!"  he joked.

"In that case I should be seen as a perfect example of Imladrian morals.  You have been keeping a lover all the years you have been mated!  I, at least, make pretense at no such bonds!"  Erestor smiled as he replied; yet Elrond's levity vanished.

"My lifemate was not a choice of love and this you know well.  Celebrian was not unhappy and would be at my side still if not for the torment she endured," Elrond answered hotly.  Celebrian had had no illusions regarding their marriage bond, and both elves had retained lesser bonds with others beyond the one between them imposed by necessity of alliance.  Yet each respected the other, shared their deep love for their offspring, and their sense of duty to the citizens of Imladris.

Erestor keenly felt the sting his words had inflicted and regretted his jest.  Less than half of a Millennia had passed since Celebrian had left for the Undying Lands and Elrond dearly missed her counsel and her companionship.  She had been even of temper, judicial in thought, and known for her inner vision and gift of reading hearts.  She had been Elrond's most trusted advisor and a reliable friend who probably knew more about the elf Lord than even did he himself.

"Peace, Elrond, my words were not unkindly meant yet their sound was unduly harsh.  Forgive my thoughtlessness!"  Erestor beseeched earnestly, but Elrond raised his hand in protest.

"Nay, I am overly sensitive on the subject; no forgiveness is required," he spoke.  "It is partly about this that we must speak tonight."

"Ningloriel insists she will go?"  Elrond nodded in response to the seneschal's question, stopping before the Mallorn wherein his home in Lorien rested.  The way up was an elaborately carved wooden staircase winding around the broad trunk of the tree to the level of the first sturdy limbs.  Here, a landing offered a welcoming vestibule and an open doorway into the interior, and Elrond gestured for his friend to precede him.  Erestor entered in, marveling as for the first time at the elegance of the elf Lord's talan.

So majestic were the mighty Mellyrn of the Golden Wood that many goodly homes could be built upon their limbs and harm the tree not the slightest.  For most of the sylvan folk, two to three families shared a common tree, with a single stair leading up to individual landings and balconies for entry into each resident's home.

This stair wound centrally about the great girth of the trunk and so well groomed and tended were the towering plants that the spacing of the branches made the construction of level and spacious rooms an easy task.  Such were trees that Fearfaron would love to build within, and did he ever come to see such he would likely leave the Greenwood for the opportunity to try his skill and apply his artistry to the fitting out of domiciles within living leaf and limb.

Among the noble elves in Lorien, a single Mallorn bore a single palatial dwelling; many tiered and with airy rooms for all purposes and enough left to spare for entertainment and the visiting of friends and family.  It was expected that if an elf arrived in Lorien, their stay would not be brief, and many of the Imladris folk also kept a second home within the Realm between the Celebrant and the Nimrodel.  Among these noble homes, none was greater than that of Elrond.

Upon the first landing, visitors entered into a bright and open veranda cleverly screened against insects with the finest and sheerest of silk netting.  All around it the supports and beams were worked in carved relief depicting stylized waterfalls and flowing rivers in honor of the House's affiliation and devotion to Ulmo.  Each columnar support of the roof was braced with wood shaped in the manner of a swan's wing in honor of the noble insignia of Eärendil.  The furnishings on this grand porch were of comfortable and casual design, and invited one to be seated and rest while refreshment might be provided.  Often Arwen hosted her friends' gatherings here and many such had Erestor attended.

He led the way to the inner stairway and ascended to the next level but continued on, knowing Elrond would not wish to meet in the more formal greeting rooms or the dining halls that level housed.  The third also they passed by, being the level wherein Elrond's house servants dwelt.  Upon the fourth level Erestor came to a massive wooden door, richly carved as the lower arcade was, and here he entered in.  This level housed Elrond's personal study and a library, both spacious and inviting rooms, and richly furnished in chairs covered in tapestries upon which were woven scenes from the legends of the First and Second Ages.

Upon the windows were draperies that might be opened to allow the freshness of the forest air, or shut against storm and gale.  So tightly woven was the silk fabric of these curtains that not but a faint mist of water might penetrate even in the most tempestuous of storms.  Within the enchantment of Lorien, such severity of weather was not allowed at any rate, and so the home remained dry and comfortable all the year round.

There were yet four more levels within the abode, all of them comprised of sleeping chambers, with Elrond's own at topmost as it was the custom in Lorien that the more revered the person, the more near to the splendid views from the canopy their resting chambers be.  Upon the fourth level, then, Erestor made his way into the familiar study and chose his usual seat.

This was a limb-cradling settee of bent willow wood upholstered with the best swans down and covered in the softest of deerskin leather.  The dimensions were meant for two, but Erestor liked to sprawl out and stretch his lengthy legs, often draping one or the other over the arm of the furniture.  Alternately, he would slouch deeply into the velvety leather and stretch forth his legs, propping his heels upon a matching footstool.  This he chose to do this night.  Elrond chose a chair; his favorite armchair covered in ocean blue stained leather worked in a wave-like scroll design all around the joins to its wooden frame.  The wood of the chair was from a seasoned incense cedar, and if one remained seated for a few minutes the wondrous aroma of the wood filled the room, released by the heat of the body within it.  Elrond removed his boots and rested his feet upon a low ottoman.

"Ningloriel," he said and grimaced around the syllables in disappointment as he did so.  "Surprisingly, she is firmly resolved this time.  It seems that the double blow of her son's disgrace and being supplanted by a royal consort is too much for her to endure.  She feels she is now a parody of the noble queen she once was," he concluded and Erestor nodded.

"There is truth there, though it is strange.  The wound to her pride cost her more than the wound to her heart," he commented and Elrond raised his brows questioning his meaning.  "She was only too ready to be consoled and counseled by you after Legolas' Judgement and banishment.  She did not even threaten to leave her Realm then, and sought only for a way to remove the stigma his dishonor brought upon her House.  Now, she is to be permanently reprieved from ever having to bed Thranduil again, something she has been loathe to do for millennia; how old is the child?  Yet she is too distraught to remain among her people!  I would think she would welcome this consort to her household!" the seneschal expounded.  Elrond considered this.

"He is no longer a child, though young yet; I believe Legolas to be some centuries younger than Arwen.  Nonetheless, she does not welcome the intrusion of this rival female.  Ningloriel is a complex inu [female].  It is not Thranduil she is jealous to share, but the power of her position.  She has been hoping all the time she has been mated to him to wrest control of the Woodland Realm from him.  She expected me to do this and then hand over the governing of the lands to the Danwaith, herself to be specific.

"Yet, Thranduil is no one's fool and has held his power over the Wood Elves with great skill.  He allowed the Council of Elders to remain as the overseers of the Law and Customs.  He and his House handle defense and trade negotiations with the surrounding peoples.  The Council thus has no reason to denounce Thranduil.  He married one of their own, adheres to all their Laws and Customs, has trained an exemplary fighting force, kept the encroaching Darkness at bay, and added to the realm's wealth and status among the elven lands." Elrond mused.  This was a problem they had discussed often in these very rooms, and Erestor nodded his understanding.

"She sees now how weakened her position is.  With a consort approved by the Council, she can no longer play the role of the long-suffering martyr, victim of her King's jealous raging.  It is likely that Thranduil will have evidence against her that will strengthen his case before the Council." He continued, but here Erestor stopped him.

"Why has he never used this evidence before, if he has it as you suggest?  Surely, he has never demonstrated any love for the child Ningloriel gave him."

"Thranduil would not have it from his own mouth that he was thus cuckolded by his mated queen!  He has his pride as well, I would think!  He must have thought he could force her hand, using Legolas as leverage against her, threatening to reveal her faults before her people.  They are both uncommonly stubborn individuals!"  He responded.  Erestor considered this thoughtfully.

"Most of the Wood Elves believe Thranduil is not the father of Legolas anyway, do they not?  Thranduil has been operating under a false sense of pride, if this is so," he interjected.

"Indeed!  Thus it often is in such matters; the feuding couple remains in denial of the public knowledge their noisy and violent behavior allows.  Ningloriel firmly believes that none of her subjects have any suspicions that there is trouble within the royal House!"  At this Erestor snorted in contemptuous mirth.  He found such open displays of private matters grossly distasteful.

"Nevertheless, Ningloriel has played into Thranduil's hands quite nicely!"  Erestor stated and met Elrond's gaze.  "It would seem we all have so done." He added, and Elrond nodded his confirmation.

"Yes, in one move Thranduil deepens the xenophobia of the woodland folk, removes my principle spy, and disposes of any threat that Legolas will ever challenge him for the throne.  He was always a better tactician than his father was.  Had Thranduil been in command of his folk at the Last Alliance, history might be quite different!"

"To say the least!" Erestor exclaimed.  "Now he appears as the long-suffering victim, yet his loyalty to his people causes him to take another Danwaith as consort in order that a true heir be gotten.  Oh, the Council must love him!"  His words dripped with disgust.  Erestor hated to be bested in anything, especially by such as Thranduil, a common enough Sinda until his father invaded the lands of the Wood Elves and turned it into a kingdom.  Lands too vast for such unenlightened elves as the House of Oropher represented to have control over, in his opinion.  Elrond should rightly have the lands as a fief of Imladris, at the very least.  "What will we do now; without Ningloriel we have no direct access to Othronnen Thranduil [Underground Stronghold of Thranduil]."  Elrond sat back and remained silent for a time, his brows drawn together in frustration creases.

He had not handled Ningloriel well over the years and had over estimated her ability to glean the information he desired while underestimating Thranduil's responses to his wife's foolishness.  In addition, the downfall of Legolas had proved to be a decided and unexpected gain for Thranduil.  It crossed Elrond's mind to wonder if Thranduil might have engineered the entire fiasco.  This sent a jolt of shock through the Lord of Imladris; he could not fathom such cold-heartedness.  He sighed and rubbed his forehead; no closer to anything approaching a new plan than before the conversation began.

Seeing his Lord's distress, Erestor rose and went to a serving table placed conveniently in the alcove created by the ascending staircase.  From it, he selected two carved crystal goblets and poured into them a rich and aromatic red wine.  One goblet he handed to Elrond, and returned to his seat with his own.

"Perhaps we can turn things back to our favor again.  Who is the new consort?  Is it likely she will be as easy to seduce as Ningloriel?" Erestor ventured.  Elrond sipped the glittering ruby liquid appreciatively as he thought on this, and finally rejected this idea.  He had already mulled it over, and Erestor bringing it up sealed his judgement against it.

"Nothing I know of her indicates this would be possible.  She is Danwaith, named Meril, daughter of a warrior named Thalacrist [Stalwart Sword], and is wife to one of the lost warriors that fell by Legolas fault in the Battle of the Five Armies.  She has used some vague and ancient law of her people to claim Legolas' rights for her own son.  Having secured her family's place within a royal House, I am doubtful she will do anything to jeopardize that position!"

"I wonder what part she played in the young prince's downfall?  Valar!  Could any elf be so cold as to send their own mate to Mandos' Halls just to rank higher within a backwater realm like Mirkwood?" Erestor shivered at the idea, finding the savageness of the Wood Elves' dealings horrifying.  Elrond, hearing this comment, began to place Meril in league with Thranduil in the scheme.  This pair would make gruesome adversaries, willing to sacrifice mated husband and named son and heir to cause a shift in power in their favor.  He decided to present the only alternative he had yet envisioned.

"Ningloriel expects me to salvage the son," he said, "and probably find some means to redeem her honor at the same time!" his tone was flat and offered no hope for this to occur.  Erestor was of equal disbelief.

"Is she beyond reason now as well as common sense?" he queried incredulously and Elrond shrugged.

"I know not her mind any longer.  She has become less rational, certainly.  In spite of what we say, she must feel both grief and guilt for her son.  It is affecting her, surely." He said.

"You told her you would do this," Erestor intoned the words in mildly accusatory disapproval and again Elrond shrugged.

"She would not be satisfied otherwise, however unlikely my success would be in such an undertaking."  Elrond was silent, thinking a moment.  "Long has she held the hope in her heart that the child was conceived of our union, so great is her resentment of Thranduil." He remarked.  Erestor hazarded a glance in his direction.  This was the first that Elrond had openly mentioned this part of the intrigue.

"You believe it not, then?" he asked.

"I know it is not so!"  The Lord of Imladris huffed vehemently, and Erestor shifted on the settee, looking elsewhere.  To his mind, the idea was not so outlandish.  The two had been lovers even before Elrond's bonding to Celebrian.  Legolas conception day, given the guess at his age by Elrond, fell within a Great Year that Ningloriel stayed in Lorien, and the Queen was only in Lorien if Elrond was there also.  Erestor cleared his throat.

"Nonetheless, it might be advantageous if he were your offspring." He stated and held his breath for the expected explosion of wrath.  Elrond stared at him, saying nothing nor moving a muscle, for some minutes, and Erestor worried.  At last Elrond sighed.  He knew well what his seneschal really thought and decided to just let it go.

"How would such a thing be beneficial, Erestor; and speak plainly what you mean to say!" he admonished sternly.  Erestor drew a deep breath.

"You might gain his trust if you could convince him that this is true.  This might give you the access you need to Othronnen Thranduil," he continued.

"Are you forgetting his status?  He cannot even enter the city except on prescribed days and certainly has no right to the palace grounds now," Elrond replied.

"Yet, he probably knows more about the ins and outs of that cavernous place than even Thranduil himself.  He grew up there; he is an only child.  What else had he to do but go exploring?  If there are alternate routes into the King's vaults, he would know of them."  Erestor argued.

Elrond himself had thought this also, and indeed it was at the heart of the only strategy he had yet devised to correct the loss of Ningloriel's intelligence gathering.  For this reason he had agreed to Ningloriel's pleas for her son.  However, he had no wish to burden himself with parental concerns and responsibilities, much less the upset and turmoil this would create in his own family.  He had previously decided on a different approach.

"There is merit in what you say, Erestor, and I have considered it also.  However, I think Legolas need not believe himself of my blood to be courted into betrayal of Thranduil," Elrond responded with careful emphasis on the word courted, and Erestor sat up in surprise, a distinctly wolf-like gleam of predatory delight visible in his gray eyes.

"When do we leave to search for this fallen prince?" he asked eagerly and now Elrond smiled broadly as well.

"I would rather not go wandering within the boundaries of Mirkwood, Erestor.  I plan to try and recruit an ally to bring the fallen prince here to me.  On the morrow I will confer with Galadriel and Celeborn; I have little worry that they will object.  We are all in accord over what is at stake here, and Gandalf has been unable to garner the information on his own.  Celeborn will object; he did over the design to utilize Ningloriel.  In the end, Galadriel will consult the mirror and the Lord will acquiesce to her fore knowledge." 

"Who is this ally?  There are none here trusted by Thranduil; his guards would surely deflect any uninvited search party away from their borders.  Better for the two of us to sneak in alone and spy out the situation." Erestor said.

"The Queen's guardsman, Maltahondo.  He is Danwaith, well known to the patrols and can come and go as he pleases within Mirkwood. I believe I can convince him to help Legolas," replied Elrond.  "In fact, I plan to go from our meeting to seek him out."  At this Erestor drained his cup and rose, returning it to the serving cart.

"In that case, I must request the end to the discussion.  I can not allow Penbara and Penraeg to forgo the wild and unbridled ecstasy my skillful and creative lovemaking adds to their sedate and predictable mating!" he chortled gleefully as he headed down the stairs, then halted.  "Is it to be a secret that I may take this fallen prince in the near future?" he asked and Elrond burst into laughter.

"Yes!  It is a secret and also highly unlikely that you will be the one sampling that particular delight!  Go, get you back to your triad's tryst, Erestor, and I will seek you when all is prepared!"

With that Erestor's face fell and he departed with a less buoyant gait.  Elrond followed minutes later, leaving his comfortable quarters in search of Maltahondo.

Tbc
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