Díhenad Vreg (Fierce Forgiveness)
The Chamber of Starlight was not resplendent or magical, no
awe-invoking display of Maiar puissance pervaded the high-domed hall
and convection in the air was insufficient to redistribute even a
single mote of dust amid the restive First-born within its bounds. The
lustre of the thousand gems failed to draw the eye, indeed the clear
stones looked almost dull and cloudy, as if the available light was too
feeble to penetrate the smooth facets and play within the crystals'
planes.
The crowd of citizens was moderately diminished compared to the initial
meeting's numbers and even though the courtyard was filled there was
room to manoeuvre and breathe. The soldiers were present, sans Talagan
however, and the complete Council along with their assorted
apprentices, except for Lindalcon. Thranduil sat upon his elegant and
portentous chair and waited, calm and patient, posture regal and
collected, refraining from fidgets or any outward sign of irritation.
Mithrandir and Aiwendil, Aragorn, Fearfaron and Gladhadithen were
notably absent.
Of witnesses there remained but two to speak and neither had yet
arrived. The entire assembly remained subdued and sombre as they
awaited the appearance of Maltahondo and the Tawarwaith.
By nightfall of the previous day, everyone had learned of the
disastrous outcome of the collaborative practical joke thanks to the
ranting vociferations of Talagan. The woodland folk were horrified to
have caused so drastic a reaction and milled in tense trepidation for
Legolas' entrance, dreading to learn if they had permanently robbed
their chosen champion of the only happiness he had ever found. It was
enough to make them want to quit this assembly, leaving the formality
of withdrawing the charges to Thranduil and Iarwain. Yet they could not
quell the morbid fascination the archer's plight invited and not a soul
truly considered foregoing the announcement of the verdict.
The Eldest Elder stood in his customary spot before the dais,
motionless in formal attire of flowing robes that failed to present the
aura of authority normally enveloping his person. Somehow events had
gone far from his ability to influence and he was deep in contemplation
of what must be done to re-establish dominance. At last accepting the
failure of his attempt to seize control of the Greenwood through
manipulation of the Tawarwaith's fate, Iarwain realised he had made the
same mistakes to which Thranduil so commonly succumbed: underestimation
of both Legolas' resolve and intelligence. Believing the wild elf
lacked comprehension of the power struggle occurring beneath the sham
of the hearing had cost the Friend of Oromë the victory in the
battle of wills. It had been so easy to assume that having no interest
in such contests was the same as ignorance.
He had learned unequivocally what Tirno thought of him and how unlikely
he would be to ever back the Council in opposition to Thranduil.
Or
vice versa. It was Iarwain who had drawn the losing lot, forced to
assume the responsibility for bearing the news of the hearing's
resumption to Legolas. In vain had Talagan argued with Thranduil
against the convocation, at least until the fate of the Imladrian was
determined. Iarwain had likewise attempted to dissuade the Sinda King
from pushing the finale of this long-drawn trial.
But Oropher's son had been unmoved. The previous day had been one of
prolonged unpleasantness for Taurant; fussy and refusing to eat, the
elfling had continued his off-and-on crying throughout the night that
followed. Thranduil could not help but be troubled over his newborn's
state and upon learning of the foolish joke; the agitated father was
livid with wrath for the participants. Had Lindalcon been within reach,
the King would have imprisoned him for his actions. Talagan barely
escaped this doom.
Angry and resentful of his captain for allowing the fiasco to transpire
in the first place, Thranduil had led Talagan away to the private study
and therein berated his friend's lack of wisdom and outright stupidity.
This was exactly the sort of hardship he was determined to prevent from
befalling Legolas, now that the outcast and Taurant's future were so
closely linked. Had he not just cautioned the captain regarding
distressing the Tawarwaith? Indeed, the irate parent came to the brink
of stripping Talagan of rank and position, so enraged was his mind.
The two warriors emerged from seclusion after little more than an
hour's passing and Talagan immediately left the fortress. Cowed in
shame and grim with purpose, he gathered a small contingent of soldiers
and galloped into the twilit wilds with less than normal dash and
daring, his mission undeclared.
As for Iarwain, Thranduil had no interest in giving him additional time
in which to devise a method for turning events in his favour. The
hearing would ensue exactly as planned, with or without the noble from
Imladris in attendance. The Elder had trudged forth from the stronghold
to fulfil the invidious duty of informing Legolas, relegated to the
lowly status of errand runner for the King.
Iarwain had found the archer in the glen struggling with his friends to
get the unconscious seneschal up into the newly constructed talan. Had
the situation not been so deplorable the sight would have been highly
amusing, for there were entirely too many people involved in the
endeavour and arguments broke out over how to do the lifting and who
should bear the burden for making the transfer successful.
"I shall carry him up on my back," Lindalcon had declared quietly,
unable to look his brother in the eyes.
"Do not be absurd," scoffed the Man. "He cannot hold on and is easily
taller than you by a head. I say let the wizards have the chore."
Aragorn confronted the Maiar. "Will you fail to produce some useful
demonstration of the exalted might of Aman, even now? Surely you could
render Erestor as weightless as these leaves and lift him upon the very
air." His tone had not been very complimentary nor had he seemed
surprised by the Istari's protests.
"Enough! No need to be so spiteful!" Aiwendil's admonishment followed
at once.
"Aye, our gifts do not include unmaking the very structure of nature
solely to prevent a strain upon your back, Aragorn," groused Gandalf.
"Mayhap it is best to let him rest here at the roots of the tree. I can
secure bedding and blankets," suggested Fearfaron.
"Nay, I do not want him next to this thawing mire, for it would soon
saturate any number of mats and covers," cautioned the healer. "Erestor
is already chilled and, with the heart's rhythm reduced by reverie, he
is susceptible to falling deeper into unconsciousness if his body's
warmth diminishes further."
At this they all broke out in quarrelling contention, hovering over
Erestor's prone body, each claiming to have the best solution, and more
than anything resembling a clutch of yard fowl fighting over a rind of
bread.
"Baw!" Into the squabbling turmoil rang the Tawarwaith's furious
command, loud and forceful enough to awaken the hibernating beech. The
ancient tree's limbs began to groan and sway in sympathy with the wild
elf's rage and Legolas laid his palm upon the bark to steady it. He had
endured as much as he could of his friends' bickering and was quite
weary of their attempts to intervene in his life, no matter how
well-meaning was the intent of such meddling. He strode forward and the
cluster fell back from his advance until only Pen-rhovan stood beside
Berenaur.
"Get me some rope and then get thee to Mordor, the lot of you!" he
cursed them in a voice frayed and anguished that broke against the
final syllable, glass upon stone.
It was undoubtedly a shock to the group and had they not already been
speechless this would have struck them dumb instantaneously. They were
as immobile as the slumbering beeches and the stricken Noldo lord.
Lindalcon recovered first and was off like an arrow, fleet feet flying
for the carpenter's home to retrieve the hithlain cord.
Hesitantly the Spirit Hunter approached his distraught son, hand
outstretched and gaze discerning. He was relieved not to be rebuffed
and sighed, satisfied when his hand wrapped tightly around the
warrior's upper arm in its preferred location. Nonetheless, Legolas
remained as distant and withdrawn as he had been on the twelfth
anniversary of the Judgement and avoided Fearfaron's scrutiny.
Lindalcon's journey was short and he returned with alacrity and the
required item. With consolidated effort and no further discussion they
heaved Erestor up, having tied the rope round his chest and under his
arms. Legolas clung to the trunk as the seneschal was lifted and
steadied him to prevent his head from connecting with the boll.
It was not until Erestor was safely deposited on the lowest platform
that anyone had taken note of the councillor's presence. It had been
Legolas who made the discovery, serving cutting recognition upon
Iarwain from his cross-legged position next to his insensible mate.
"What do you want?" he had demanded, rising. "You are not welcome here.
In fact, let all the populace know this place is never to be approached
without my specific invitation, in advance, to do so!" Somehow having
this pompous, self-aggrandising elf witness his despair was beyond
Legolas' ability to tolerate courteously.
"Forgive my intrusion," entreated Iarwain, realising he was facing
Tirn-en-Tawar rather than an insignificant soldier condemned in
Judgement. "It grieves me to be the one to inform you. Understand, this
was meant to be a consideration, not an added hardship," he began and
hesitated as the wild elf leaped from the platform to land in scarcely
restrained menace before the ancient elda.
"What nonsense are you blathering?" shouted Legolas. "Do you find this
amusing? Were you part of this appalling deed?"
"What?" the elder gasped out.
"Nay, Legolas, he knew nothing!" cried Lindalcon from above, desperate
to forestall any additional hurtful consequences arising over his lack
of judgement.
"Valar! I would never be involved in such activities," insisted
Iarwain. "I am here to inform you of the resolution of the Erebor
hearing that will take place tomorrow at minuial in the Chamber of
Starlight. All charges are to be dismissed and the Judgement
overturned," he rushed to get the words out before Legolas could insert
further vitriolic accusations.
Against the background of relieved and gratified statements and
exclamations from his friends, the Tawarwaith sneered at the chief
councillor in derisive contempt.
"You no longer have the authority to do that," he snarled, "and neither
does Thranduil. You both are mistaken in your estimation of the sort of
power you actually hold. Ignorant of the facts in this matter, you have
only sought to gain a more secure role in the governance of these
lands, regardless of the innocents who would suffer for your
selfishness. You and Thranduil are too alike for my taste! How can you
stand there and speak with such arrogance, as though bestowing some
beneficial grant upon me? I will tell you this: neither of you will
have your way. I am the one who will decide Erebor. Begone from my
home!"
Iarwain had hastily retreated, having no difficulty appreciating this
explicit dismissal from the voice of Tawar, as the elves, the wizards
and the mortal stood gaping in disconcerted silence at the fury
emanating from the bitter pronouncement.
In the nerve-wearing, noiseless atmosphere of the Council Chamber,
Iarwain shuddered a little under the impact of the memory. But for the
necessity demanded by his office and his curiosity to learn how
Thranduil would fare under Tirno's censure, the Elder would have
remained apart from the conclusion of this trial.
The King and the Councillor stared at one another. Smooth and
inexpressive faces eclipsed the deep distrust and mutual despisal that
filled the space between the sets of coolly complacent eyes, one pair
viridescent as emeralds, the other as pale and grey as the sky at dawn.
Predictably, Iarwain broke the staring match. With a grimace and an
indistinct sound that was either a clearing of the larynx or a
low-decibel expletive, he turned to confer with Fêrlass over some
non-existent point or other. They examined a scroll, pretending to
review the actions of the most recent hearing inscribed upon it.
Thranduil did not allow his pleasure over this minute mastery to
reconfigure his countenance. He continued to survey the councillor,
delighting in the discomfort he knew this would inflict upon his rival,
interested over what had brought about the ancient one's manifest sense
of defeat. It was not the solution to Erebor concocted by the King and
his captain. Iarwain had returned from his interrogation with
Maltahondo blatantly unsatisfied yet unable to come up with any way to
block the guardsman's testimony.
Iarwain had to be aware, Thranduil reasoned, that the warrior was
enhancing the facts considerably yet with no method for proving this he
could tender no objections. None that did not involve demanding Meril
appear for testimony.
And he cannot validate such a subpoena
without
tangible evidence that implicates her. Iarwain would discredit
himself
and the entire Council should he make any unwarrantable suggestions of
the Consort's complicity.
And draw upon him my swift condemnation. With the support of the
warriors once more assured, the population would heave their elder into
the Enchanted River if I so commanded!
The thought pleased Thranduil and he allowed himself the luxury of
daydreaming the event in glorious detail as his narrowed, gloating leer
remained upon the Elder.
The subtle sonance of re-ordering among the collected troops disrupted
his concentration, however, and he turned to see what was amiss. The
healer and Meril's first born emerged from the ranks and took places in
the forefront of the warriors, Gladhadithen securely supporting the
young elf with a protective arm about his shoulders. Thranduil was on
his feet immediately and stalked across the dais to confront Lindalcon.
Here was the perpetrator of his infant son's most recent episode of
distressed anxiety.
"You! I would cast you into the blackest pit beneath these halls if I
believed it would remedy the harm you have caused my child! By what
flash of inspiration did you invent this scheme? Are you Taurant's
brother or still the usurper? Exactly what did you hope to accomplish?"
he demanded in scornful and angry timbre as he loomed over the son of
Valtamar.
And his words were not strange to the assembly, for none doubted the
bond between the former and the nascent heir. It was perfectly logical
that what disturbed Tirno must impact the infant he had so generously
blessed. There was an uneasy disappointment, however, that slowly
diffused throughout the room's air, for the common folk also understood
the motive for the King's sudden desire to welcome the Tawarwaith among
them. His concern did not extend beyond the well-being of Taurant.
"Far! (Enough!)" countered Gladhadithen, angling her body to create a
barricade between the two, tightening her hold on Lindalcon as she felt
him try to disengage. "He is punishing himself enough and Legolas has
already scolded him. Cease your threats!"
"Aye, he meant no harm to Tirno or Taurant!" a disgruntled inu in the
crowd complained and actually shook her finger at the King.
Thranduil's accusation against the new prince's elder brother did not
sit well within the Wood Elves' communal conscience, for had they not
been the ones who had subverted the goal of the prank? A series of
disapproving whispers skittered around the chamber like tossed pebbles
rebounding from a wooden floor.
"None of us were thinking too clearly," another elf spoke up.
"Nay, he is right; even worse do I deserve," mumbled the bereft son of
Valtamar,
head low and shoulders slumped. Really, it would almost be a blessing
to be locked away in some dark hole rather than witness the outcome of
his indiscretion if the seneschal awakened and failed to recognise
Legolas.
"Indeed," spoke Thranduil to his subjects, "for none of you good folk
would have thought to author such a situation without Lindalcon's
incitement. Mayhap some sort of corporal punishment is in order. What
says the Law and Custom in such cases, Iarwain?" demanded the King.
"That shall not be! If you lay hands upon my brother, I will end your
immortal life and that of any who seeks to obstruct me."
These chillingly brutal words wrung a collective and alarmed expulsion
of air from the lungs of the assembled Wood Elves. As one they pivoted
in a cacophonous swish and bustle of leather-shod feet compressing
stone, swirling garments rifling the air.
Legolas stood in the open archway, Fearfaron and Aiwendil at his back.
The forest champion did not tarry there long and the assembly rapidly
divided as he moved through them straight to Lindalcon. Without
preamble he reached for the guilt-ridden youth and pulled him from the
healer's hold, linking both arms around his back and hugging him tight.
"All is forgiven if you can pardon my cruelty on tinuial last," Legolas
whispered and exhaled a gratified release of tension as Lindalcon's
arms closed round his waist with desperate pressure.
"Valar! I do not fault you for those words!" the broken declaration
seeped between Lindalcon's jolting sobs as he struggled to contain the
outpouring of emotion.
But the youth could not prevent his tears and leaned his forehead down
upon his brother's shoulder, astounded to feel the comforting pressure
of Legolas' hand soothing up and down his spine as nondescript
entreaties in placating tones met his ears. Lindalcon truly believed he
had caused Legolas to hate him. The confrontation at dusk had borne the
marks of finality and but for the healer's interference he would have
departed the city that night.
After the Chief Councillor's rapid departure from the glen, the small
collection of folk that comprised Legolas' family had remained stiff
and still in awkward indecision. Confounded as to how to solve the
dilemma, their eyes moved in rapid and brief inspections of the wild
elf, his sleeping mate, each other, and the floor. Dealing with
Legolas' morose mourning was not a simple task, for everyone was now
profoundly aware of the truth in Lindalcon's assessment of the archer's
manner in such situations. No one wished to provoke him beyond the thin
boundary separating his sorrow from its violent expression.
Fearfaron had finally found his resolve and hastened to get down but by
then Legolas was already climbing back up and soon stood among them.
The carpenter surveyed his adopted child with tribulation. Never had he
seen Legolas in this dark a frame of mind, not even when he had
threatened Thranduil with Caranthir's dagger. Searching the fiery gaze
for the elf he knew and loved, he found instead a fearsome feä
more reminiscent of the unyielding pith in Thranduil's shrivelled
heart. The Spirit Hunter had shivered in spite of himself and
impulsively reached for and squeezed Legolas' arm tightly.
"What can I do to help you?" he had whispered.
"Nothing."
The word was flat and the gravity of the two syllables crushing.
Beneath its weight the fragile shoots of hope and happiness so newly
sprung must surely perish.
Legolas had turned away as he had spoken, pulling free of his father
and leaning to take up the hithlain cord again. Grabbing his mate under
the arms, he had dragged him across the floor a ways, shooting
Lindalcon a murderous glare when the younger elf moved to help. Once he
had the seneschal positioned as he wanted, the Tawarwaith climbed to
the second level and pulled him up. Repeating the steps, he soon
deposited Berenaur on the highest platform. He set about inspecting the
room meant for their sleeping quarters, giving no indication he was
listening to the questions and comments arising from below.
"Legolas?" Aragorn had queried compassionately. He knew not how to
reverse the effects of the dunking but was not one to readily give up
and admit defeat. "I will check through my healer's guide and see if
there is any suggestion of a remedy there." He leaned down to secure
the rope ladder in order to descend, intending to gather his pack from
the fortress.
"Aye, a good plan," condoned Gandalf. "Gladhadithen, perhaps there is
something mentioned in the histories of similar cases. I shall return
to the stronghold and search the library archives there."
"Very well," the healer had shrugged, rather doubtful this was true for
she would know of it. Still, it gives him something to do. "I shall
stay, for Erestor could awaken at any time."
"Aiwendil, your assistance would be welcome, for your knowledge of
herb-lore is greater than mine," Mithrandir added and thus the Istari
departed from the glade, climbing down first as Aragorn stepped back
from the trapdoor out of deference.
"It is not a matter of herbs and toxins, though," Lindalcon had
complained. He stood dejectedly right where Legolas' balefully glinting
blue orbs had halted him, subdued with guilt and beside himself with
the sense of futility that filled his heart.
"How so?" demanded Aragorn, delaying his descent and peering back over
the rim of the opening. "The chief symptom indicates a highly soporific
and potent ingredient."
"It is not from any natural substance extracted from bark or root or
leaf," asserted the Wood Elf. "It is an enchantment of the feä."
"Indeed, this is Thranduil's doing, for it was he that made the creek
as it is now," Fearfaron had elaborated for Aragorn's benefit. "He
diverted the flow from the Forest River and created a mote of
protection. In it he has suspended the souls of innumerable elves,
compelling them to guard the Realm by instilling confusion and loss of
memory. No one knows how it works."
"Probably not even Thranduil truly understands it," Gladhadithen added.
"In that you may be correct, though it is not so hard to comprehend,"
Legolas' sarcastic tone had filtered down from the high flet and they
flinched to hear such acrimony in his voice. "The spirits in the water
must drain away some of the life energy of the one that has the
misfortune to fall in. If not drawn out quickly enough, too much is
lost and the victim dies, whether he has filled up his lungs with the
water or not."
The horror of this analysis silenced them a third time. Aragorn had
abruptly continued his retreat and vanished from the area as quickly as
he could without running, less than optimistic that his studies would
reveal anything useful. Yet he refused to simply stand around waiting,
conceding victory to Thranduil's curse.
Elbereth! Has the Sinda
ever
wrought anything that was not harmful to Legolas?
Legolas was pleased to have them cease their pointless discourse. He
was glad to see the Man and the Maiar go; in fact he wished they would
all find someplace else to do their fussing and fretting. Too late they
wanted to make sure of the facts and learn of the consequences. He
frowned down at the remaining three elves still in attendance and
returned to his previous consideration.
He was deciding whether to just lay out the bedding on the floor or try
to secure the netted hammock properly. This was a task the new couple
usually completed together, another tradition of bonding-rites, and
Legolas was unwilling to do it without Berenaur's participation. He
studied the furled mesh and the fluffy down-filled mattress with
longing, tentatively reaching down to feel the supple luxury of the
silken ticking. His eyes filled at once and he angrily righted himself,
kicking the roll open and snatching the knotted web away. With a
violent curse he balled it up into tangles and stuffed it into a trunk
near the tree's boll, slamming down the lid.
Below, Lindalcon could not stifle his sobs as he dissolved into his
fourth discharge of tears.
"Ungol rein!" (Spider shit!) Legolas stomped to the edge and knelt
down, glaring in exasperated fury at his brother. "Can you not be
silent? Must I listen to your self-pitying display in addition to
dealing with this tragic excuse for a joke?
"Nay, it was no prank at all. Eighteen years in isolation and twelve
years of torture were not enough to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?
You are beyond the cruelty of Thranduil, surpassing Elrond in the
deviousness of such a plot!"
"Legolas!" admonished Fearfaron in stunned disbelief.
"Nay, it is not so!" bawled Lindalcon. "Saes, avbedo sin pith!"
(Please, do not speak these words!)
"Tirno say no more!" cried Gladhadithen.
"Ah! You are all treacherous!" the archer rose and turned away as his
irrational tirade continued. "It is so easy to see it now. Lindalcon
engineered the most effective way to destroy me once and for all.
Mithrandir smoothed over the hurts of the past so he had to inflict new
ones. What better way than to give me someone to love and then rip up
my soul by snatching him away forever!"
"No, Legolas. I did not mean that to happen!" Lindalcon pressed his
palms over his ears and scrunched his eyes into a wrinkled compression
of lashes and lids.
"Have you also arranged for the Galadhrim to show up and claim him so
that I can witness their joyous reunion? That would just about be
sufficient to prompt the dagger's use a final time. But you shall not
stay and relish the realisation of your revenge. I do not want you
here! Get out!"
Lindalcon was already on his way down the rope and was soon racing from
the clearing toward the stronghold, the healer in frantic pursuit.
Gladhadithen had caught up with him in Ningloriel's garden and
forcefully terminated his flight by tackling him to the ground. Too
distraught to notice who had hold of his legs, Lindalcon had landed a
couple of bruising blows to her head before her insistent reprimands
brought him to his senses and he collapsed in a heap of heaving
distress.
She had let him cry into the withered, brown grass until he was too
exhausted to weep any longer. Then helping him stand she led him away
to her healing wards, remaining by his side throughout the night,
comforting, consoling and explaining the mental state that had
generated Legolas' unreasoning accusations. She had assured Lindalcon
un-numbered times that his brother would eventually regain his
equilibrium and seek to mend the rift.
Locked in the Tawarwaith's embrace, Lindalcon was never so pleased to
acknowledge Gladhadithen's wisdom as he was now. He lifted his head and
disengaged enough to search Legolas' eyes, equally as shiny with bright
remorse as his own. The brothers exchanged slender smiles and resumed
their crushing closeness with more jubilant sounds.
"You are quick to pardon one who has endangered your lover and the
well-being of an innocent babe," snapped Thranduil, well aware of
Tirno's negation of his command but cautious as to how to re-assert it.
"All night has Taurant wailed and wept over yesterday's stressful
events. Does your magnanimous behaviour indicate Elrond's seneschal is
free of the enchantment's deleterious effects?"
"It does not," Legolas loosed himself from Lindalcon's clasp and passed
the younger elf into Fearfaron's care. He boldly faced the woodland
sovereign. "Berenaur has not awakened."
Behind him the talan builder shushed the younger elf's anguished groan
and the crowd mimicked Lindalcon's dismay in disjointed murmurs of
regret and remorse.
Thranduil's brow creased as he examined the warrior before him. There
was abundant evidence of both the newly formed bond of which he had
been told and the despair over having it so abruptly sundered. Yet it
was also obvious that acceptance of this loss was in abeyance pending
the Noldo's emergence from his comatose state.
Stubbornly holding to hope against such insurmountable odds.
Immediately a memory of his father filled his brain; with a small,
startled intake of breath Thranduil finally saw the determination of
Oropher hidden within eyes so like the cerulean clarity of Ningloriel's.
They both clung to false hope. Oropher believed the rest of the
elven
armies would join his precipitous charge; Ningloriel imagined her lover
would salvage her homeland and grant her its governance. Now this one
follows suit. What chance is there his mate will recover?
The thought chilled Thranduil to the core, for if such was impossible
then the elf before him would not survive it. Should the outcast fall,
what would become of Taurant?
"That is most unfortunate," he said and the alarm in his tone was
undisguised.
"Whatever the outcome may be," Legolas resumed his address, ignoring
the inspection and the commiseration, "it is you who provided the means
to create this misfortune. Why do you believe this is what has affected
the princeling? What of your own part in Taurant's despair? I cautioned
you regarding this very result when you demanded re-examination of the
folly of Erebor."
Now an expectant tension permeated the woodland citizens and a ripple
of uneasy whispering rolled through the throng. They wondered if the
King would choose the moment to publicly rescind the fallen archer's
banishment or punish him for such insolence.
"Take care," warned Thranduil. "This hearing is meant to conclude in a
solicitous manner where you are concerned. Nonetheless I will not
suffer your imputation."
"Will you not?" Legolas' whole demeanour was mocking in its
presentation of exaggerated surprise. "It is you who must tread
cautiously for control of this trial is no longer in your grasp."
"Peace!" called Iarwain and moved to flank Legolas. He reached out,
intending to physically turn the Greenwood's champion toward him and
found his wrist clamped in Legolas' painfully tight fist-hold.
"You are not permitted such liberties," he hissed and shoved the
Councillor's arm away.
Then Legolas stepped up onto the dais and placed himself close enough
to the Sinda Lord to feel the vaporous moisture of his exhaled
breath.
Tbc.
Previous
Contents Next Comments
