Echui na Ruth    [Awakening to Anger]

Fearfaron shifted his burden, weightless though it seemed to his shoulders, as he carefully maneuvered through the canopy towards the Wood Elves' city.  Legolas was unconscious again, his breath faint and rapid amidst the unnatural warmth radiating from his skin and the faltering rhythm of his heart's tempo.  Fearfaron gripped him round the waist as he limply sagged against his back, arms swaying with the motion of their progress and lanky legs gently butting the carpenter's shins with every movement he made.  Fearfaron felt none of it, lost in worry that he had delayed too long and Legolas was already beyond the reach of the healer's skill.  He could go no faster laden as he was and for fear of aggravating the archer's injuries, now gruesomely abscessing and poisoning his body, yet dearly did he wish for a swifter route. 

Under normal conditions, they were no more than 2 days journey through the trees from his own talan.  As it was, he would be lucky to reach the city in 3 days time. For this reason he made the decision to head for the cove and ride back upon the barge of wood, using the current to speed their journey.  This meant he would have to pole the raft alone, a difficult task in itself, but more to the point he would have to tie Legolas down to prevent him from toppling into the cold waters if he woke in his delirium.  While he hated to do this, he knew no other way to proceed, and so he arrived with his slight encumbrance at the river's edge where the barge was fastly secured.

Legolas remained insensible to all that transpired, lost in fevered dreams and given to incoherent mumbling as he tugged against the bonds securing his wrists and ankles to the wood logs.  Fearfaron was grateful for that as he struggled to keep the heavy craft from grounding on sandbars or foundering in the shallows of the lazily meandering stream.  Here, the Taur Sîr [Forest River] had no need for raging strength and churning waters, for the Luithad [Enchantment] of the Wood Elves seemed to make its mood dreamy and slumberous even as it promised sleep and forgetfulness of any who ventured into its current.

Yet the course was sure and steady as it wound its way towards the stronghold downstream, bearing its heavy freight along willingly.  Fearfaron realized with joy that he had regained the time lost by his careful movements through the tree limbs as the sun set and the rising tips of the stronghold's cliffs could be seen peaking above the tree tops on the far bank ahead.  Unable to navigate by night, the carpenter put in and secured the barge until dawn.

With gentle care Fearfaron tried to cleanse the infected gashes, more worried by Legolas' lack of response than he would have been by cries of pain.  For too long the younger elf had remained lost in the ramblings of his febrile brain, unable to find his mental way up into the pathways even of the elven dreamscape.

Now, in the darkness of Gwain Ithil [the new moon], Fearfaron tried to rouse him, speaking softly and pouring the cooling liquid from his water skin over Legolas.  He dared not use the water of Luithant Sîr [Enchanted River] for this would only enhance the unnatural stillness of his charge.  No change occurred throughout the night and as soon as the first hint of morning appeared to dim the stars Fearfaron was back on the raft with Legolas securely constrained.  By mid afternoon, the barge came in sight of the docks and bays of the stronghold where goods from Dale and the Iron Hills were unladed.

Fearfaron called out to two elves manning the gates there and they hurried forward to help secure the barge, familiar with this task of the craftsman before them, yet they refrained from stepping onto the raft, as they perceived the disgraced prince.  Fearfaron sent them forth, one to summon the healer and have her meet him at his talan, the other in search of Mithrandir.  With concerned glances one to another, the elves dashed away from the barge as the carpenter carried Legolas seemingly lifeless form onto shore.

He easily bore Legolas draped within his arms, limp limbs swaying in ungainly time to the older elf's steps, head lolled back and twisted golden locks trailing down in sweat-dampened and matted strands.  His skin was colorless as though all the blood had drained away from his body, or his heart had ceased to propel it throughout his flesh.  Indeed, the rumor quickly spread by the dock-wardens was that Edledhron [Exiled One] had perished, and thus all debts were paid and the Warrior's Release achieved. 

Their progress through the courtyards took them near some of the private gardens of the Royal House, and the whispered comments of the household staff drew the attention of Lindalcon, practicing with his bow nearby.  He gasped as the gossip reached his ears and he focused his eyes upon Legolas' inert form.  Against the cries of his tutor, the young elfling dashed out to join Fearfaron, falling into step beside him and gazing up with worry.

Fearfaron looked at him and nodded briefly, giving his unspoken consent for the youngster to follow them into the city.   Before they had gone far from the main gates, Mithrandir hurried to join them, huffing a bit as he exerted himself in his efforts to catch up.  He gazed keenly at the unseeing eyes of the fallen archer but relaxed when his gnarled fingers pressed against Legolas' neck and revealed a stringy but insistent pulse.  Lindalcon gazed from one to the other and finally returned his eyes to studying Legolas.

"Is he, is Legolas dead? " he asked cautiously, trying to keep the fear from his high youthful voice.  Fearfaron shook his head and smiled grimly.

"He lies near enough to it that I would guess he can hear the voices of those that have passed beyond to the Halls of Waiting," he said seriously. "But he will survive; he has too much to live for," the carpenter spoke with determination.  "He is very strong, Lindalcon, and the healer is awaiting us at my home.  She will set this to right and he will heal up.  Would you like to come?"  Mithrandir cleared his throat to catch their attention before the elfling could respond.

"I am not so sure that is a good idea.  Lindalcon, does your mother know where you are?  Have you permission to leave the compound unattended?" he asked sternly, not certain how Meril or Thranduil would react to the elfling's disappearance and association with the disgraced prince.  Mithrandir knew both the custom of the realm and the personal dislike of the King regarding Legolas.  Knowing well how strong Thranduil's rages could be, the wizard had no wish to have it directed against either the young usurper or Legolas' champion.

Also, his growing suspicions concerning the exact circumstances surrounding Legolas' Judgement prevented him from saying too much in Lindalcon's presence, not wishing to alarm the youngster further concerning his father's death.  Gandalf wanted to discuss his ideas with Fearfaron, and perhaps question Legolas himself if his health permitted.  The young elfling tossed his brown curling locks and sniffed with pre-adolescent contempt.

"Why do they have to know about it anyway?  This is a stupid Law!  Legolas did not kill my father!" he scoffed at the very concept.  "I want to come along, maybe he will wake up and want someone to talk to," he continued, disregarding the obvious fact that Mithrandir and Fearfaron would be there. 

Lindalcon considered himself to be Legolas' contemporary and assumed the archer would be as bored as he with the elder's droning talk on politics and gossip among the noble Houses.  He wanted to tell Legolas about his progress in archery and gain his support in appealing to his mother regarding joining the guard when he came of age.  Most of all, he just wanted to talk to him about his father.

No one would even speak of him, and his mother cried whenever he tried to get her to tell stories she knew of Valtamar's young days or listen as Lindalcon related a memory that warmed his aching soul.  Legolas had always been willing to listen before, no matter what Lindalcon wanted to talk about, and he had never betrayed a confidence.

Fearfaron was nodding, allowing his gaze to linger on Legolas with a slight smile.  He knew of Legolas' friendship with Valtamar's child, and thought it would be good for him to learn the young elf held no grudge.

"I think your tutor is plodding along a little distance behind us, being careful not to lose sight of you and still obey the custom to shun our friend here!  That should prevent most of the blame from falling upon you," he said in conspiratorially pitched tones for Lindalcon's ears alone.

"This tutor will have to absorb most of the wrath of your mother and the King!  And you are right, Lindalcon; Legolas did not cause Valtamar's death.  That is a fate awaiting many a warrior called into battle or patrolling against the Orc hordes and all know this.  If only those of us with greater years could also possess the greater wisdom!  I will tell you that even if he is not to blame, Legolas has taken very seriously his obligation to his lost comrades.  You may be the first to hear of it: Legolas has obtained the Release of my Annaldír!"  Fearfaron spoke up at this last sentence and let his words carry into the hearing range of the groups of curious elves lingering in the walkways as the trio paced past.
 
This revelation caused a stirring of confusion to ripple through the scattered citizens of the Greenwood and a rising hum of softly voiced exclamations to travel through the city and back into the courtyards of the stronghold itself.  The rumor became confused; was the fallen archer dead?  If so, then why would only one Warrior be released from Wandering?  On the other hand, a counter report attested to Legolas being alive and if anything this produced even more consternation.  For never had any Release been accomplished while noss-dagnir [kin-slayer] yet remained alive. In all the tales of their ancestors and the legends of their mythology, Warriors' Release was traditionally accomplished only by exchange: death for death.

The news captured the disgruntled tutor and stopped him where he stood, gaping around him for someone to share his surprise at this disclosure, until he realized he was alone and turned, hurrying back into the compound.

The Wood Elves drew a little closer to the wizard, the warrior's son, and the carpenter hoping to hear more of this story or catch a closer look at the insensible elf that had achieved this feat.

Lindalcon's eyes grew wide as he stared with lips parted in speechless amazement at Legolas.  He reached out tentatively and took one of the archer's cold and lifeless hands in his own as he fought to forbid the tears to fall from his somber brown eyes.

"I… I am happy for you, Fearfaron!" he began softly, using his other hand to carefully rub the icy fingers he clasped, trying to send some small semblance of warming friction into the digits.  "Is that what this is from?  Is this what he had to endure to gain the Release?"

Lindalcon was clearly not comfortable with this idea.  He wanted his father to be at peace, and in spite of himself he was jealous and perhaps a little angry that it was Annaldír that Legolas had suffered so to save.  Yet he liked Legolas and even looked up to him, and wished no further torment to befall him.  In the young elf's confusion over his conflicted emotions, he could not restrain his weeping.

Fearfaron and Gandalf exchanged dour glances.  Lindalcon presented as a precocious youngling, yet both elders knew this was often a mere façade the inexperienced produced to feel more comfortable when exposed to trying and troubling situations.  Neither the wizard nor the carpenter wanted to destroy whatever innocence Lindalcon possessed by revealing what had been going on between Legolas and Ailinyéro.

"No, what you see has nothing to do with how Legolas gained Annaldír's Release.  What you see, Lindalcon, is the result of a sickened mind, warped in its cruelty and selfishness!  This is the work of Ailinyéro," Gandalf said quietly as the three approached the carpenter's talan.  Fearfaron approved; if more were asked he would direct the elfling to query his mother.  The healer was waiting there as well as another elf, a warrior.  Lindalcon released Legolas' hand and raced to him, grasping the former corpsman's arms in warrior's greeting.

"Maltahondo! I saw you leaving with the Queen!  Why are you here; is it because you have heard also?  Annaldír is Released!  Legolas did it!" he said and stepped back to regard the tall warrior.

Maltahondo stared down at Lindalcon in surprise and then let his eyes travel between the wizard and the carpenter, questioning, before resting sadly on his former charge.  As always, a strong wrenching spasm twisted his insides as guilt rose against his stern composure.  He swallowed and attempted to smile at Lindalcon, achieving a crookedly weak semblance of the usually pleasing facial expression.

"Nay!  This is news indeed!  As you say, I left to escort the Queen to the Havens and have only just returned to the Greenwood.  How is Legolas?" he said calmly.  The healer stepped forward and made a rapid inspection, frowning and shaking her head.

"Barely breathing, but he may survive yet!  Really, after the events of Edinor Baudh, I expected no more than what the gossip relayed to me and to have only the duty to declare the death official! Give him to me, Fearfaron, and go up first to prepare a place for the healing," she said crisply, taking charge of the scene at once as she received the wounded elf into her care.  Legolas stirred slightly during the exchange to new arms and tried to lift his head, but succumbed again to the rampant infection and slid back into oblivion.   With speed and efficiency, the healer set to work as soon as Legolas was laid upon the comfortable bed in Annaldír's rooms, and the other elves left her while Gandalf remained to lend what assistance he might.

Fearfaron settled Lindalcon in the common room beyond the sleeping chamber where he could observe yet remain beyond the ability to interfere or hinder the healer's activities.  He refused to go down from the talan, insisting he would remain until Legolas woke and he was able to see this with his own eyes.

Fearfaron was happy with this, as he wanted Maltahondo to himself for a bit.  He bade the warrior to descend with him and the former corpsman did so, disconcerted by the poorly disguised hostility on his old friend's features.  The two were barely on the ground before Fearfaron spoke.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.  "You were to leave for Valinor as well, were you not?"  Maltahondo stepped back a pace and stared in amazement at the fiery tones of the usually serene carpenter.

"I am here to see to Legolas!" he rejoined.  "I had no intention to go to Valinor myself, and tried as best I might to convince Ningloriel to remain and come here herself!"  His voice was brusque, for he knew not what had angered Fearfaron.

"Legolas does not need you to 'see to him'!  That you have done enough of!  There are those here that will not allow further abuses to be perpetrated upon his soul and his body!" Fearfaron seethed in hushed tones so as not to alert the traditionally quick and impressionable ears elflings possessed when their elders were arguing.

Maltahondo was taken aback; the carpenter's meaning could not be clearer: he was accusing the corpsman of these crimes.

"You sound as though you think I am the one that caused him to be there in the healer's care now.  I am not, and have not seen him since the day by the river, as you well know!  Speak your concerns plainly so that I may answer whatever your charges may be!" he said in bold tones while his own heart misgave him; he did feel responsible for what had happened to Legolas.  Yet, it was fear that tinged his words and seeped into his voice, for he had thought that his affair with the former prince was a secret.  He would fall to disgrace and banishment if the truth were to become public.  Fearfaron snorted his disdain.

"What you dread has come to pass; Legolas has at last confided in someone regarding your, your despoiling and defiling him!  How could you do such a thing?" he tried to keep his voice down as his anger rose to dangerous heights and he took a step closer to the warrior.

Maltahondo's mouth fell agape and the color drained from his countenance at these words, and he again fell back from the carpenter's advance.  His eyes darted up to the talan as a strangled sounding groan caught their attention.

"Be silent!" hissed Fearfaron.  "I do not want him to hear your voice and know you are here!  That he does not need right now!"  With these words Fearfaron leaped up, climbing the rope ladder into the dwelling, and peered through the doorway of his son's room.

Legolas was fighting against the painful draining of the abscesses yet still seemed more unconscious than not.  Lindalcon was looking on in worry, pale and drawn, and the carpenter drew him away from the gory sight as the gashes were reopened to bleed freely.

"Perhaps this is not something you should watch so closely, pen-neth [young one]," he said as Lindalcon swallowed against the sour taste rising up in his throat.  He had never seen wounds such as these, and even when his own father had occasionally been injured, he had seen only the cleanly wrapped white bandages on Valtamar's recovering body.  The smell of Legolas' diseased blood was sickeningly sweet, as rotting flowers might be, and Lindalcon was glad to be lead down the rope ladder to the forest floor.  The young elf drew several deep breaths as he fought off his disgust and fear.

"Oh, he is very sick, and he suffers so!" he cried in alarm when he could speak again.  Fearfaron nodded and reached out to rest a comforting hand upon the youth's shoulder.  As he did so he sent an angered glance to Maltahondo.

"Perhaps you should escort the young one back to the compound.  No doubt his mother has been told he is here and will be sending the tutor to retrieve him or will arrive herself," he said.  Even as the words left his lips the hurrying figures of two elves could be seen approaching from within the stronghold: Meril with the hapless tutor close at her heels.  Lindalcon sighed dramatically and tossed his head again.  Maltahondo grinned at the reaction and chuckled in spite of the tension surrounding the carpenter's home.

"Come now, Lindalcon, it is not so bad!" he said.  "You will be allowed to return when Legolas has regained consciousness."

"No!" the youth yelled unexpectedly as his mother hustled forward and opened her mouth to scold.  She held her tongue in surprise and stopped abruptly a few paces away so that the tutor nearly ran into her backside, avoiding the embarrassment by skittering sideways at the last moment.  "I want to stay!  What if he wakes and no one is there but that healer?  He should not be alone!"  The strength of the emotion in the young elf's voice was a surprise to him as well, but Fearfaron felt he had a fair idea of the cause.  Lindalcon was simply projecting his own fears of being alone since his father's death and his mother's new involvement with Thranduil.   Instinctively, Lindalcon had recognized a common ground between himself and Legolas that had nothing to do with archery.  Meril smiled sadly; she also understood her child's fears.

"I know you wish to stay, but that cannot be.  Legolas will not be alone here.  Fearfaron will remain, and perhaps Maltahondo as well," she reassured her son, but he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

"That is not the same thing!  I want to be here!  He is terribly ill and the gashes, they are, they ooze and, and the smell is, is . . . What if he dies?  Nana, just let me stay and I will stop pestering you about the commission in the guard!" he struggled to impress upon his mother the seriousness of the situation, believing that if he left then he might lose his friend.

Fearfaron raised his brows at the elfling's offer and even Maltahondo could not hide his surprise.

Meril tisked and fidgeted about her son, pushing the hair back from his face and straightening the hem of his tunic as she fought against her better judgement.  She did not want to seem to flaunt open disregard for the Law and Custom but she loved her son and worried over his reluctance to accept the changes in their lives.  She knew he grieved for the loss of Legolas' friendship almost as much as he grieved for his father.  Meril sighed in resignation while Lindalcon scowled in annoyance but held his peace.

"You cannot stay round the clock, but I will let you come to visit everyday.  After your lessons are completed!" she countered, recognizing what it cost her son to propose to forgo his unending pleas to join the patrols.  Lindalcon gratefully agreed and Meril handed him off to the tutor, watching with concern as her son returned to the stronghold.  Once he passed beyond earshot, she rounded on Fearfaron in fury.

"How could you allow him to be here and see such horrors?" she demanded, but Fearfaron was unruffled and gazed back blandly.

"It is not for me to interfere in how Lindalcon chooses to deal with his father's death.  However, I think it was good for him to hear that Legolas is doing what he is required to do, and that he will be successful," he said quietly.  "Lindalcon's compassion for Legolas is a credit to him and to the manner in which he was raised.  His instincts are true; you have taught him well.

"As for the horror of the injuries, you are right.  I had not thought carefully of what treatment would be needed.  Lindalcon should not have seen that, and I am deeply sorry to have upset him," he continued.  The mother glared at him and Maltahondo shifted uncomfortably in his spot behind the carpenter.  Meril's glance turned to him and became even harder.

"I suppose you are also here to protect the interests of the kin-slayer?" she demanded, but Fearfaron would not allow that to go unchallenged.

"Legolas is no kin-slayer, and in your heart you know this," he said.  "The fault must be shared among many, including Maltahondo, Talagan, and Thranduil himself!" he continued.

Both elves gasped at this; it was not common for the Wood Elves to openly denounce the actions of their King, no matter what misgivings they might have privately.  Even more unusual was it to challenge the Laws and Customs that had stood since the Elder Days when the Green Elves were driven back from Ossiriand across Ered Luin with great losses after the first battle against the evil of Morgoth.

"Further more, Legolas does not seem to have anyone else watching over his interests, as you call them, other than myself," he concluded and turned to climb back to the talan, leaving the two elves staring.

Meril shook her head slightly and glanced back up towards the talan as the muffled sounds of Legolas' struggle against his torment reached her.  She heard Maltahondo sigh and transferred her regard back to his figure.

"I must concede he is right; I do not believe Legolas deserves to bear this Judgement alone.  The fact that he has endured and accomplished one of the Tasks is a testament in itself to his strong spirit and true heart," he said.

Meril merely looked at him, saying nothing as she considered the harshness within the calmly spoken words of Fearfaron.  She wondered how exactly Maltahondo was at fault, though she shared the carpenter's opinion of Talagan's and Thranduil's responsibility.  The warrior spoke again, uncomfortable under her silent regard.

"If you would permit it, I will accompany you back to the compound.  Fearfaron has made it clear he does not wish me to remain here, and no doubt you would prefer to check on Lindalcon's wellbeing," he said.  "It was good of you to allow Lindalcon to visit," he added.  Meril nodded and they turned to walk through the shaded paths of the Wood Elves' city towards Ennyn Daer [the Great Gates of the stronghold].

"I, too, share some of Fearfaron's opinions regarding Legolas.  My occupancy within Thranduil's household has enlightened me as to the origins of the faults his son does possess.  Why does our old friend so strongly reject your presence and name you as a betrayer?" she asked directly and was pleased to see that her query startled the usually composed warrior.  But Maltahondo was quick to recover; he had no intention of his secret getting farther than the carpenter's knowledge.

"I have said so myself, perhaps he only now accepts this as he sees the degree to which Legolas suffers.  I was certainly remiss in my duty to him on the battlefield that day.  I should have been alert to the dangers of the ridge above us.  Further, I should have prevented him from moving out onto the ledge in clear view to those below as well as above!" he said the words with the ease of long practice; thus has he told himself, she thought.  Meril nodded slowly.

"Perhaps, yet you feel so because you were more to him than just his corpsman," she spoke softly and watched from her sight's edges the elf's reaction.  Maltahondo remained composed, however, and she was dissatisfied.

"True," he replied.  "I was his personal guard since the day he was born, and failed him in that aspect on that battle field.  Thus does Fearfaron rightly call me responsible for the deaths of the warriors.  Had I done my duty to Legolas, he may have avoided the errors of that day."  Meril noted that Maltahondo shied from using the term betrayer or kin-slayer to signify his lack of action.

There was more to it than this, she was certain of it.  Meril prided herself on her ability to discern the truth or fiction held within the words of another, and her instincts told her the warrior was concealing a deeply held remorse and a great fear.  The causes of such depth of response to her queries would be interesting to root out, yet she did not want the corpsman lingering around the stronghold long enough to achieve that end.  She had her own theories regarding the corpsman's relationship to his Queen and his prince, and wanted no such reminders to sour Thranduil's mood further.  The petition regarding her status as Royal Consort was still in debate before the Council, and Thranduil was already chaffing under their foot-dragging.  They had reached Ennyn Daer [the Great Gates] and she stopped.

"Have you business with the King this day?  Will you stay and dine within?" she offered courteously, knowing he would decline.

Maltahondo bowed briefly to the wife of his lost comrade, remembering Valtamar and Meril as they had been on the day of their joining, and felt saddened for how things had changed.  Joyful, loving, and happy had been their union, and Lindalcon had deepened the love between them and their commitment to each other.  This icy and calculating inu [female] was not the Meril that had befriended both him and Legolas when the archer suddenly joined her husband's company.  Grief, he surmised, was a bitter brew to stomach and remain unaffected.

"I would enjoy your company and that of Lindalcon, for seldom do I have the chance to see any of my old friends now.  Yet, I would prefer not to speak with Thranduil.  While I may not be as outspoken as our formerly shy friend, Fearfaron, I also have misgivings about the King's part in the downfall of Legolas.  I do have messages for him, having recently come from Lorien and the Havens; perhaps you would be willing to deliver them for me?  I believe they are mainly from the Queen," he stated the last sentence rather pointedly.  Two could play at this teasing with guilt.  Meril smiled politely while feeling anything but friendly.

"Of course, I will be happy to give them into his own hands," she cooed with false gentility.  "Will you be returning to the southern patrols?" she asked with a smile.  Maltahondo stared at this coldness; she might as well have asked how soon he planned to die.  He returned her wooden grin, however, and bowed again.

"Alas, I must.  There is too much evil yet pouring from that accursed fortress of Dol Guldur!  Our efforts there are all that holds the Enemy at bay!" he replied and took his leave of her, returning in the direction of Fearfaron's talan.  Meril watched him go, silently shredding the rolled parchments bearing Ningloriel's seal and releasing the fragments to join the detritus in the dusty courtyard below her feet.  She entered into the Gates and went in search of her child.

TBC
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