Amarth o Maltahondo [Fate of Maltahondo]
At the King's retraction of the charge of treason a relieved shout of
joy escaped from Erestor and he spun around, instinctively grabbing for
Legolas, wrapping both arms around the slender shoulders and squeezing
tight as he buried his nose against the Tawarwaith's mane of golden
tresses. But the archer stiffened in reaction, his body a rigidly
unyielding mass of rejection, and the seneschal quickly let go,
muttering an apology as he turned away to spare himself the look of
betrayal he imagined the wild elf's eyes must hold for him.
Yet it was not so, for Legolas was only stunned at the impromptu
embrace. The Tawarwaith fully appreciated the fact that Erestor
had placed himself bodily between the King's intimidation and the
Sylvan warrior. By this selfless act the seneschal accomplished much
toward mending their damaged friendship.
The Noldo expected Fearfaron to claim his foster child but it was
Mithrandir who surged forward and caught up the fallen prince, lifting
him bodily off the ground and crushing him against his chest in a
breath stealing embrace as his booming laugh of delight echoed from the
walls. The rest of Legolas' family was soon crowding around the
wizard, each attempting to get a chance to share their pleased
congratulations.
Erestor returned to Aragorn's side, sharing a wan smile as they watched
the display of affectionately gentle jealousy over who could stand
closest to Legolas. Aiwendil's features were transformed with a
tremendous grin and he thumped the equally ecstatic woodsman upon the
back so soundly the worthy human stumbled and had to grab Aragorn's
sleeve to regain his balance.
"Ai! Mithrandir I cannot breathe!" the wild elf's muffled complaint,
uttered in liltingly happy tones, reached the crowd and soft chuckles
erupted at this.
"Wizard, give me my son!" demanded the carpenter, with only partially
feigned annoyance, through his smiling lips.
"Aye, you will stifle him with that thick beard of yours!" added
Lindalcon and this elicited more grinning laughter from the crowd.
Mithrandir complied, setting Legolas back on his feet and loosening his
grip somewhat. He was extremely pleased when the forest champion
did not immediately pull away, hugging him back warmly instead and
resting his full weight against the Istar's lean and lanky frame as
their thoughts merged.
I am glad you are here; what I need to do now I could not face
without
my friends beside me.
It must be done, Legolas, this burden is not yours to bear and never
was.
They broke apart and Legolas nearly flung himself into Fearfaron's
clasp, sighing in contentment as he wriggled about to free an arm with
which to ensnare Lindalcon within their circle. They remained
this way for several minutes as the spirit hunter swayed, rocking both
of the younger elves, as much for his own comfort as theirs. He
did not like to think what the consequences may have been had these
charges held. Too often was he forced to endure the dread of
having his second son forcibly removed from his care forever.
"Ada!" whispered Legolas, engaged with similar thoughts, and pressed
his face against the tall elf's shoulder as tears threatened to
spill. He had never felt this much love before and it was
thoroughly staggering, following so swiftly upon the tension and dread
of the King's threats. The carpenter's hand began softly rubbing
his back and that was beyond Legolas' limit to contain. The
strong emotions overflowed and soon Legolas was weeping unashamedly,
clutching onto Fearfaron's tunic with one hand as the other gripped
Lindalcon's so tightly the younger elf winced.
"Pan vaer, ion edwen, pan vaer," [All is well, second son, all is well]
Fearfaron whispered back, his voice quavering slightly with swallowed
tears of his own.
Lindalcon did not even make an attempt to prevent the gush of liquid
relief and merely leaned his head against his brother's, adding his
fingers' caressing comfort to soothe the archer's shuddering shoulders.
"My Lord King," Aiwendil approached the dais, "esteemed councillors,"
he turned and nodded to Iarwain, "if it might be permitted, perhaps a
short break in the proceedings would be in order?"
"Of course, that is certainly allowable. Let us dismiss for two
hours to give Tirno time to adjust before the next phase of the trial,"
spoke the eldest Elder.
Thranduil's eyes had returned to their scrutiny of the disgraced prince
and could not hide the disdain he felt to observe such an open display
of weakness. The last time the Sinda had cried had been at his
mother's passing; he had attained less than half his majority.
The Woodland King rose and walked from the platform, heading for the
archway that lead into the throne room, passing so close to the three
enmeshed elves that his sword's scabbard scraped against Legolas' calf.
"Indeed? I see no need to drag this out longer than necessary,
Iarwain. My wife and newborn son require my presence in these
early days of Taurant's infancy. We shall resume in one
hour. Carpenter, get your fosterling tree-lord under control by
then," he flung the scornful remarks behind him as he left the chamber.
At this declaration the assembly murmured low, a quarrelsome grousing
of discontent for the unkind comments and short period of respite the
newly acquitted was granted. All within the Chamber of Starlight
could see the three elves needed more than this.
"So noted!" called Fêrlass in sullen censure. "The Council
will reconvene one hour past Anor's zenith. Let all seek
refreshment and thus return equipped to attend the rehearing of the
Judgement of Erebor!"
Fearfaron sighed and patted Legolas' shoulder encouragingly. He
planned not to waste a moment of the short span and with Lindalcon's
help steered the distraught elf toward the hallway where there was an
exit into Ningloriel's garden. The wizards, the humans, and
Erestor followed, desiring to do whatever they might to show support
for their friends. The group emerged into the bright glory of
midday and made their way to the little brook, seating themselves on
the lush green blades of the thick lawn beside the twinkling
stream. They remained silent as Fearfaron coaxed Legolas into
stretching out, cradled the wild elf's head in his lap and tenderly
wiped away the remaining teardrops that pooled and fled from his lower
lashes.
"Are you hungry, Legolas? I will go find us something to eat, if
you like," offered Aragorn quietly.
"Nay, I thank you but do not think I could keep anything in my stomach
just now," said the archer, presenting the Man a shaky smile.
"Nonetheless, there are several hours yet in the day and much to
endure," cautioned Mithrandir. "I suggest some of that delectable
concoction sweetened with honey."
"I agree and lembas with it. Erestor, go with Aragorn. I
will need more substantial nourishment and a light wine to accompany
it," Radagast ordered and the seneschal did not hesitate to get up,
still acutely aware of the Maia's displeasure with his actions.
Aragorn joined him and the two strode off toward the rear of the
terraced grounds where the kitchen gardens led to the entrance to the
pantries.
Erestor could not help a backward glance as they left the group, for he
was anxious over Legolas' state of mind and wanted very much to make
amends for his misdeeds. When he turned back to the Man he found
Aragorn's vexed grimace evaluating him with rigorous intensity.
"I know what you are thinking, Aragorn, and you are right! I have
never done anything so low before!"
"Aye, that is near enough to it. What explanation can you
give? I have not asked you prior to now because of the doom
looming over the Wood Elf, but that is passed. An accounting,
Erestor!" Aragorn demanded in tightly clipped tempo as they walked.
"I do not know exactly how it started," the seneschal began in
bewilderment. "I recall discussing this plan with Elrond, and it
all seemed perfectly harmless then. We did not really think about
Legolas, to be honest."
"What sort of answer is that?" the Man's voice conveyed his complete
disgust. "Tell me then what you did think! I need to
understand what prompted my father to indulge in this escapade."
"I rather imagined he would be like his mother," Erestor swallowed down
the clammy mucus accumulating in his paradoxically dry mouth.
"She was well prepared to handle this kind of game."
"Sauron's shite!" hissed Aragorn as he came to a sudden halt.
At first Erestor quailed, thinking Elrond's foster son would turn and
strike him for his words, but a quick glance found the human gazing out
over the small rear gate of the walled garden into the barracks'
grounds beyond. Following the path of his vision, the seneschal
discerned a tall auburn haired warrior walking rapidly across the yard
toward the stables: Maltahondo. Erestor had noted the soldier's
intense concentration upon Legolas during the trial and had hardly been
able to contain his wrath for this ogling. The seneschal had
intended to seek him out and challenge the heartless elda once it was
all over.
"Valar! Do you know the full history of that filth?" he asked,
curious over the amount of venom in the mortal's curse.
"Aye, even before Ada's letter. Lindalcon told himself and me at
the same time; a most unsettling experience I assure you. There
is a creature more foul than even your recent exploits depict you to
be, Erestor! Too young to know better, Legolas gave away his
heart to that wretch, who cared for it not a whit. For this
reason Legolas suffers grief sufficient to chase lesser elves into the
Halls of Waiting."
Erestor tried not to flinch at the verbal jab and failed. "What do you
suppose he is up to?"
"I think the warrior is trying to escape his just punishment and I will
not let that happen," growled the mortal and he hurried to the narrow
picket portal and fussed with the latch, stuck from long centuries of
non-use. "Do you wish to redeem yourself in my esteem?" he shot
back over his shoulder. "Then follow me!" In his angry
frustration Aragorn kicked the wood viciously and the gate gave way,
breaking the rusted hasps as the door burst open. He marched
purposefully in the warrior's wake.
Erestor hastened to rejoin his side, still unclear if Aragorn
understood the connection between the archer, the guardsman, and
Ningloriel. The seneschal did not wish to unwittingly reveal the
Tawarwaith's darkest secret if it could be helped.
Under the eaves of the barn they followed the wild elf's former
guardsman and protector and came upon him as he led a fine grey-dappled
charger out from its box. Maltahondo came to a stop as he
discovered his way barred and he gazed upon the strangers with surprise.
"Where are you going?" Aragorn queried sharply, his hand resting upon
the hilt of his sword.
"That is little enough concern of yours, human," the warrior smirked at
the Man's attempt at menace. No mortal was a match for any of
Thranduil's guard, no matter what elven realm had fostered him.
"You are Maltahondo, one of the elves that fought at Erebor," countered
Aragorn. "I am a friend of Legolas and so it is my concern. Were
you not the one with him on the ridge? All involved in the Battle
will be required to offer testimony; you cannot flee."
"I will not be hindered by you, Man. My reasons for leaving are
known to those important enough to be informed; stand aside!"
Barely had he said these words before Erestor sprang upon the warrior
and had him on the ground.
The stallion shied back and returned to its stall to observe from a
position of safety.
"Erdë faica urquion! Yeltanyel!" [Despicable spawn of Orcs! I
despise you!] Erestor screamed as he buried his fists into the
corpsman's abdomen.
Malthen was breathless and could barely move as he tried to regain his
wind, his hands forming an ineffective shield against the onslaught of
the Noldo's blows. He attempted to roll out from under his
attacker but Erestor solidly kneed him in the groin and followed that
up with a double fisted pounding upon the warrior's face.
"Úmëa hastanéro hínion! Feuyanyel!" Elyë
nar cotumonya oialë!" [Evil defiler of children! I feel disgust
for you! You are my enemy forever!] Erestor hurled these epithets
loudly, in Quenya no less, to punctuate each impact of his fists and
knees against the warrior's writhing body.
Aragorn looked on in gleeful astonishment as his old tutor, his foster
father's trusted advisor and partner in crime, proceeded to give the
guardsman a proper drubbing.
So unexpected was the assault that Maltahondo had no chance to fend off
the onslaught as the Noldo barrelled into his midsection, knocking him
off balance and forcing the air from his lungs. By the time he
could breathe again he had sustained an appreciable number of deep
bruises to his kidneys and liver, his left eye was swollen shut and
bleeding, and his lower lip was split in two places. The Woodland
warrior finally managed to wedge his knee between himself and Erestor
and shoved the seneschal off him. Malthen rose unsteadily to his
feet only to be plowed into again and pushed back against the wall of
the nearest stall.
Erestor pressed his forearm under the guardsman's chin and leaned all
his weight and force upon the warrior's neck. Maltahondo's gaze
turned desperate as he tried and failed to dislodge the throttling
pressure from his trachea, clawing and squirming. He landed a
couple of ineffectual blows to the seneschal's side; his nemesis seemed
not to feel them. Malthen attempted to kick the Noldo's feet from
under him, but was unsuccessful as the lack of oxygen sapped his
strength and diminished his reflexes.
Erestor was unmoved. His right hand delved into the pocket of his
breeches as he held Malthen's darkening eyes with his glare of
smouldering hatred. He withdrew his rigid fist tightly clenched
around some hidden object.
"You took the love of Legolas' heart and the virginity of his body,
breaking both ere he had even reached his Coming of Age!" With
this sentence Erestor held his hand in front of the guardsman's face
and opened his fingers. There on his palm was the severed lock of
Malthen's hair that had adorned the wild elf's ankle for so many
years. "And he knows what you have done, Maltahondo, and with
whom you have done it! But for Mithrandir, that would have killed
him!"
As his lungs struggled to find air and his mind screamed alarms amid
the blossoming black blotches of encroaching oblivion, Maltahondo
stared at the loosely coiled braid. Bound upon the archer, as its
remembered curves proclaimed it must have been, it served as proof of
the wild elf's unfailing devotion to the corpsman throughout the long
years of his exile. Curled in the palm of the Noldo's hand,
bereft of the soul that had cherished it, the lock testified to the
ultimate betrayal the archer had discovered.
The fight's commotion and Erestor's yelling attracted several elves,
but none intervened in the struggle, seeing Aragorn poised in the
doorway with sword drawn. As the beating proceeded and Erestor's
insults became more and more specific, the warriors openly expressed
their shock and dismay. Now this Aragorn found both enlightening,
for it was clear these elves understood every word of the High Tongue
the seneschal was shouting, and alarming for Legolas' sake. The
Man sheathed his weapon and moved quickly to stop the brawl only to
discover it was over.
Maltahondo had lost consciousness and Erestor stepped away letting the
tall warrior's form slide down into a limp tangle of limbs and tresses
in the dirt of the barn. Breathing heavily from his exertion and
the strain of emotion, he threw the discarded token atop the stilled
body at his feet. He turned his gaze to Aragorn and found amused
appreciation shining in the mortal's grey eyes.
"Consider yourself redeemed," said the Man.
Erestor bestowed a lopsided grin upon his former pupil and gave a brisk
nod of acknowledgement for the pardon. Before he could draw
enough breath to respond, Talagan and the healer entered onto the scene
at a run and the crowd of silent warriors, by now grown quite large,
parted to let them approach. Halting a few steps away, their
sight documented the senseless elf on the ground and the dusty,
dishevelled noble-born elda of Gondolin attempting to straighten his
clothing and brush away the dirt.
"What is happening here?" demanded the captain, staring between the Man
and the seneschal as Gladhadithen hastened to the fallen warrior's
side. She made a swift evaluation and nodded to Talagan.
"He lives, merely rendered momentarily without breath. His heart
is beating and he draws air, though shallowly," her report given she
motioned for help from two of the guards and they heaved the warrior up
and bore him away. Gladhadithen remained, for her curiosity was
too great to ignore and the corpsman needed no urgent tending.
"He attacked Maltahondo," said one of the soldiers as his glance
implicated Erestor. His speech was quiet and the tones lacked the
heat of anger one might expect such a charge to hold.
"Aye, but the Noldo was provoked," another warrior added solemnly.
"Indeed, the corpsman deserves worse if the claims spoken be true!" a
third vehemently intoned.
Aragorn registered Erestor's look of pure astonishment at these
statements and shrugged. "They all know Quenya quite well, it
seems."
Now Erestor was horrified for once more his loose tongue had betrayed
Pen-rhovan's trust. He had never intended to divulge Legolas'
secret to the population.
"And what say you, Erestor of Gondolin, in defence of your actions?"
asked the captain, suspicious at his troops' reactions of support for
the outlanders. "What are these claims?"
"Maltahondo is not what he appears to be. He has deeply wounded
one that is dear to me, and I will not have his crimes go unnoticed and
unpunished," said Erestor boldly.
"It is not your place to mete out justice in our lands! We shall
see to the enforcement of our own Laws and need not the aid of the
Noldor of Imladris to show us our duty," the Sinda hissed.
"It is our Tirno," one of Danwaith warriors softly spoke. "And
these are not crimes to be voiced in the open council, Talagan.
The Noldo is his lover; there are certain rights beyond the Law."
Erestor, Aragorn and Talagan all startled to hear this declaration but
for very different reasons. The veteran warrior was amazed at the
ease with which the Danwaith accepted the disgraced prince's unorthodox
choice for mates, a foreign male of a race despised among the Sindar
and a wizard not even of like kind. The Wood Elves seemed to find
no fault with their champion requiring sex and soul bonding from
separate individuals. Talagan shook his head, perplexed.
Aragorn and Erestor were surprised to hear the seneschal given the
intimate designation. To any elf the bond of union was clear in
his eyes. Based on the combination of the day's testimony and
Erestor's actions on Legolas' behalf the warriors assumed this bond was
with their Tirno. The Imladrians felt it best under the
circumstances not to reveal that the Noldo would not be staying with
the Tawarwaith. The Sylvan folk's opinion had readily strayed
from Legolas more than once, what the warriors would make of the less
than formal liaison they could not guess.
"Aye, he seeks redress for despoiling the purity of a child," yet
another said, his words fulsome with anguish and loathing to even have
to voice such a thought.
"Sadly, I must confirm these accusations are true. I have known
of this since the Release of Annaldír, but for Legolas' sake
remained silent," said the healer. She turned with apologetic
eyes to Erestor. "He had no one then; it seemed a greater burden
for this to become open gossip, considering the weight of the Judgement
he bears already. Fearfaron and Mithrandir also heard
Maltahondo's complete admission to these despicable acts and the three
of us determined he was never to go near our Tawarwaith again or face
disgrace before the Council."
The seneschal shared her pained expression; he had no doubt that she
understood the corpsman's doubled deceit.
"By Namo!" breathed out Talagan barely above a whisper. His
perusal of Elrond's letter had gone far enough to reveal Maltahondo as
part of the fallen elf's past, but he would never have imagined these
events taking place while Legolas was but an elfling under the
guardian's care. The fact that Legolas had survived the ordeal spoke
volumes as to the truth of the claims, for everyone understood how
deeply he loved the guardsman. Malthen had been his brother, his
father and his mentor, all at once.
How easy it must have been to manipulate such adoration! This
explains
the wizard's bond; only that salvaged the archer. And even
with
all of this running through his thoughts, still the depth of the injury
was hidden from Talagan, for he knew nothing of Maltahondo's affair
with the Queen.
The implications this news held in regard to the events at Erebor were
blatantly unignorable, and the captain could see many of the warriors
shared his feelings. Maltahondo had ample motivation to seek the
archer's silence forever, for the rape of a child was the one crime the
Wood Elves deemed worthy of immediate execution, preferably by the hand
of the innocent's parents. No decree of Council or King was
required, for the evidence of such a heinous corruption was apparent in
the victim's defiled and lifeless body. An elf had never
committed such a sin that was recorded in the histories; these
horrendous desecrations were the result of Orc raids on families
travelling to or from the Woodland Realm.
"What is to be done, captain?" asked one warrior.
"He must die!" exclaimed another in exasperation for so obvious a
remedy.
"Wait, you do not understand," cautioned Erestor in alarm.
"Legolas still loves him! If Malthen dies because of this, I know
not if the archer can endure."
This admission made the assembled elves very uncomfortable for a time
as they tried to find a logical way to add this into their
understanding of their champion. It was the healer who wisely
found the correct explanation.
"Of course he loves Malthen! Has he not always done so? It
is the natural development of a child's mind and heart to think this
way. The guardsman's time and companionship filled the gaps left
by his parents' neglect. Handled properly, this infatuation would
have faded. This makes the crime more abhorrent, for Maltahondo
twisted that emotion all around and added into the mix the pleasures of
the body. Nay, Legolas is not strong enough to survive the guilt
such an execution would bring him."
"Many die on patrol," commented Talagan dryly. "But I would hear
his account of Erebor first, to judge if any remorse resides in the
corpsman's heart. If he condemns Tirno further, then his crimes
against his former charge can be revealed. Maltahondo will discover his
fate drastically altered. I am thinking he is fit bait for the
pitfalls."
"Nay, captain, if he speaks thus then the King will only have cause to
withdraw his pledge of support for our Tawarwaith even before we have
had opportunity to give it!" complained one of the soldiers. "And
I would not see Tirno humiliated by the revelation of this evil abuse
before the Council and Lord Thranduil. Hard enough it was to face
down the derogation of his character for consorting with Noldor spies!"
Erestor frowned at this but for the time being the soldiers seemed
rather to have chosen to overlook that he was one of those spies.
"He handled it well enough, even the King was impressed with his
fortitude," spoke another.
"Thranduil knows of it anyway," murmured Talagan, suddenly wondering if
the King was fully cognisant of the extent to which the guardsman had
used Ningloriel's son.
Did he realise it prior to the
letter? Could he have been aware of this and still left the
elfling to such a cursed fate? He wished to believe his old
friend incapable of such cold-hearted apathy, but he understood more
than anyone how deeply Thranduil resented the child, truly believing
him to be the illegitimate offspring of Elrond of Imladris.
"Eru's arse!" seethed Erestor in rage. "How could he permit such
a thing to happen to an innocent?"
A chorus of similar comments arose among the increasingly large number
of warriors in the stableyard and the Danwaith questioned openly the
validity of such a callous elf to lead them. It was for them all
the same, doing the act and allowing it to be done, and Thranduil was
in their minds as guilty as the corpsman.
"He wanted Legolas to die," whispered Gladhadithen and covered her face
in her hands, as she wept for the pain the elfling had suffered, alone
and unaided by anyone. "Legolas' death would have forced
Ningloriel to provide him a new heir. Why did I not see it?"
"Do not blame yourself," Erestor consoled her kindly. "His own
mother had no inkling this was happening either."
"Oh? You sound very sure of that," the healer mumbled through her
choking sobs. "Did you know Ningloriel well? Did she speak
of her son to you?"
Erestor found himself at a loss and shared a look with Aragorn
communicating that the answer to both questions was negative. He
could not bring himself to reply; once again his well-intentioned
remarks had instead added to the calamity in progress.
The Man placed a comforting hand on his old tutor's shoulder and
squeezed. "Such speculation is pointless and does not help
Legolas," he reminded everyone.
"Aye, this is not about whether anyone could have prevented the
despoilment; it is done. Neither need we wonder if he is able to
withstand exposure of his broken soul. Instead I ask, would we
wish it required of him?" posited one of the Sylvans.
"I do not think you need worry over Maltahondo's testimony, for there
is other evidence that casts doubt upon Legolas' responsibility,"
Aragorn added. "Indeed, whatever the guardian may say can do no
further harm. Therefore, let not this other matter come before
the Council and the hearing of the entire congregation of Legolas'
people."
"That all here can agree upon; we will prevent it if possible," stated
Talagan conclusively and the combined assent of the gathered elves
flowed in soothingly protective tones across the grounds.
Before they could continue the nearly noiseless pressure of elven feet
racing over the grass captured the crowds' attention and the warriors
stood aside once more to admit Lindalcon within the inner circle of the
impromptu hearing. The young elf looked at this assembly in
bewilderment, resting his sight last on Aragorn and Erestor. He gawked
at the seneschal's ruined attire and mussed hair.
"What is this?" he demanded worriedly. "Mithrandir grows
concerned and Aiwendil is fuming over your failure to bring that
honey-milk! Fearfaron sent me to fetch you back for Legolas feels
something amiss. The Council is ready to reconvene and we must
make haste or Legolas will have to confront the King's interrogation
without you."
Without another word the group dispersed, Talagan leading the warriors
and Gladhadithen back through the stableyard to the armoury.
Entering the stronghold through the archways there and filing towards
the Council Chamber, the guards quickly reclaimed their positions at
the back of the room. Aragorn and Erestor turned and hastened
into the garden after Lindalcon, dismayed to find the green turfed
lawns empty of their friends. As they passed through the doorway
and squeezed between the gathered throng, the King shot them a
withering glare.
Legolas heaved an audible sigh of relief that turned into a gasp upon
observing the Noldo's disarrayed locks and dirty clothes. His
eyes questioned his two friends but Aragorn only smiled reassurance as
Erestor mouthed that he was fine and not to worry, the meaning
decipherable to the wild elf even if the implied words were not.
"The recent charges have all been dismissed or revoked and Tirno no
longer stands accused. Several citizens, however, have come
forward and expressed to me and to other members of this Council…"
Iarwain was speaking for the record and stopped mid sentence as his
vision took in Erestor.
Far from the noble demeanour he had presented earlier, the seneschal
was a mess. His carefully groomed hair was askew, the ribbon
wrappings unravelled and bits of straw caught within the
braiding. His tunic had several small spots of blood staining it
and one knee of his breeches had a tear while the other was completely
ingrained with grime. He smelled distinctly like the stableyard.
"…strong reservations over the Judgement imposed at the Battle of
Erebor," the Elder belatedly completed his thought with a scowl of
disapproval for the Imladrians. "It is therefore right to rehear
the testimony of the parties involved that day and determine if the
Tawarwaith truly deserves the punishment allotted. Let those who
deem the Judgement false speak now and identify their reasons for the
histories."
"I challenge the Judgement," spoke Mithrandir. He felt, as did
Legolas, that rehashing the events would lead to some greater calamity,
but with the trial underway he could not withhold his eyewitness
account. "I was present that day and can swear that no goblins
had over-run the ridge above Legolas. Therefore, he could not
have exposed his position to enemy attack from above, yet that is
whence the rocks were thrown which defeated his careful aim."
"For my part, I must be the one to claim responsibility for the errors
made in perception that day. I was Legolas' commander and left
too much of a burden for one archer to bear. Had I positioned
more snipers and made better use of the allied ground forces, the goal
may have been achieved," Talagan said contritely. The warriors
around him grumbled in disagreement; this was not the answer.
"I must protest that on principle, for I am no warrior," strangely
enough, it was Fearfaron who spoke for the assembled soldiers.
"This was war, and the fate of a warrior is held not within the hands
of his captain, his comrades, his enemy or even himself. The
chances of life and death upon the battlefield are equal, none can
predict who will survive and who will perish before the end of the
battle. Neither can one elf prevent the deaths or secure the
lives of any of those soldiers engaged in the conflict. Unless he
be their King and have the power to prevent the army from marching from
our borders in the first place."
At this flagrant challenge to his authority and open dispute of his
decision to claim Smaug's horde, Thranduil leaped from his chair, his
face red in outrage.
"By Eru, you would dare accuse me?" he cursed and fairly charged from
the dais towards the carpenter.
This time he was not quick enough, however, and before he was within
arm's length of the spirit hunter the Tawarwaith jumped between them,
in the same motion snatching away the curved dagger from the belt at
the Sinda's waist. Legolas held the blade poised to dart deep
into the immortal body towering over him, the glint in his icy eyes as
sharply dangerous, alight with an equal promise of death.
"Daro! Dartho ad! E aval matho! [Stop! Stay back! You will not
touch him,]" came the chilling order.
In spite of himself Thranduil froze on the spot, every nerve in his
body tingling in warning of his imperilment. He took one step
away from this unexpected transformation of weepy elfling to fearsome
protector. Thranduil saw the carpenter's hand contact his
foster son's shoulder, pulling ever so slightly. The fey creature
eased his stance enough for all to resume respiration again.
Legolas lowered the blade.
"None of this is necessary, for I say again and for the record: let the
Judgement remain!" Legolas continued in the same tone of command and
none dared interrupt the voice of Tawar. "The Battle of Erebor is
history and the losses endured are irreversible. Nothing will
bring back those killed save the will of Mandos. That is what
this is about! Two of our comrades have yet to face the Vala, and
until they do their fate cannot be determined; their re-birth delayed
indefinitely.
"Fearfaron is wrong; those warriors' deaths could have been prevented
and I am the one who held their fates that day! I alone had the
advantage of the heights, and could observe the movements on the battle
plain with greater acumen than even Talagan with all his years of
experience. From my position, I watched the Goblin guards
decimate our troops and our allies.
"I had ample access to those despicable fighters and numerous chances
to shoot them. I could have killed them all. Had I done so
I would have spared the lives of the Lost Warriors as well as several
score among the dwarves and Men! With the bodyguard removed, I
could then have taken my leisure and slain the Goblin King unopposed.
"Thus, the burden of Erebor is mine alone to bear."
Silence.
Unbearable, excruciating absence of sound filled the vacuum left by the
completion of the Tawarwaith's speech. Within the tightly packed
chamber a heavy emptiness descended; a smothering, tactile void, a
suffocating gauze of pulsing discord wrought by the elevated emotions
discharged between the carpenter, the King, and the outcast. In
hushed uneasy tension the very air felt stretched, impossible to
breathe, transmuted into filaments of spun glass pulled too thin to
support the mass of the silica. The merest disturbance must
surely shatter the atmosphere beneath the weight of the burden imposed
by the conflict.
The Wood Elves waited in dread anticipation for the destruction of
their champion, for how would the King abide that open challenge and
blatant threat? Juxtaposed with the magnitude of the wild elf's
treacherous action, his words failed to overshadow the population's
morbid fascination with the blade.
The dagger had been drawn, held in vengeful ferocity before Thranduil's
solid chest shielded under the thick leather jerkin. So easily
had the knife found its place in the Wood Elf's hand; it became as a
thing alive through connection to the wild warrior's wrath. But
the outcast was a tease, hinting that rich elven heart's blood would
whet the weapon's long, dry and thirsty surface only to lower the razor
fine edge to point at the cold, stone floor. How many millennia
had the dirk been cosseted away in silk and velvet-lined leather, shown
off only as a prize rather than the deadly device designed to serve
Caranthir the Dark, kinslayer of Menegroth, the fiercest son of
Fëanáro? Would such a weapon now suffer being put
away unslaked?
Held limp and dangling in the Tawarwaith's fingers, its potential for
carnage seemed magnified; possessing a power of its own, its slashing
strength grew more formidable by the second. Enough, perhaps, to
overwhelm the fallen archer's better qualities and induce him to
release the rage of centuries upon his tormentor. Legolas had
unsheathed the blade, it would be even easier now to simply raise it up
and strike.
Yet, not a single one of the Danwaith believed their exiled prince was
prepared to destroy Thranduil. What then must become of the Sylvans,
dragged into the abomination of kinslaying beyond anything known among
them before? Could they stand frozen and behold the King's
retaliation? Many had been prepared to accept the sacrifice of
the Tawarwaith in payment for the lives of the Lost Warriors, but to
forfeit their champion for the pride of the Sinda Lord grated upon the
soul. That was not a death worthy of entry within the Halls of
Waiting.
Like green blades in a meadow swept by a shifting wind, the Wood Elves
billowed under the fluctuating flow of perturbed captivation, yearning
both to flee and to stay, to evade eye-witness knowledge of the
catastrophe and to watch the fate of the outcast play out.
None found the means to decamp. It was as though invisible
strands of hithlain [mist thread, used to make elven rope strong and
light] bound the chamber's occupants. Each individual linked to
another yet together remained isolated in distinct conglomerates, every
group ensnared in the web of strained sensibility. There stood the
soldiers on one side, enraged to know the truth of their leader's
unfeeling heart. The citizenry filled the room's other half,
terrified that the very roots of their society seemed to be afflicted
with necrosis, while the diplomats and councillors formed a buffer
between them. Each party struggled to separate from the
conflicting core containing their Tawarwaith and their King, held
mesmerised by the point of the dagger so casually clasped, so ominously
poised.
But no retaliation did the soldiers seek. As a unit they retained
their aloof demeanour, projecting restrained hostility toward
Thranduil. Not one of them had made any move to assist their
King, not even Talagan.
The concept of the guards failing to back their Lord was unimaginable;
the Wood Elves knew not what to think and determined the warriors were
responding to the carpenter's statement. Fearfaron's opinion was not
foreign to the folk of the Woodland Realm. Indeed, their shock
was due more to the sound of words, heretofore whispered in the quiet
confines of flet and talan, reverberating through the halls of the
King's own stronghold. Many privately agreed with Fearfaron's
assessment of the reason for the Battle of Erebor, finding the waste of
life for such a purpose unacceptable. Yet, up to now, none but a
few had dared to openly express these thoughts or even to speak
privately to the Council.
And soon Thranduil heard the omnipresent silence rather than the
thudding of his heart and realised he still faced this threat
alone. Of its own accord, his right hand settled upon the hilt of
the sword of Dior.
Legolas sighed, venting his soul of regret and irritation. The
ire left his eyes, trained steadily on those of the Woodland Lord, and
the Tawarwaith comprehended the lack of wisdom in presenting such
heated resentment. He expected to be swamped at any moment by a
wave of warriors intent on sparing their Lord and decided to lessen the
chance of Fearfaron suffering from such a mauling. The forest
champion turned the dagger hilt out facing and extended his arm.
Thranduil seized the weapon and swiftly drew it from the almost open
palm, cutting a deep incision across the older laceration made by
Talagan's sword, a small reprimand in physical form.
With a soft hissing exhalation Legolas yanked his hand back and closed
his fingers tight around the wound, but a splatter of blood oozed out
to stain the floor as the blade slipped back into its sheath with a
soft sigh of satisfaction. It had taken its taste of the
First-born's essence and was content.
A simmering whisper of rising wrath rippled through the warriors at the
sight of the crimson droplets going glossy black as they struck the
stone but no reprisals arose, for the elves were as uneasy with their
discontent as Thranduil was to note it. Could they truly do
bodily harm to their King? Could they stand by indifferently as
their champion received further abuses?
Fearfaron gripped Legolas tighter.
Nothing happened. No move to apprehend him developed.
In bewilderment Legolas scanned the throng of soldiers and found
unexpectedly sympathetic expressions directed towards him. First
sharing his astonishment via a quick glance over his shoulder to
Fearfaron, Legolas returned his attention to the King.
Thranduil glared into the uncomfortably insistent and perplexed lapis
orbs of the wild elf, trying to understand what the outcast could
possibly hope to achieve by his words after his incendiary
confrontation. No one had ever drawn a weapon on Thranduil
without suffering severe reprisal, even unto forfeiture of life, yet
the fallen prince stood straight, no longer crouched as if ready to
spring, calmly awaiting the Sinda's countermove, staring with that
disconcerting expression of earnest contrition and stubborn defiance.
The King focused on the bleeding hand and debated whether to imprison
the outcast as would be within his rights under the Law. Yet,
Thranduil felt an uneasy squeezing in his gut as his senses registered
the intensity of the attention he was receiving from his subjects,
little of it holding good will. Realising none of the warriors had
moved to protect him was a greater blow than any the Sinda Lord had
known since shouldering the monarchy; the loyalty of his soldiers had
been a constant in his reign.
It is the Tawarwaith's doing. How he has created this rift in
only one hour's time?
Anger flared anew yet Thranduil did not act on it, uncertain for the
first time since his father's death whether his orders would be
obeyed. He turned and resumed his place upon the dais but
remained standing.
Fearfaron wrapped both arms around his adopted son's chest and pulled
him close, bowing his forehead upon Legolas' crown and exhaling a
relieved sough as the King retreated. His second son was in
enough discomfort owing to the trial and the spirit hunter felt guilty
for beckoning further disaster by baiting Thranduil. He had not
expected Legolas to act so rashly, and the ease with which the fallen
archer had chosen a course of violence concerned him greatly. The
carpenter did not know how to help Legolas understand this regrettable
habit of chasing after punishment much less prompt him to stop.
Legolas had but this one chance to redirect his life back to a more
normal set of circumstances and Fearfaron, while able to appreciate why
he refused it, was saddened to know the combined arguments of himself,
Aiwendil and Lindalcon had failed to sway the wild elf. Legolas had
ceased his impassioned rebuttals in the scant glimmering of pre-dawn
after hours of circuitous discussion, and the talan builder had allowed
himself to believe his foster son had been won over.
It was perfectly clear now that the Tawarwaith not only rejected the
ideas but quite forcefully shoved them from him as though the concept
of pardon was an abominable epithet, proudly gathering his shameful
status close like a title of prestige and dignity. The wild
warrior seemed to be deliberately offering more reasons to find fault
with his behaviour on the battle plain.
Legolas' friends might comprehend his motives, but Thranduil certainly
could not. Upsetting the Judgement of Erebor was the only way for
the outcast to reclaim his citizenship among his people, to return to
active participation in defence of his beloved Greenwood, to seek the
shores of the Undying Lands in future. Should the stigma of his
crimes remain, Legolas would be refused entry to Eldamar where his
mother dwelled. If for nothing else than this Thranduil had expected
the former prince to actively campaign for overturning the sentence.
Whom is he shielding? Someone he loves.
No sooner had the thought flitted through his mind than the King's eyes
flickered away and darted between Fearfaron and Erestor. It made
no sense for the carpenter to be involved in his son's death and thus
upon the seneschal his scrutiny remained. The Noldo glared back
from a countenance drawn into openly hostile lines and creases.
Friendship indeed! First the wizard, now this Noldo Lord; the
outcast's promiscuity has garnered some rather unusual supporters for
my Realm.
Knowing nothing of the elf's private life, Thranduil had made the same
mistake as his soldiers and Erestor's expression reinforced this.
And in spite of his dismay over the warriors' betrayal Thranduil felt
his face form a grin of immense satisfaction as he imagined Elrond's
reaction to the defection of his most trusted associate.
Watching all this transpire, Mithrandir, Aiwendil and Lindalcon
remained frozen in dread while Aragorn and Erestor stood poised for
action, the hilts of their swords enclosed in their steely grips.
The fingers of Mithrandir's right hand held onto the arm of his brother
wizard, for Radagast was ready to put his staff to work on the Sinda's
head. With his left arm Gandalf embraced Lindalcon both for
comfort and to prevent the young elf from dashing into the dangerous
centre of altercation. The doughty woodsman had insinuated his
bulk amid the councillors and their apprentices and stared with eyes
the shape of Ithil bant [full moon].
It was Gladhadithen who mitigated the intensity of the high emotions
and calmed the assembly. She briskly stepped from among the
warriors, sundering the coherence of their scorching glares of strife
and enmity convergent on the King. Facing Legolas with a
disapproving scowl reminiscent of a mother about to scold an elfling
for horseplay in the talan, the healer held out her hand, demanding he
reveal the injury. Legolas complied.
"It is not too deep and should be fine in a day. Yet it might
have become serious," she said, clearly not referring to the laceration
alone. "There is a time and place for weapons, Tirno, and this is
neither!" she reprimanded and cleaned the cut with a soft cloth drawn
from her pocket.
"Aye," he answered quietly and Fearfaron rubbed his shoulders, finally
loosening his protective hold.
"Please, Legolas, have some consideration for the well-being of your
friends! My heart ceased pounding for several seconds, fearing
you were about to be struck down," grumbled Aiwendil.
"Indeed, we were all concerned for you, my friend," spoke Aragorn in
relieved tones. He had been in Thranduil's place once and
recalled vividly the cold shrinking sensation that collected in his gut
that night.
Erestor chose to remain silent, for his memories concerning daggers and
the wild elf gave him a sick feeling also, and he was gravely worried.
"It was not a wise move, certainly, but I believe we all understand
your motives and those are just," added Mithrandir unsuccessfully
attempting to make the pitch of his words light and calming. It
was impossible, for the rage he had seen in Legolas' eyes too closely
resembled the haze of blood lust consuming the wild warrior on the
morning after the spider battle.
"Just?" barked Thranduil. "What, then, is your definition of
malediction?"
"Your concept of Judgement readily presents itself," retorted the Maia.
Far! [Enough!] The abrupt, unvoiced command from the
Tawarwaith
jerked the Istar mentally and physically and he refrained from further
argument with the King of the Woodland Elves.
Behind them Iarwain cleared his throat to make sure everyone's
attention was properly placed in his direction.
"Aye, your reasons were understandable, Tirno, and who would not
respond in like manner to see a loved one threatened?" the eldest elder
said, but though his words addressed the archer he was watching the
Woodland Lord. "A similar reaction on Talagan's part has only a
short time ago been forgiven."
At this Thranduil gave a snort of contempt. "You see it
strangely, councillor. Talagan sought to defend his King and
prince while the outcast held my own weapon upon me in menace."
"We were both protecting what we honour; it is exactly the same,"
countered the captain with a voice so cold it was all Thranduil could
do to repress a shiver.
The Sinda's puzzlement and irritation grew, for Talagan's demeanour
bespoke more than the hurt feelings and cantankerous disgruntlement his
earlier mood had projected.
What has happened?
Thranduil's eyes
queried his old friend but received only a glare of raw anger in return.
"Truly, when those we cherish are imperilled it is difficult to think
in terms of rational caution. If a father's love might provoke
unfounded fears and blinding rage, might not a son react in kind?"
added Aragorn and earned a sneer of derision from Thranduil for his
insolence.
Yet the response among the crowd was supportive of the Man's statement;
Tirno had sought no counter-charges for being falsely accused of the
most horrendous of criminal acts upon an innocent.
"Fine!" the King snarled. "It may have seemed I was about to do
the carpenter injury yet I would never attack an elf, especially one
unarmed. Let it not be said I am unforgiving of Tirno's
over-zealous instinct to safeguard his foster father. The blood spilled
shall be sufficient penance since the knife was surrendered
voluntarily."
"Hurrah! A pardon!" shouted out the woodsman as he threw a hand
up high to emphasise his relief. He turned and shoved his way
toward the open arches, deeming it his lot to carry the news out to the
eldar in the courtyard. Of course he knew the Wood Elves' hearing
was sufficiently acute to make his outcry unnecessary, but perhaps the
humble human had seen enough of the justice of the Sylvans for a time.
"And wisely granted," Mithrandir nodded his head sagely, "for Legolas
has shown the calibre of his character before in salvaging my life and
that of Aragorn through the perilous journey among the bespelled trees
and during our fight against the Orcs."
"Even before that, he kept me from the clutches of the Wraiths and the
tortures of Dol Guldur. That scar on his clavicle was suffered
for my benefit," Erestor added, "a poisoned wound."
Shuddering mumbles of empathy filtered across the chamber; poison was a
hideous means of death and many had watched helplessly as loved ones
succumbed to such treacheries.
"All of this testimony casts doubt upon those strong recriminations
pertaining to Erebor, Tirno," said Iarwain. "You must see that
your actions then were bound by your duty to obey orders and your
inexperience with such conflict."
"Aye," said Talagan sternly. "It is not the place of one warrior
to dispute the plans of his captain, or all would be lost before ever
an arrow was loosed."
"That is true. Not even a seasoned soldier will ignore his
leader's commands for to do so would spread confusion among the rest of
the troops and initiate greater loss of life," Aragorn joined in.
"Even if you had killed those bodyguards that would not have insured
the lives of the Lost Warriors," Lindalcon declared. For all the
long years since the fateful battle, he had seldom entered reverie
without enduring a harrowing dream of the gory scenes and his father's
end. "Valtamar would have placed his body between death and
Andamaitë regardless of your choice in targets."
"Nay, none of you understand!" Legolas snapped. "You were not
there on the ridge, Talagan, but had you been you would have surely
ordered me to shoot the goblin guards first!"
"You cannot know what I would order, Tirno. Your experience is
greater now but your expertise is in a much different style of combat
than the warfare between organised armies we faced that day in Erebor.
"It is the lot of a commander to know a good portion of his best
soldiers may be lost due to his decisions, and yet these must be
made. If I would have changed my orders, as you suggest, then
that only speaks to my errors in the initial assessment of the best
strategy to use. The fault cannot rest upon the shoulders of the
novice to battle, but upon the veteran!"
"The fault rests on Thranduil!" shouted a warrior boldly as querulous
muttering followed the captain's words.
"Fearfaron is right! Why did our soldiers pour out their life
blood upon the dragon's stash?" another rejoined.
"The warriors willingly sign on for duty!" yelled an opposing voice
from the crowd of citizens.
"We need the treasure to furnish your weaponry and supplement the
sustenance granted by the forest!" countered a hotly strident Sinda
from the very edges of the archway.
"Are the vaults depleted that we must sacrifice our kinfolk to satisfy
the greed of the stronghold?" demanded a Sylvan father to three
elflings motherless since Erebor.
Soon a loud cacophony of angry arguing filled the chamber and the
temperature rose dangerously among the jostling throng. It seemed
a small war might erupt within the hall as the polarised elves took
sides and harangued each other.
"Calm yourselves!" boomed Mithrandir's voice.
"This is not the way to solve the dilemma!" cautioned Aiwendil.
"Peace! Let not Erebor claim more from among us!" called out
Legolas, alarmed to see the mounting dissension. He rounded on
Thranduil. "Will you not speak? Here is ample reason to
leave the Judgement alone!"
Upon his words all other voices ceased and everyone turned to witness
this new challenge to their King.
Thranduil was stunned by the lack of cohesion among the people and
realised his base of power sprang not from the respect of the Danwaith
but from the strength of his forces. He had managed to convince
himself that the simple Sylvan elves regarded their Sindar cousins with
something close to awe for the glory of Doriath. By association,
Thranduil imagined he and his captains enjoyed the same reverent
respect.
Like many in a position of power and prestige, Thranduil assumed he had
achieved his status by virtue of his innate superiority. He
completely failed to acknowledge that his Lordship existed due to an
unspoken contract, a covenant between himself and his subjects.
They agreed to let him exercise their individual power as a unified
entity and in exchange the King was to honour that trust with
protection and safeguard for themselves and their trees.
Without the immigrants from Neldoreth and their well-disciplined
troops, the Wood Elves would be at the mercy of the Shadow, yet now
that the warriors' allegiance was revoked from Thranduil the citizenry
divided into antagonistic factions of discord. They would follow
whoever gained the support of the soldiers, and that was obviously not
the King.
In fact, the troops, Sindar and Sylvan alike, were overwhelmingly
united in their renewed faith in the disgraced prince.
"I will speak," Thranduil stepped down from the platform, moving to
stand beside Legolas as he faced the crowd.
"This Realm is under siege and everyone had best comprehend that fact,"
his bitter words began. "Without the might of our warriors, the
forest would fall to the Wraiths and the Danwaith would be forced
either to flee for Lothlorien or over the Misty Mountains, chased to
the Havens by foul Warg riders. Would you abandon your homeland
and the trees that have sheltered the Sylvan folk since before the face
of Ithil graced the skies?"
"What would you know of it; this is not your motherland!" a disgruntled
Wood Elf demanded.
"Aye, my country fell under the weight of the Darkness threatening you
now!" countered Thranduil. "So perhaps I understand something of
it after all, whether this is the land of my birth or no!"
"Your father's Sindar troops did not save Neldoreth!" shot back another
dissenter.
"Nay, but not due to failure or weakness on the part of the warriors or
of Oropher. Doriath fell due to conflict from within Thingol's
fortress. Let not the Danwaith be forced to re-enact the panic of
the Grey Elves upon the loss of their leader!" cautioned Thranduil.
That prompted a rebellious quietude.
"Erebor was my decision, that is true. My cause for marching had
less to do with gaining treasures than with reminding the rest of Arda
of the might of the Wood Elves. Not since the Last Alliance have
our warriors gone to open conflict, and in such darkening days we
appear to be hiding in fear and dread. I desired to instruct the
minions of Melkor; the Danwaith are not to be tested without exacting a
heavy price in casualties."
"Those are honourable reasons," said Legolas as though these were the
most natural sentiments for him to express. "We have indeed been
pressed farther and farther into the northern corner of
Greenwood. The Shadow grows bold, thinking us too diminished to
defend our lands."
He seemed surprised by the utter silence following his words and
eventually turned to look meaningfully at Thranduil, prompting him to
continue.
"And it will not do for the free peoples of Arda to discount the Wood
Elves," added Thranduil hesitantly, sending a bewildered side-glance to
the outcast. "Lake Town and Dale have no standing army and could
never have defeated the goblins alone."
"Yet that the goblins would attack was not known when first you set
forth from beneath the Greenwood's branches," quarrelled Fearfaron and
received the most exasperated expression from his foster son he had
ever seen.
"Not to those uninvolved in tracking the spread of Melkor's demon
hordes," explained the King more confidently. "Yet my captains
and I, and even the councillors to some extent, have long been aware
that only fear of Smaug repelled the Goblin King. It was his
greatest desire to over throw the dwarves of the Iron Mountains and
enslave the citizens of Dale. The dwarves he would have
slaughtered while the humans would have become so much livestock,
imprisoned below ground and bred to provide fodder for the foul beasts!"
"Do you now claim you had the interests of Durin's Children foremost in
your plans when you led your warriors out of the forest?" scoffed the
brown wizard.
"Nay, Aiwendil!" Legolas interrupted the exchange, vexation
transforming his voice as he lifted his arms to emphasise his
annoyance, letting them drop again with a shallow slap against his
thighs. "The King need not be motivated by altruism for the
dwarves, only the interests of Greenwood. How would it be to have
the goblins at our back gate while the Wraiths remain squatters within
our southern regions?"
These words caused everyone to pause again; for hearing the Tawarwaith
defend the King's decision over the Battle of Erebor was certainly not
what the citizens expected.
That Thranduil found this equally bewildering was plain by the
expression of quizzical doubt expressed by his staring eyes.
"You speak wisely, Tirno," he said cautiously and gauged the elves'
reaction before continuing. The Danwaith remained attentively
mute and the warriors held their peace as well. "And even were
the Wraiths not there and the goblins cared not to remain in Erebor,
still would the Greenwood suffer should the dwarves be destroyed.
"Much that we require comes in trade from their talented smiths and
armourers. We have not the means here to make such works, nor do
the humans in Rohan possess the skill to meet our standards.
Lothlorien also depends upon the dwarves of the Iron Mountains for
goods and material for the tools of war. We would be forced to
journey all the way to Ered Luin without Dain's colony."
Aragorn and Erestor exchanged looks, wordlessly agreeing it would be
best not to mention that Thranduil might trade with Imladris for such
necessities. Among the Noldor of the protected valley were many
gifted metalworkers trained by no less than Celebrimbror himself.
"I can see the practical value of what you say," averred Iarwain,
unwilling to be left out of this unexpected concurrence between the
wild archer and his estranged father. He could easily see that
Legolas intended to salvage the King, though the reasons were wholly
inexplicable to the ancient elder. "And it is also true that even
the Beornings recognised the threat promised by the demise of the
dragon, for unbidden Beorn brought his changelings forth."
"Beorn is not above a bit of treasure either," noted Gandalf with
amusement. "Sometimes even the shape-shifters cannot produce all
required for their existence and must trade among the other free
peoples. It would seem the dragon's horde would draw the desire
of every kind, be they good or evil!"
"That being so, why should the Greenwood not claim her share?
Most of what Smaug collected was scavenged and stolen from Doriath and
the Noldor Realms that fell in the First or Second Ages. Surely
one elven race has at least equal claim to elven wealth as lesser
folk," Thranduil opined.
"Fair enough. I am convinced the goblins could not have been
defeated without the combined efforts of the Four Armies of Light
against the Hordes of Darkness," said Radagast. "Whatever the
motive for marching, the cause for the fighting was worthy." He
sent his friend a cheery smile, recalling the spilling of these words
from Legolas' lips just months ago.
"Good!" interjected the Tawarwaith, sending a warm grin back. He
was pleased to at last see the chance to draw the peoples' attention
away from criticising Thranduil's leadership. "In that case it
should be easy to comprehend the necessity for every person in that
conflict to pounce upon whatever advantage presented itself. Do
you now understand how my lack of initiative brought about so much more
needless destruction?"
"What you perceived from the ridge has not been determined," snapped
Fearfaron in frustration.
Why must he persist in this
self-accusation?
"Where is Maltahondo?" demanded Iarwain. "He has yet to utter a
word of what his insight revealed that day."
At this point the warriors shifted about uncomfortably and grumbled
ominously among themselves. No one spoke openly against the
corpsman yet the mood among the soldiers was obviously less than
conciliatory toward their comrade.
Perplexed by the absence of this crucial witness, the citizens became
agitated again. Everyone craned their heads and peered around one
another's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the effect this new wrinkle
might produce upon the principals involved in the hearing.
"It does not matter what Lego… Tirno observed nor what Maltahondo
discerned," Talagan nearly spoke the outcast's name aloud, something
only Fearfaron, Lindalcon, and Mithrandir had publicly dared since the
Judgement. "Neither of them had the authority to over-ride my
decisions that day. It is not necessary for the corpsman to be
here in order to clear our Tawarwaith of unjust condemnation."
"Perhaps not, but I for one would like to know what occurred that day,"
said Iarwain.
"As would I!" Thranduil stated.
"It matters not! What transpired has already been told; the Lost
Warriors must remain our focus here!" blurted Legolas, alarmed for this
to be stirred up once more just when he thought it was all
settled. "No solution will come from hearing more talk; my
actions alone can release them."
"Nay, Legolas, in this you are wrong," said Lindalcon in anguished and
sombre timbre. "Every night for these last seventeen years I have
dreamed of the Battle of Erebor. Over and over I must witness my
Adar's death! His message to me is clear: no peace shall he enjoy
until the truth of Erebor is revealed. Indeed, no peace shall I
have either. Not only the warriors need release!"
"Gwador dithen! [Little brother]" exhaled Legolas and moved at once to
take Lindalcon into his embrace. "Aliston! Boe anle trenared nin.
[I did not know! You should have told me.]" He pressed his
forehead against the younger elf's as Valtamar's son shook his head.
"Avaniron le isto. Avaniron echedi anle prestad. [I did not want you to
know. I did not want to make trouble for you.]"
Fearfaron sighed and went to comfort them both, one arm around each as
he pulled them near his heart, whispering a hasty prayer to the Powers
for solace upon his charges. Another heavy breath escaped his
lungs and he looked toward Talagan. "Where is the guardsman?"
Uncomfortable silence ensued. Other than the warriors and the
healer, only Aragorn and Erestor knew what had befallen the deceitful
soldier; none of them wanted to speak up.
And though he was glad not to have to face his former lover or hear the
once-beloved voice speak words that would blame him, Legolas was also
puzzled and worried over the warrior's absence. The fallen archer
had been so uncomfortably aware of Malthen's leering stare all through
the morning that he was amazed not to have instantly noted the lack of
it when the Council resumed.
Thranduil grew impatient as he stared first at Talagan, then at
Legolas, and finally at Erestor's untidy appearance. The King's
face contracted into a suspicious scowl as the seneschal squared up his
shoulders and smirked back.
"What is going on here?" demanded the King. "Tell me at once what
has happened!"
"There is no need for alarm," Gladhadithen once again stepped in to
defuse the smouldering atmosphere. "Maltahondo is
indisposed. I came upon him in the barn corridor,
unconscious. The soldier is currently within the house of healing
under supervision."
Now the fact that two solid spearmen were monitoring the corpsman's
recovery and simultaneously ensuring he did not attempt to flee again
was judiciously withheld by the worthy healer. Even so, many had
caught the King's focus upon the Noldo, and a hearty whispering
advanced through the crowd as to the nature of the guardsman's sudden
illness.
The arched brows and incredulous expression in the Sinda Lord's eyes
gave ample evidence that he would insist on a more thorough explanation
than this.
Fearfaron, however, saw a promising opportunity, a respite from the
Valar, ripe for retrieval and greedily the spirit hunter plucked it
from the possible and made it reality.
"This trial cannot proceed without such an important participant's
input, Councillor Iarwain," he said with barely repressed
jubilation. "I request we adjourn the hearing until such time as
Gladhadithen proclaims Maltahondo fit to appear!"
"Indeed, nothing further can be learned until his tale is told," added
Mithrandir. "I agree with Fearfaron; we should re-open the trial
when the corpsman is able to speak."
"So noted," Fêrlass hastily added before the King could speak the
questions obviously forming in his sceptical mind.
Thranduil scowled at his councillors but held his tongue.
The elders conferred together a second or two before Iarwain faced the
assembly.
"It is decided. The Council will cease until the healer releases
Maltahondo from the house of healing," he said.
"Let all return to their homes until the hearing reopens!
Gladhadithen, we leave it to your judgement and discretion as to when
that time may be," concluded Fêrlass.
Tbc
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