Dambeth od Erebor [Erebor's Answer]
For all the uncounted centuries following the Great Journey, before the
rising of Ithil and Anor was even imagined, the silvan elves of the
Teleri clans had dwelled amid the wooded lands east of the Misty
Mountains. During these un-numbered days, no difference of great
distinction marked the folk that resided in the vaster sections of the
huge forest east of the Anduin and those that made their homes amid the
more temperate southern seclusion of the wood betwixt the Celebrant and
the Nimrodel. Indeed, for all of the First Age as well they considered
themselves one people and the meagre leagues separating the settlements
around Amon Lanc from those beneath the Mellyrn were insignificant, not
barriers at all.
Converse and trade abounded, they defended one another valiantly,
marriages went on as before the long march from Cuivienen, the language
of one group was the same for the other, and a growing comprehension of
the Spirit of the Great Wood marked the cultures of both colonies
equally. They were not then divided, Nandor from Galadhrim, for all
were Teleri and belonged to the tribes following the leadership of
Thingol, until Dân turned back and a large sector of the
population joined him, preferring the secure comfort of the forest and
all its many blessings to the unknown dangers and trials of the
mountain crossing and the lengthy traverse over the unexplored lands
beyond.
That a schism developed could not be denied and the explanation of its
cause emphasised this loss of unity, varying widely depending upon
whether the query was made in Lothlorien or Greenwood.
Under the canopy of the darkening majesty of Mirkwood's mighty oaks and
beeches, the Danwaith had a clear notion of what prompted the
alienation and a date in time to go with it. The troubles all began
when Celebrimbor fell under the influence of Sauron and forged the
three elven rings. Then, comprehending at last the twisted Maia's
intent, the master craftsman sought to hide the jewelled vessels of
latent power by distributing them among the Noldorin refugees of the
War of Wrath and the destruction of Beleriand. To Gil-Galad went Vilya,
the ring of air, most potent of the three, for it was said the
aquamarine gem housed the very breath of Manwë in its depths.
Nenya, the ring of water, the ring of adamant, second in puissance, was
entrusted to Galadriel, the daughter of Finarfin, banned from Valinor
for her dark deeds upon her journey to Middle-earth. The ring of fire,
Narya, was sequestered by Círdan the ship-right, an unlikely
Keeper for the red crystal.
Though this was considered the weakest ring by the Noldo King and the
golden haired grand-daughter of Olwë, it was the small fiery stone
that played the greater part in Sauron's ultimate defeat. Carried by
the White Wizard, Narya roused the failing hearts and flagging courage
of the Rohirrim at Helm's Deep, rallied the leaderless troops of Gondor
during the great battle of the Pelennor Fields, opened the spirits of
the remnant armies of the free people to the stirring words and
commanding presence of Isildur's heir as he charged the hordes of evil
at the gates of Baradûr. This burning flame of ferocious
determination leaping up unexpectedly in the souls of the Men of the
West deflected Sauron's attention from the path of the Ringbearer
inching toward the Cracks of Doom.
Before that day, in the year 1693 of the Second Age, Galadriel and her
silvan mate fled from Eregion across the Hithaeglir. Their path carried
them to Amroth from whom they begged asylum among the people residing
in peaceful harmony with Tawar amid the majesty of Yavanna's exquisite
creations. Making much of her kinship to the Teleri through Olwë,
something she never did before or later, considering herself a Noldorin
princess by virtue of her father's lineage, Nenya's Keeper pleaded with
Lothlorien's King and won his favour. Did she assure Amroth that Lorien
would have the protection of her new acquisition? Was her use of magic
learned at Melian's knees the bargaining piece that earned her a place
among the cousins of the elves massacred at Alqualondë?
Indeed, so thought Oropher and Iarwain, and neither were pleased with
their silvan kinsman's decision. Long the three leaders argued and
debated, trying to find a middle ground upon which to base a continued
alliance between their peoples. In the end, Oropher could not forget
the tally of bodies that accumulated in the Noldo lady's wake, stating
her hands were stained at both the first and the second kinslayings,
for none had heard what part she played in the destruction of Doriath.
For his part, Amroth would not break a pledge already given, for such
would be dishonourable, and demanded proofs of the charges that Oropher
could not produce.
The Sinda Lord and the Eldest elder urged the Danwaith to pull back
from the southern-most corner of the Greenwood toward the dense cover
of the central regions. Many did so, yet not all, for the ties to
Lorien could not so easily be broken when families would be sundered,
mothers from children and grandchildren. An uneasy truce reigned until
the Last Alliance. Then, differences were thrown aside and Oropher rode
out with his woodland archers beside the host of the Galadhrim
collected under Amroth's banner. Oropher was wrong to depend upon the
ancient loyalties and ties of kinship, for Amroth's folk did not come
to his aid as the Greenwood's defenders were cut down before the Black
Gate.
It was not a fact missed by Thranduil nor one he would be likely to
ever forget. Indeed, it was a bitter memory festering in the hearts of
many of the Danwaith, for betrayal is not an easy sin to forgive.
With their numbers so drastically reduced, the Wood Elves retreated
even further to the north and abandoned any pretence of aid to the
humans in the central regions or to the remaining settlement of silvans
at Amon Lanc. Thranduil considered these elves citizens of Lorien more
than of Greenwood and cared not when the destruction of the Necromancer
descended upon the unarmed colony and destroyed it. Though he was loath
to have the evil tower of Dol Guldur arise amid the smouldering ruins
of the elven city, he knew his forces were insufficient to mount a
counter measure and run the vermin out. Lothlorien was unable to help
either, having suffered significant losses in the war, and while
together the divided Teleri tribes might have bested Sauron's glamhoth,
trust had been broken and no accord could be reached. Amroth watched in
dread as the black spire protruded above the treetops, providing the
Shadow an unobstructed view of the Redhorn Pass and any activity around
the gateway to the west through those imposing heights.
But Galadriel kept her word, and the vile followers of Melkor's
disciple were unable to pierce the cloak of obfuscation she wove around
the Mellyrn Taur.
The final break with Lothlorien happened upon the loss of Amroth early
in the Third Age, when Durin's Bane wrought such brutal destruction
upon the Golden Wood. By the time Celeborn and his Lady assumed
leadership of the Galadhrim, the Wood Elves considered themselves
distinct from the People of the Trees. Behind the impenetrable barrier
of the Lady's magic, the silvans of the Mellyrn had changed. It was a
subtle metamorphosis and slow, yet its effects could not be denied, nor
were the Galadhrim against it.
They felt blessed by the presence of the beautiful Keeper of Nenya and
eagerly heeded her teachings, altered their ways, adapted their
culture. Tawar was replaced by the panoply of Aman, an accent as of
Quenya entered the spoken dialect, and a fighting style more
reminiscent of Gil-Galad's army developed. Tales and legends from
Beleriand and Eldamar replaced the fables of Oromë and Yavanna.
The Galadhrim increased their knowledge in all things, and while this
is an improvement among any civilisation, yet it lent the hidden realm
a bit of snobbery as well. They considered they had advanced while
their northern cousins had stayed the same, or worse, reverted to even
more primitive philosophies.
Emissaries between the two lands exacerbated the Galadhrim's haughty
disdain. Tales came back to Lorien of the rustic talans of the common
folk compared to their King's rich luxury; the Wood Elves were no more
than serfs of the Sinda Lord. The well equipped warrior's under
Celeborn's direction scoffed at the silvan archers' use of stone-tipped
arrows while Thranduil's Sindar captains had armour fair and rumoured
to be enchanted. The Danwaith's worship of Tawar, in spite of their
understanding of the glory of the Powers, depending upon superstition,
soothsaying and ancient prophecies, and a plethora of barbaric Laws
raised contemptuous sneers from their neighbours to the south. The
frequent visits and voluble complaining of Greenwood's less than
exemplary Queen did little to enhance perception of her peoples'
character and moral stability.
Now such attitudes cannot be blamed on the populace at large, for it
was undoubtedly true that Galadriel had no respect for either
Ningloriel or Thranduil and Celeborn possessed only a slightly higher
tolerance for his distant kinsman than did she.
As the company of soldiers under Haldir's command surveyed the
bedraggled and bloodied congregation of Wood Elves collected in the
Council Chamber, they made no attempt to hide their aversion to such a
display of unruly behaviour and undisciplined vulgarity. The very
concept of relying on violence and resorting to infighting, brawling
like beasts over a scrap of bone, to settle political differences was
absolutely repugnant to the refined sensibilities of the Galadhrim. It
was no wonder these backward people could not progress, given this
propensity to dissension among themselves.
Grouped in pairs about the huge cavern, Lorien's warriors whispered to
one another, pointing out deficiencies among the Greenwood's troops and
the weaknesses of her self-proclaimed King. The Council of Elders was
scorned, for obviously they had no real power and could not command the
respect of the citizenry. The notion of the Tawarwaith made the bold
visitors' eyes roll heavenward and spawned pitying leers upon the more
vocal Wood Elves proclaiming their devotion to this enigmatic
warrior-prophet. A stray snickery snort or two at the Wood Elves'
collective expense was not checked.
Gradually, the crowd permitted this open arrogance to distract them
from the events in the room's centre. At first, they had been pleased,
if somewhat embarrassed, for the timely interruption by the noble Lord
of the Golden Wood for the Danwaith held the un-proclaimed King of the
Galadhrim in high esteem. Amroth may have failed them, but it was
Celeborn the Wise who had convinced Gil-Galad to salvage the fierce
bravado of Oropher's host before they were vanquished to the very last
elf. The Wood Elves long remembered a wrong unrighted, but equally
lengthy was their gratitude for gallant deeds on their behalf.
Nonetheless, there is a limit to the amount of insolence a people may
countenance from outlanders, especially within the august halls of
their seat of governance.
Resentment replaced relief and focused an intense emission of angry
attention upon the small clusters of Lorien's fighters scattered in
their midst. Just as their loyalty to the Tawarwaith was a unifying
force among them, so this lack of respect from the soldiers of
Lothlorien rejoined the severed factions. It was one thing to dispute
among themselves and with their leaders or take action when demanded,
but quite another to have their country's internal affairs so openly
derided by these friends of the Noldor. That these foreign elves were
now interfering in their Council and the fate of their champion
rankled. The Danwaith gathered their resolve.
Unbidden by either Thranduil or Iarwain, Greenwood's soldiers
reconfigured their positions, surrounding the small numbers of
Galadhrim with the menace of their daunting reproach. The Lorien elves
found themselves hemmed in, trapped between a multitude of indignantly
wrathful silvans, who had already demonstrated their willingness to
strike a neighbour down given enough provocation, and the marginally
controlled peril of Thranduil's armed warriors. As Celeborn gently
probed the young son of Valtamar's knowledge, his elite company
regretted their hasty dismissal of their Mirkwood counterparts.
Now it was certain the wily leaders grouped before the dais realised
this readjustment of the Galadhrims' impressions was occurring and no
one attempted to interfere. Celeborn the Wise understood the need to
reunite the Wood Elves and had no desire to allow the influence of Dol
Guldur to spread to the very gates of the stronghold. The son of
Oropher was a rogue, in his opinion, but a staunch foe of the Shadow
and not easily replaced. His armies were well trained and seasoned
veterans, fearless and determined to stave off the encroachment of evil
into their world. If Greenwood fell, untold numbers of innocent lives
would be lost and the remainder taken prisoner by the Wraiths,
subjected to tortures and horrors severe enough to pervert the very
nature of the feä. Then, Lothlorien would be next.
Thranduil likewise preferred the coherent support, even if born of
stubborn pride rather than sincere respect, of his lowly subjects to
the mutiny so recently suppressed. He did not really care what
Celeborn's motives might be, it was plain enough the kinslayer's mate
was not prepared to abet the overthrow of Oropher's House. Even Iarwain
did not want the Lady of Light overseeing Greenwood's affairs, no
matter how much he might wish for Thranduil to vanish. For Radagast,
such machinations were a bore, but he merely gave an internal sigh, for
thus had Iluvatar designed the First-born, and the wizard would not
gainsay his Maker's purpose.
Thus, Thranduil once more had his leadership validated and came just
short of gloating over it.
"Then," spoke Celeborn, "this emerging prophet and the condemned archer
are one and the same elf?"
"Indeed," spoke Thranduil, noting his visitor's perplexed expression.
"The outcast kinslayer has become the peoples' champion. And neither is
their opinion unwarranted, for the Tawarwaith has displayed a deep
commitment to ridding our homeland of the Darkness that ever looms,
while diligently seeking to alleviate the disgrace placed upon his
fallen comrades. I allowed old grudges to obscure my comprehension and
initially believed Tirno was part of a foreign endeavour to weaken my
Kingdom. While it has been proved such was the intent of Imladris, no
assistance to such treachery would Legolas lend, and he has come to
further harm for his loyalty. I believe his actions today were prompted
by loss of reason due to overwhelming sorrow. He has become obsessed
with completing the Tasks of Release and will brook no rescinding of
the Judgement."
The King blatantly played to his peoples' emotional attachment to their
wild, unacknowledged prince, and they fairly loved him for it. This was
exactly what they wished to hear, and if he had not yet claimed the
Tawarwaith as his offspring, surely it was but a matter of time and the
proper moment that delayed the proclamation. The ugly image of
Thranduil holding the dripping dagger receded under this new portrayal
of contrite and grateful appreciation for their Tirno.
Lindalcon's jaw gaped to hear these words and he was literally struck
dumb by the audacity of such speech and the willingness of the
population to accept it.
"For my part, I have no wish to further hamper his heroic efforts in
Greenwood's defence and would fain ally the unconventional warrior to
my Realm. Even more, through the tragedy of Erebor has arisen the
delight of my heart: my new-born heir and his sister. A father feels
the need to express gratitude, thus was the sentence to be lifted. Yet,
all this may become moot, for Legolas has chosen a path that leads only
to his certain death."
"The Guardians of the Gates!" a female cried out in misery, and the
congregation gasped and moaned, chattering in anxious fragments of
speculative terror. Likewise the Galadhrim grew uneasy and shifted in
discomfort, whispering together, for the tales told of this King's
sorcery were legendary. But among the Greenwood's warriors few believed
it likely the unhoused ones could hinder the Tawarwaith, and argued
this opinion emphatically.
"Is this true," Celeborn blurted as his eyes grew wide in shock, "the
rumour spread far and wide of captured souls that seek to steal the
body of any that venture uninvited to your vaults?" Honestly he did not
expect Thranduil to freely admit that such was the case.
"It is," spoke Oropher's youngest boldly. What use was there in denying
what the outcast's absconded hroa would reveal soon enough? "I have
need of their protection, for the concept of the Dark Lord sending some
well disguised spy into my homeland has long been a concern of mine. I
have not his Ring, but he does not know that. Long has he yearned to
learn what I do and do not possess, one way or another." Thus the King
justified his use of powers usually reserved for the Maiar and
satisfied his peoples' desire to understand his insistence that the
vaults should not be searched.
"The ultimate disposition of unhoused feär falls under the
auspices of Námo; this is the will of Iluvatar. By what right
have you done this thing?" demanded Aiwendil in horrified outrage.
Gossip was open to doubt, hearing the Sinda's own voice confirming the
tales so tacitly, as though such a procedure was a common means of
protecting personal property, demanded censure.
"By the right of responsibility, both to these lands and its people, by
the obligation of lordship and by debts of blood owed unto my House.
Eru gave us this Middle-earth and then permitted the Powers to abandon
us, never explaining the purpose of our dual halves: imperishable flame
cloaked in fragile flesh. Iluvatar has forgotten the folk of the forest
and the Valar cower in their palaces amid the perfection of Aman."
The Wood Elves murmured their agreement with this reasoning; no help
could they depend on even among elf-kind and to expect the Lords of the
West to aid them was unimaginable. For all his flaws, Thranduil had
stuck by them when he could have abandoned the forest folk at the end
of the Second Age.
"I have taken whatever measures necessary to ensure the safety of this
Realm. Do not pretend ignorance of the source of vitality in the elven
rings, wizard! My methods may be different but the result is the same,
for the identical substance supplies the strength of these various
implements. You do not chastise Galadriel or Elrond for manipulating
such tokens, why should the Wood Elves be left to suffer the cursed
Shadow, exposed and vulnerable? Are the moriquendi so much less dear to
Iluvatar's heart than the Noldor?"
"Nay, do not make such bold challenges to the One; all, First-born and
Second, Aulë's children and even the voiceless things of the
world, all are beloved of Eru. And your supposition is incorrect; the
elven rings harness and magnify the Music itself, not individual notes
within it," argued Aiwendil.
"And how can that be done? I say to you, no Song can be sung without
the single tones combined to form its melodies. You should simply ask
Galadriel what is held bound in Nenya's crystal planes; that is if you
trust her to be truthful in answer!"
"Daro! I will not hear my beloved defamed and mocked by anyone!" warned
Celeborn.
"I beg pardon," said Thranduil, turning to his kinsman with a deep bow.
"I meant not to imply the Lady of Light would choose to misspeak,
merely that she may feel it best to remain silent, believing that the
fewer beings in possession of such knowledge, the better will matters
be for all."
"It is so," admitted Celeborn, and bowed in turn. "I hold no grudge
against you. As to the nature of the gems; even I do not have insight
into this, though I was in Eregion when Celebrimbor wrought them. Nor
have I deemed it necessary to press Nenya's Keeper for the information.
You believe fallen souls are housed therein?"
"I do, most likely Noldor kinslayers and oathbreakers, for such is the
way in binding. A blood debt must be owed. For such, incarceration is
generally preferred over facing Námo while their sins are still
fresh. If I do not have the right to determine how a debt owed to my
House shall be paid, then who does have it? The Valar care not for the
sundering of child from parent, brother from brother. It is of no
importance to them, the suffering of Eru's children, and they do
nothing."
Again the citizens resonated approval for such sentiments. Long had the
silvans settled such debts in their own manner without need of
consultation with the Powers.
"You are wrong, Thranduil son of Oropher!" claimed Aiwendil.
"Furthermore, you have perverted a holy and compassionate liturgy,
meant to grant peaceful rest to wandering feär, into a selfish
scheme to garner greater control over the hearts and wills of the
silvan people. This is a serious error! You dare to place yourself
level with the Valar?"
"I do dare it, for if I am lesser than they in substance I am easily
their better in devotion to my duty. I am not the one who has deserted
these lands and forsaken her people. If Námo is so jealous for
these lost souls, let him come and claim them!"
"Such profane speech will needs be answered! In your prideful
rationalisations, you have taunted the Vala second only to Manwë!
I caution you, Thranduil, to undo this atrocity against nature!" boomed
Aiwendil furiously, his grip upon his staff firm as the top end gave
off an incandescent glow of crimson heat.
"You do not hold jurisdiction in Greenwood, wizard! If Eru sees
everything, then let him be my judge rather than Námo. Still,
should the Powers care to chastise me for my beliefs, it shall be easy
for them to locate me. I am here, now, and so shall I be until the end
of things. Greenwood shall never be defeated nor the Wood Elves
neglected to fend for themselves while I still breathe!"
"And you believe the way to ensure this is to set a sentient shield
about your horde?" Radagast asked in dry disapproval. "That is safe
while everyday Orcs let silvan blood to nourish the Greenwood's roots
and darker grows your forest."
"The wealth of the Woodland Realm is needed for her defence!" Thranduil
thundered, face stained a florid scarlet under the implication of
personal avarice.
"Peace!" Celeborn cautioned in a voice steeped with the timbre of
disappointment over his kinsman's blatant manipulation of forces he
failed to respect and appreciate. "I do not wish to discuss the worth
of the Keep's contents. I would hear the condition of this outcast
warrior. Radagast, would you please go check on his health, and of the
two elves who went to his aid?"
The wizard gave a curt nod to Celeborn and a dreadful scowl to
Thranduil and turned to go, but before he had taken a step bustling
agitation among the soldiers still milling near the interior exits
garnered everyone's attention.
"That will not be necessary, Lord," a female voice floated out from
this zone and all heads craned to see the healer's re-entry into the
Chamber of Starlight. Abruptly she halted and with undisguised
disbelief stared at the numerous elves sporting ripped and ruined
garments, bruised and bloodied faces, favouring sore arms or ribs, or
pressing soaking handkerchiefs over crooked noses to stem flowing
nostrils. "By Elbereth, what has happened?"
"Gladdie! Is Legolas well?" implored Lindalcon and hurried to her as
she approached.
"Nay, not well, but when has he been thus over these last twenty or so
years? Fie, even longer has it been that he has suffered deeply! He
will recover from the injury to his shoulder, however."
"And the spirits?" queried Iarwain.
"I know not," the healer shrugged. "They were not there once I entered.
I had to secure light and supplies first." But she shuddered over the
memory of their hair-lifting presence enveloping her even from the
stairway landing above the anteroom.
"What do you mean, 'not there'?" demanded Thranduil in alarm. "They
cannot leave without a host to bear them! Where is the outcast?"
"In the Vestibule with Fearfaron," she answered warily. "He is resting,
for blood loss was significant. I left them only to secure blankets and
reassure Lindalcon of his status."
"Valar! Did you not perceive a change in him?" the King demanded but
turned to Celeborn before awaiting the reply. "He is possessed, even as
I feared! That is why I set guards over my private apartments."
"He did not appear unusual in any way, to me," declaimed Gladhadithen
uncomfortably. In reality, however, she had no idea how to determine
the state of a being's soul. Her expertise involved the hroa, not the
feä.
"Let us not make assumptions without evidence," remarked Aiwendil. "I
can easily determine if he has acquired any unwanted 'guests' and force
them out if so."
"I will accompany you," asserted Lindalcon firmly.
"Nay, remain here. I promise to return as soon as I am sure of the
matter. You must handle the other issues," the Istar instructed
the chagrined youth.
"Aye, go quickly, mellon," urged Celeborn and Aiwendil hurried after
the healer's lead, for he had not been in the bowels of the stronghold
before. "Why would these unhoused ghosts seek to harm your family?" the
Lord of Lothlorien asked of his kinsman pointedly. "If you are their
Keeper, would they not seek to punish you instead?"
"Manwë's Wind! Do not be obtuse!" the King railed, terrified both
to have the souls' identities become known and for his elflings to
suffer. "I can defend myself against this forest warrior easily enough
while my innocent babes are helpless. The spirits have no wish to lose
their host but every desire to avenge themselves. What better way than
to destroy those I love, for surely this would put an end to my
existence also."
"I realise your distress is great, yet I would request your refrain
from derogation. I am here out of concern for you and for your people,"
Celeborn's voice was frosty and brittle.
"Fine, fine; as you say," the monarch brushed the reprimand aside, more
concerned over his offspring. "I must go and determine that Talagan is
apprised of the situation and has every entry to the apartments well
covered." Thranduil did not wait for any acknowledgement and indeed was
already striding for the exit as he spoke.
This left Celeborn, Iarwain, Haldir, and Lindalcon alone in the centre
of the room amid the uncertain and uneasy populace. Before they had
time to do more than raise a low hum of indecipherable conversing, the
Lord of the Golden Wood seized the opportunity to increase his
knowledge.
"Tell me of Erebor," he asked the young elf gently, "at least, as much
as you can."
Instantly the onlookers quieted.
"I know next to nothing and far too much," replied Lindalcon moodily.
"I see my father's struggle and his gruesome end, but nothing of
Legolas' part in it."
"In reverie you endure this?" Haldir was immediately sympathetic,
having experienced similar torments after his parents' deaths.
"Aye. My father's feä wanders and seeks me, tries to impress upon
me that the real story has never come to light, emphatically leaves
behind the notion that he will never be free of his cursed limbo until
the full account is made. I understand Legolas' worry for our siblings,
but I feel he is mistaken in how to protect them."
The March Warden opened his mouth to address this statement, for he
found Lindalcon's view much as was his, and he had been terribly wrong.
Before he could begin, he was cut off by the Eldest.
"True, for no one can rule the fates besides Manwë, and even he is
subject to Iluvatar," averred Iarwain sagely. "We gathered this day to
hear Maltahondo's testimony of events from Legolas' perspective, high
above the battle ground on the isolated ridge. Mayhap we should proceed
as planned." The cunning councillor was eager to have a turn at
interrogating the corpsman without the Sinda monarch present, convinced
all the former guardian had relayed to him earlier was a farce.
"Aye!" Lindalcon gave a brisk nod to emphasise his concurrence. "Let us
have Malthen's speech."
"Agreed, I think most would have this witness testify," Celeborn said,
turning to the assembly searchingly. His gaze found the battered
soldier though he was scarcely recognisable as the disciplined guardian
that shadowed Ningloriel's every move while in Lorien.
"Maltahondo, come forward and relate what you have to add concerning
the mistakes made at Erebor."
Every eye turned to seek the corpsman, still huddled dejectedly near
the far wall of the cavern, nursing his bruised abdomen and staring
blankly upon the visiting Lord through one dark brown orb, the other
being sealed shut under purple lids swollen tight due to
contusion. Stilted was his progress as he moved out toward the
dais and strange was the deja vu he experienced as the crowd parted to
allow his passage. He reached the centralised knot of relevant figures
and paused awkwardly.
"Forgive me, Lord Celeborn, but I can make no statement to this
Council," the warrior's words were barely audible as he folded down in
a painful bow.
"Nonsense! You will speak!" commanded Iarwain.
"Legolas bade me be silent; his wish I shall respect."
"Oh that is rich!" sneered Lindalcon. "Dare you utter the word,
considering your acts?"
"Aye, for once do as you should for our Tawarwaith!" shouted an angry
silvan archer as he tried to get through the crowd and reach the
contemptible elf.
"You are foul! Orcs would not claim you for kin!" a Sinda soldier
shrieked, pointing.
"Speak of your treachery, we already know you are behind it!" this from
one of Talagan's own lieutenants.
"Silence! Be at peace!" commanded Aiwendil, returning from the Vaults
at this juncture. He moved swiftly through the crowd and resumed his
place at Lindalcon's side. "Enough violence has transpired here this
day. Think on what serves Legolas in this contention and cease at once."
The soldiers grumbled but could not argue that the wizard was right. No
wish had they to undo their communal vow to protect the fallen prince
from additional humiliation and degradation.
"How fares our Tirno?" demanded a silvan citizen.
"No invasion of his being can I detect; he is in complete command of
all his faculties and his hroa. The carpenter is watching over him."
A raucous outpouring of gratified exclamations filled the room as the
Woodland folk professed their relief over their champion's disposition.
High above them in the uppermost chambers of the mountain fortress,
Thranduil burst into his wife's rooms, short of wind for having run the
stairs by twos and threes, frenzied over the low wailing emitted from
his tiny son's weary body, for the infant had begun crying anew. The
King found his family gathered in the consort's study. There Talagan
was seated on the floor before the fire, trying to distract Gwilith
with a board game as Meril paced the room, the bawling heir tight
against her shoulder.
"What is amiss?" she queried immediately, shocked at Thranduil's
dishevelled appearance and bloodied face. Talagan had said nothing
about the near overthrow and the apartment was too far above the ground
level Council room to allow her to hear what went on within it. More
than worry over her mate lit her eyes, for she feared the guards were
there to prevent her departure rather than to protect her children from
dangerous intruders.
"Ada!" cried Gwilwileth and leaped from the floor to race into her
father's outstretched arms. "You are hurt! What happen? Orcs coming
here? We going into the black tubes? Where Lindalcon an' Limlas? Tauron
not stop crying and I want him to!"
"Nay, sell dithen [little daughter] do not be afraid; no Orcs are
coming here. I had a clumsy accident, that is all. It is not so bad,
not really; just a bump and a cut, nothing more. Tomorrow both will be
healed." Thranduil tried to console his fair princess, gathering her
close against his shoulder so he could tuck her copper ringlets under
his chin and squeeze her tight. His eyes sought Meril's over their
first-born's head. "How is Taurant this day?"
"As you may observe, he is miserable! Indeed, he will not nurse and
though he wails, yet he is listless and weak. Whatever is going on in
the Council is not to his liking!" the Royal Consort hissed, but her
eyes betrayed that the aggravated tone of an affronted heart carried in
the words was a sham.
"I believe you are wrong," murmured Thranduil, and a strong pang
gripped his heart to see his beloved nearly quaking for terror of what
he planned to do to her.
She truly believes I would allow
harm to befall her. How little has she appreciated my love to think
this possible. "The Council is setting right the hasty
assignment of guilt at Erebor. A charge so grave should never have been
decided on the field under the conditions that day. The Judgement will
be lifted, but that is not what frightens my son."
"Why is Talagan here?" Meril demanded shrilly and her distress raised
her children's anxiety ten-fold. "It has to do with the outcast; I know
it! Who will bear the blame for Erebor if not Ningloriel's child? What
tales have been told within the starlit chamber below?"
Gwilith's head pivoted between her parents in dread, for never had they
spoken to one another with such rancour before, and with a tearful
whimper she hid her face against her father's shoulder and wept.
"Hush, hush now, Echuiross!" he consoled the toddler soothingly and
gently rubbed her back, shooting his mate a scathing glare of reproof.
"All will be well, do not fret! Talagan is here to make sure everyone
is safe, that is all. There was a rumour of some malice afoot, but no
harm can find you here while my worthy friend guards the rooms."
"Aye, worry not; I will stay and ensure personally that none save you
shall enter," asserted Talagan. "What news of Tirno?"
"Aiwendil is trying to determine this as I am here checking that every
precaution has been made."
"So, you accept that I was right all along," Meril could not help
tossing her head in indignation. "It is his arrival you dread, is it
not?"
"Nay," Thranduil stared at her with icy fury. "It would not be him. I
am convinced Legolas has no desire to harm his brother and sister.
There are others, as you are aware, who would not be so kindly
disposed."
At this Meril caught her breath and clutched her babe closer against
her breast, eyes and lips wide in amazement. Never had she heard
Thranduil speak the outcast's name or claim him so openly.
"What wrong, Ada?" Gwilith implored, her brother's name spoken in these
terms of dissension generating fresh panic. "Limlas come here?"
"Nay, hen lend [sweet child], not this day. Another time, mayhap, for
Limlas is resting and the healer has sent Fearfaron to watch over him.
He is not feeling well today and got hurt, too." Before he had finished
speaking, Taurant suddenly ceased his wretched lament and expelled a
whispery sigh prior to lapsing into sleep. Thranduil shared a smile of
encouragement with Gwilith and set her down upon her feet again. "You
see? Taurant is trying to tell us not to worry. Everything will be
fine, sell nîn. [my daughter]" He bent to give her a final hug
and kiss before facing his trusted captain. "Remain on guard, mellon
brûn [old friend]," the King commanded gravely.
"I will," Talagan replied and held out his hand to Gwilith, guiding her
back to their hearth-side game.
Thranduil advanced to Meril and she recoiled a few steps before
mastering her dread, resuming respiration when her husband only stooped
down to lay a light kiss upon his youngest's crown of fluffy gilded
locks.
Thranduil graced his wife with a final mournful glance and left the
room. Silence reigned in the deserted corridors and he met only his
most loyal guards as he descended to the lower levels. Once within the
central hallway leading off from the Council Chamber he was able to
discern voices and the topic of the conversation prompted him into a
run. The hearing had resumed in his absence.
"That is well," remarked Lindalcon as soon as the volume of speech fell
lower. "Yet we must hear the truth finally. I bid you, Maltahondo, to
reply to our questions not with the plot agreed upon between the King
and yourself under the duress of incarceration and punishment. Answer
what is real, what resides in your memory of that day. Please."
The quiet desperation in Lindalcon's voice moved everyone to compassion
and several voices bolstered his request.
"Impudent upstart! How dare you impugn my methods of discovering the
facts?" growled Thranduil, bursting into the chamber just as the
youth's defaming words met the free air of the space. He shoved his way
brusquely through the throng to reach the former usurper and once more
found Haldir blocking the way.
"Far! [Enough!]" groused Aiwendil and lifted his staff to forestall
further argument between the King and his consort's son. "We will cover
that charge at some other time."
"We shall do nothing of the sort, for I shall address it now!"
Thranduil's eyes flashed with livid wrath over the Istar's presumptive
dismissal of Lindalcon's effrontery. "Is this Greenwood or Rhosgobel?
Here the will of Oropher and the Council of Elders holds sway, not the
Brown Wizard or the White Council. None have leave to over-rule what
has been sanctioned under our sovereign laws."
"That may be, yet the Messengers of Aman will not be hindered by any
Realm, be it of elves, dwarves, or men," Aiwendil replied staunchly.
"This controversy must be untangled, to this you must acquiesce having
called for the hearing this day rather than wait for less turbulent
times, and lesser grievances must be set aside until it is
accomplished. If in my eagerness to advance this cause I have given
offence; then I humbly beg pardon."
Thranduil's jaw was set and his glare unrelenting, but he could hardly
retort when the Maia's words were accurate and ended in apology. He
wished for the completion of the trial, more so than any other present
in the room, and so after mulling over the formal words of atonement he
gave a slight nod.
"Mayhap you are right," he ventured to say more calmly while
simultaneously regarding Maltahondo with open loathing worked upon his
noble features. "Lindalcon's opinion is of no consequence, after all.
It is more important to be done with this false Judgement. What of
Legolas and the unhoused ones?"
"He is not possessed. No indication of them could I find, and he is
safe in his foster-father's care. A most extraordinary tale Fearfaron
reported, yet that must also be saved for other venues than this."
The King's vision snapped back to the Maia's face upon hearing these
words and saw within the piercing remonstrance of those ebony eyes that
the wizard understood all. A deep breath he drew to steady his reeling
senses, for if the Tawarwaith was not inhabited and the three feär
were no longer in the Vestibule, then Legolas must have determined how
to free them. Thranduil blinked, stupefied, for while there had been
blood aplenty to coat the key, he could not comprehend how the outcast
would know the emancipating words.
Celeborn and Haldir exchanged concerned glances over the strange
concentration between the two and Celeborn cleared his throat.
"Another feat of valour to add to the Tawarwaith's list of exploits,
then, alongside the tale of baiting the Wraiths and the luring of Orcs
to their deaths in great fields of pits. Aye, such stories have reached
the ears of the Galadhrim," he nodded as murmuring surprise, definitely
pleased and proud, whispered through the room. "But Aiwendil is right;
let us have that narration another day. For now, let the guardsman make
his case."
"Consider your words carefully, Maltahondo," threatened the Sinda Lord,
"but speak you must."
As for Malthen, he had not been paying attention to the unspoken
conversation between his Lord and the Istar, for he could do naught but
stare into the sullen features of his comrade's only son. He had
respected Valtamar and counted him a friend in life. Indeed, Lindalcon
was so much the image of his father now that it was impossible not to
feel a sharp stab of regret for the horrid end that warrior had
courageously faced. A deep compassion for the grieving child left
behind, orphaned, fatherless, forced to give up his true calling in
exchange for the privilege of his chosen brother's company, filled the
disgraced guardsman. He understood that Lindalcon was cognisant of his
affair with Legolas and despised him for it, yet despite this the youth
had risked injury to extricate Malthen from the violence of the
incensed warriors, and likely saved his life.
Thus is his character consistent with his physical
appearance; in all ways he favours Valtamar.
The corpsman made his decision, reluctant to disobey his former charge
but finding himself in agreement with the councillor's apprentice.
Lying about Erebor would grant no guarantee to the youngest siblings'
happiness.
"I will tell you what I recall, but I fear it is very minor. I have not
the remedy for this puzzle."
Maltahondo took a deep breath and held it a moment, noting how loud was
its expiration within the absolutely soundless room. Every ear was
attuned to his slightest utterance and all attention documented each
nuance of movement and demeanour.
The Wood Elves collectively refrained from suspiration as the seconds
swiftly raced away, awaiting at last the resolution of the most
terrible event endured among them since the tragedy of the Last
Alliance.
"We were concentrating on the canyon floor, watching for any chance to
bring down the Goblin King. Legolas was so tense he was shaking, though
that may have been rage, for he watched as our troops were being
obliterated. Our company was reduced by a third in mere minutes. I
think…I believe he wanted to kill those goblin guards, but he did not."
"What prompts such a speculation?" asked Iarwain.
"It is intuition; long have I known Legolas." the guardsman winced as a
deriding snort arose from among the soldiers. "Plus, he cursed vilely
as he watched the battle, and twice fought the urge to loose his arrow.
That much I can attest to without compunction. He truly believes he
should have acted, and in failing to do so caused the warriors their
lives."
"What do you believe?" queried Celeborn.
"It was not his decision to make," Malthen shook his head. "He was
untried in battle before that day, though he fought well enough under
the shelter of the trees. He did all that was in his power to do
without defying the orders and plans of his commander. Perhaps if I had
counselled him, he may have chosen a different course. But I did not. I
did nothing."
"That is a lie!" shouted Thranduil. "I charge you under the strain of
your oath as a warrior and the blood-debt that binds you to Legolas'
service to speak the truth! Admit it! You caused the fall of rocks that
struck him just at the moment when victory was at hand!"
"Gwarth! [Betrayer!]" bellowed a silvan swordsman. "I name you
Morn-gûreb! [Black-hearted]"
"Aye, confess your wrongs that day, for we know worse about you!" a
Sinda spearman concurred and in no time the whole of the Greenwood's
troops were clamouring for the banishment of the detestable guardian.
"Peace! Peace!" called Iarwain stridently. "Let the inquiry continue!
If he is false he will reveal himself; if he is guilty the Council will
punish him."
"Be cautious of whose cause you abet, Elder," Thranduil warned. "This
is not an elf worthy of your protection."
"I understand the source of your abhorrence and desire for vengeance,"
noted the Eldest as he calmly met his liege lord's infuriated
expression. "Yet still what happened on the ridge is separate from
these other crimes. Only one issue may be resolved at a time if justice
would be served."
"Justice!" Now it was Lindalcon who sneered at his mentor in
undisguised indignation. "When has this Council ever treated Legolas
justly? Nay, we must hear it all not to satisfy some lofty concept
which you daily denigrate by plotting and scheming solely for your own
benefit. Mention not your interpretation of fairness here! Maltahondo
must be allowed to continue in order to dispel the tormented misery of
the Lost Warriors, and of Legolas."
The rumbling hum of the citizens' agreement reinforced Lindalcon's
vehement statement and Celeborn raised his hand wordlessly to signal
silence. When the assembly hushed, he turned again to the witness.
"How do you plead to your King's charge? Did you cause the failure of
Legolas that day?"
"If by that you mean did I wilfully attempt to divert his aim and mar
his skill, then nay; of that I am not guilty," the corpsman proclaimed.
"You cannot believe him; his very breath manifests deceit!" claimed a
shrill female voice and Ben'waeth stepped out of the crowd and strode
to the centre of the conflict. "I will swear here and now that he has
defied his oath to Ningloriel and to her son, despite the doom such
dishonour bodes! He is wholly devoid of conscience!"
"Be silent!" urged Thranduil, wild-eyed for fear she was prepared to
disclose the defilement of the outcast for all to know. Well did he
appreciate this elleth's predilection for gossip and nosiness, and her
long acquaintance with Meril. And once begun, there was no telling how
much her narrative would divulge or whom she might implicate with her
loose tongue.
Celeborn's eyes narrowed as he surveyed this exchange, sensing at once
that some darker secret lay buried which the King desired to keep
hidden, so burdened with dread was Thranduil's manner. A brief scrutiny
of the Eldest, Aiwendil, and Lindalcon told the silvan Lord that these
three likewise were aghast to have this unforeseen source of
information come forward. What more Legolas might have suffered
Celeborn could not imagine, for he had already departed the borders of
the Golden Wood ere the message from his grandsons arrived at Caras
Galadhon.
"I will gladly remain quiet," Ben'waeth snapped back, hands on hips as
she glared up at the monarch defiantly, "if you will ask him. Go on!
Ask him if he has ever betrayed Ningloriel! Demand his account of how
he cared for her child!"
Once more the congregation subsided into tense silence as focus
pinpointed the King and this servant of his House.
Thranduil was spared from responding to this challenge, however, for
Maltahondo groaned aloud and buried his head in his hands, swaying as
though he must collapse upon the floor.
"It is so," the muffled syllables slipped between his fingers. "I was
no guardian to either of them. I have deepened the debt owed by my
lineage a thousand fold, for I was charged with the care of innocents
and betrayed that trust. I do not seek to hide my shame. Willingly I
will face whatever punishment my actions warrant, even if that be
death."
"Stop trying to minimise your doom by this pretence of contrition! It
is far too late in the day for such ploys to work!" Lindalcon balled
his hands into fists and had to be restrained by Aiwendil to prevent an
attack upon the corpsman. "I yanked you from death by pummelling for
one purpose only, and that was to hear your version of Erebor's battle.
Now you have turned everyone's mind from that horror and I will not
suffer it! I lost my father and I would know why!"
"So be it!" ground out Malthen through clenched jaws, still covering
his countenance in mortification for his deeds. Minutes passed by as he
attempted to regain composure and continue his elocution. At last he
drew a heaving lung's worth and lowered his hands from his tear
streaked visage.
"I do accept the fault for the losses at Erebor, for this reason. I was
not paying attention to the ridge at our backs, as was my duty. I was
charged not only with supplying Legolas' ammunition but with his
protection should our position be compromised. In this I most certainly
failed, for I did not see the enemy that loosed those rocks."
"Are you saying it was not your hand that initiated the cascade?"
Iarwain asked a second time, for the Record.
"Nay, I did not. Yet I was negligent in permitting any foe to get that
close and placed the mission in peril. Indeed, my lack of vigilance
ruined any chance of Legolas' success, and ultimately resulted in those
needless deaths, for I say to you honestly he would never have missed
that shot otherwise. Nor could he recover fast enough to repeat the
move under the attack that followed."
Thranduil exhaled a relieved sigh, for this would suffice. No one else
could dispute Maltahondo's claim, for no other had been present.
Meril's name would never be linked to these egregious atrocities and
none would hold Legolas accountable for the deaths any longer.
"Hold, I recall that Mithrandir stated no goblins had reached the
ridge," said Lindalcon, perplexed.
"What?" Thranduil stared at him, dumbfounded. This was not the source
of such argument he would have expected. "A wizard has not the sight of
eldar nor was the ridge his principle object of observation. Mithrandir
cannot be certain; he may have missed the moment when the vile spawn of
Melkor slinked into position, unheeded."
"Indeed?" asked Celeborn and his brow furrowed in confusion as he
looked about amid the throng, searching. "Where is Mithrandir? I had
assumed he would also be here for he has a way of turning up when
crisis foments."
"And so he is," confirmed Aiwendil. "He and Aragorn are watching over
Erestor, awaiting his recovery in the Tawarwaith's talan."
"Aragorn! Here?" Celeborn was astonished for the Dunedain's presence
had been completely obscured, not only from his perception but from the
oracle of Galadriel's mirror as well. More, he was rather shamed for
having completely forgot about the seneschal from Imladris in all the
excitement of the unsuccessful coup, unhoused feär, and the
ensuing hearing.
"What ails Erestor?" demanded Haldir, likewise eager to correct the
oversight of failing to learn the advisor's whereabouts. "I am brother
to his mate and would know of this at once."
"Really? Of which; I hear he has three," sniped Thranduil derisively,
though he knew full well Haldir was the brother of Orophin. He was
pleased to see evidence that he had got under the cool March Warden's
skin as the Galadhrim warrior turned the unmistakable shade particular
to boiled beets and took a step forward to answer the slur, only to
have his Lord's arm block his advance. The Sinda monarch ignored
Celeborn's admonishing scowl.
"Erestor was subjected to the Enchanted River and this is my doing,
though I never intended such a disaster. He lies deep in slumber until
the magic wears off. No other harm should result. Except he may not
have all his memories intact when he awakes," explained Lindalcon
disconsolately.
"My Lord, I would like to go verify this with my own eyes, for Orophin
and Dambethnîn are beside themselves in agitation over his fate,"
pleaded the March Warden.
Gladhadithen, Aiwendil, and Lindalcon simultaneously recoiled in misery
to hear these words.
Celeborn noticed and passed an inquiring gaze to the Istar, who sighed
and shook his head.
"The seneschal will be fine, Haldir," Radagast said in soul-weary
tones. "Mithrandir will send Aragorn to tell us should he rouse before
the Council concludes. Be at peace for his welfare; he has not been
ill-treated. At least, not more than he deserved."
"What are you implying?" demanded Haldir angrily.
"Daro!" ordered Celeborn. "I trust to Aiwendil in this matter and so
shall you. There is nothing hinted; he has said the seneschal earned
some of his misfortune and so it may be. Until it is proven false, I
accept the wizard's evaluation. There let it rest."
Chastened but disgruntled, Haldir relented and let the issue drop,
sending the Wood Elves' King a smouldering look promising suitable
retaliation for the insult to his brother at the first possible moment.
"Another unfortunate tale to relate, but at some other time," droned
out Iarwain. "If we might return to the Erebor situation? I feel
confident that enough evidence has arisen to cast doubt over the
validity of the Judgement pronounced upon Legolas. If there are no
objections, I would confer with my fellow Council members that a
decision may be announced."
"So noted!" declared Thranduil gleefully, grinning at Fêrlass.
"Nay!" called out Lindalcon. "Nothing has been explained! I have not
heard who this enemy is that wrought my Ada's demise. This hearing
shall not conclude until that is revealed."
Now once more all fell under the cloak of worried assonance as the raw
pain of the warrior's surviving descendant overshadowed the relief to
have their champion cleared.
"Lindalcon, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether the
Judgement was warranted, not necessarily to uncover the cause of the
rock-fall," Iarwain reminded calmly. "We may yet investigate the
possible factors responsible for your father's death, but that is
separate from the retraction of the Tawarwaith's conviction."
"There may be no way of learning what you seek, Lindalcon," warned
Aiwendil carefully. "If the perpetrator was concealed during his
cowardly deeds, how shall anyone testify to his identity?"
"Nor does having this information guarantee that your Adar's feä
will find rest," added Haldir softly.
"True," agreed Celeborn, "yet completing the picture often allows the
heart to stop reliving the scenes. If we can aid Lindalcon in doing
that I am sure none would object to a little more effort. There may be
evidence that has escaped notice because it did not appear worthy of
mentioning. Oft is it the case that error is the result of something so
ordinary that it goes overlooked." He graced Thranduil with a piercing
stare, for he was certain the Sinda was holding back, and transferred
the same discerning scrutiny to Maltahondo. The corpsman dropped his
eyes at once, unable to endure the unspoken accusation.
"Verily, there is something more," Celeborn fumed in vexation and paced
across the floor before the dais a few times.
"I tend to agree, Lord, but no others among our folk were there,"
Iarwain concurred morosely.
"Ah!" Haldir exclaimed, "the humans may have seen what happened." He
had suddenly recalled the woodsmen in the courtyard, patiently waiting
their chance to speak on Legolas' behalf. As the trial had not seemed
to require it, their presence had been neglected.
"Mortals!" Thranduil audibly groaned. "What can they behold that elven
eyes could not? This is a pointless waste of time, besides they reside
in Laketown and to call them hence would engender a delay of at least
five days."
"Not so, for two of those worthy fighters migrated to the woodsmen's
settlement in the central forest near the Gladden Fields. They are
outside with the rest of my warriors awaiting the opportunity to speak.
Even if what the say is not definitive, what harm can come of it?"
demanded Celeborn testily. "If there is any chance they witnessed the
ill-fated event, it behoves us to hear it. Do you prefer having an
un-named enemy dogging your troops and hindering your best archers?"
"Please, I would hear these humans' words," pleaded Lindalcon, turning
to Aiwendil to affirm his request.
"Let them enter, Thranduil. No doubt they feel a connection to Legolas,
too, for he has been their champion all these long years of his exile.
Would you turn away a chance to strengthen ties with those that dwell
on the fringes of the forest?" Radagast asked.
"Perhaps it would be wise to allow this additional testimony. If we do
not let them make their statements, forever will there be those who
claim this trial was biased and justice befouled. What the eldar decree
has about it the brand of eternity; let us then take care in what
we propose for the Record of our history." Iarwain offered his
thoughts.
"Far! You were not careful when you made the Judgement," hissed
Lindalcon. "Why did you care so little for the facts then? Valar! I
resign my apprenticeship, for I will not trade my convictions for the
false gilding of personal status. Give me a bow and a sword; let me
defend those that I love for no greater distinction could I desire."
"Well said, mellon," Haldir gripped the youth's shoulder in support,
for he felt a strong affinity with Lindalcon's lot in life. "Yet now
let the woodsmen come forward and mayhap some peace shall return to
your dreams."
"Fine! Bring forth your human friends," snapped the King. He was
growing increasingly resentful of all the foreign interference in his
Realm's affairs. "If this will speed the process and allow the Council
to render their decision without qualms, then let it be so." It
mattered not; they could not even be aware of Meril's existence.
Solemnly the Men walked through the columned arches of the Chamber of
Starlight, preceded by two of the Galadhrim, grimly determined to show
forth their worthiness and do right for their peoples' sake and for
that of their feral atheling. Heavy on their hearts was the serious
nature of the proceedings in which they would take part, and the sense
of stepping into a place apart from the rest of Arda, yet strangely
central to its well-being, could not be shaken. Daunting it was to
stride unwavering amid this host of First-born, a forest of elegant
forms, faces fair and bright-eyed but stern, staring upon them in
silent evaluation, marking them as they passed.
The woodsmen could not help but note the tattered disarray of recent
strife, and strived to keep their astonishment from showing in their
eyes. They had no wish to incur the disfavour of this throng of
cantankerous Wood Elves by displaying their curiosity and morbid
fascination over the troubles in the community. Well aware were they of
the cutting words many of the silvans used to disparage them:
intruders, usurpers of their lands, or even agents of the Darkness
spawned by Dol Guldur.
Yet never had Tirno spoken thus and instead came to them as a servant
to further their cause when truthfully his arrival had been as a
saviour amid their most dire extremis. The Tawarwaith's persistent
defiance of the evil to the south had granted new vigour to failing
hopes and thwarted courage. If one elf alone in the wilds refused to
surrender, what Man, aided and supported by his peers, could fail to
stand and fight, even did he possess but a fractional measure of
Legolas' fortitude? While the Tawarwaith dwelled within the forest and
pressed to take it back from Shadow, there remained a chance Mirkwood
would someday slough off its shameful appellation and become again a
green and giving world for all that called it home.
Now these humans had seen the armies of the elusive woodland folk at
Erebor and marvelled then that such graceful physiques of long lines
and slender frames could house so fierce and aggressive a fighting
force. Likewise they had been impressed by the majesty and might of the
Galadhrim battalion with which they had ridden into the Wood Elves'
stronghold. Yet those were soldiers, and among warriors accustomed to
face death and destruction such mettle was a common trait. Here amid
the common folk of the Woodland Realm the Men beheld this identical,
understated capacity for lethal force as an ominous, ambiguous alert of
the nervous system warned that even the weakest among this multitude
could break them utterly should they so wish.
With laudable self control, the woodsmen refrained from reaching for
one another's hands.
Soon enough they arrived at the dais and found themselves before some
of the most esteemed figures in all of Middle-earth: Radagast the
Brown, their ever-present healer and unofficial soothsayer; Celeborn
the Wise, a figure relegated to myth and legend of times long past
revealed in life to be both honourable and bold; Iarwain, an elf alive
since the awakening of all Eru's children who had hunted Orcs with
Oromë and feasted on the kill; Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves
and master of magic, stealer of souls, brutal, cold, and undefeated in
battle.
The Men knelt before these distinguished and imposing people, keeping
their vision upon the smooth granite, where they startled to see the
unmistakable smear of drying elven blood and their Tirno's own dagger.
Warily they traded fearful glances and felt their pulse rates double.
"Arise and be welcome, we are grateful for your desire to participate
in the Council of Erebor," intoned Thranduil with majestic but hollow
tones so that they knew he did not mean these words.
"Thank you, Lord, for allowing our humble presence here," one Man said
just as falsely and earned a grin from Haldir for his defiance.
"I am promised you have some news of the battle?" queried the King,
ignoring the March Warden.
"We were both at Erebor for the Battle of the Five Armies, Lord. We
have heard that Tirno is under some sanction for his efforts on that
day. We wish to state for all our people that he does not deserve such
punishment." The second Man spoke out boldly and met the wintry gleam
in the piercing cobalt gaze of the King, if only for a minute.
"Yes, we have heard previously from one of your messengers of the
gratitude the villagers extend to the condemned archer. Tell what you
saw not what you feel; had either of you a view to the ridge where the
sniper was positioned?" demanded Thranduil.
"I did," said the first woodsman, fidgeting slightly from foot to foot
as his eyes darted to Radagast for support. A nod from the wizard and a
benevolent smile encouraged the harried Man and he continued. "I was
situated across the valley almost directly level with the Tawarwaith's
nook. I saw his movements clearly and can tell you he did not show
himself to the soldiers below."
"And how can you claim that? If you beheld him there so might others.
Besides, at that distance your vision is not keen enough to be certain
of identity."
"Nay," the human was shaking his head vehemently. "I could see him only
because I had assistance in doing so for I own a sighting tool common
among the Men who sail the sea. With it I could descry every detail of
the elf and will swear it was our Tirno I beheld. He was still as the
stone and only the flaxen hue of his hair allowed me to spot him, even
knowing I should be staring right at him!"
"Indeed? Show me this object," demanded Thranduil. He had a small
collection of these made in Ages past by Men of Numenor and was always
eager to add another to his catalogue.
The Man reached to his belt and unhooked a long thin tube of battered
and tarnished metal, tapered at one end and set with clear crystals at
both openings. He extended this to Thranduil.
The Woodland King took it up eagerly, turning it over and inspecting it
carefully, deftly opened it to its full extent and tapped the polished,
transparent curved, crystal on the larger end. He raised the narrower
side of the devise to his right eye and aimed the tube toward the
courtyard beyond the open colonnade. With a small grunt of
half-contempt he lowered it and slid the inner cylinder back in place,
extending the spy-glass back to the human.
"Crudely made and the lenses are both poorly ground and imperfectly
aligned, but it will do. I accept that you could indeed make out
sufficient detail to identify the archer," he said. "How came your kind
to knowledge of its making? You are not of the race of Numenor."
"Nay, Lord," the human bowed his head, hoping to hide the rosy colour
that flushed his face. "My folk were but simple fishermen before we
wandered north. The making of such things we understood not, but its
value to our craft was certain, and such items can be bought."
"Humph! Corsairs, more like," sneered the Sinda King, "and stolen
rather than purchased, I would wager."
The Men scowled darkly but made no retort.
"But who told you to look for an elf there?" asked Celeborn, sending
his kinsman an exasperated glare. He was determined to have the full
account with minimal acrimony. "Surely that was a secret communication
among his commander and colleagues."
"Aye, Lord, but the whistled code was not unknown to the ravens, and
many were there that day. As for me, I have Aiwendil to thank for
understanding some of their calls and screeches. I discerned the sounds
they use for 'Wood Elf' and 'archer' and 'half-high'. I strained to see
what they meant and could make out nothing until someone moved on the
crest just above and then the wind caught Tirno's hair and fanned it
like a banner."
"What? Who was on the crest, Goblins? Wargs? Did you see the
rock-fall?" Lindalcon shot out his questions with impatient velocity.
"Only elves were on the spur, positioned along every available crevice
up and down its sides," answered the second Man. "One took position
above Tirno's ledge."
"And unwittingly sent the debris over the edge. I believe he was
leaning out trying to get a better view of the action in the canyon,"
continued the first. "He pulled back quickly, as though the ground was
giving way beneath him, and the rocks came pouring down."
The room erupted a spurt of volatile and excited remarks as the
citizens and soldiers alike disputed over this unexpected testimony.
"Ai! This is maddening!" cried Lindalcon in despair. "Could you not
recognise this warrior, then, if you had that seeing tube? Look among
the soldiers and tell me which it was."
"I mean not to distress you, young Lord, but that elf is not here. We
checked when first we entered the hall," the second mortal informed him.
"Then he or she met death on the battle plain and the debt was paid
that day," said Malthen.
"Nay, that cannot be, for otherwise my father would not remain lost,"
countered Lindalcon.
"Tell us what you can by way of description," urged Iarwain, "Was it
ellon or elleth?"
"He means was the warrior male or female," translated Radagast amiably.
"Aye; we know enough elvish to comprehend that," groused the first
woodsman. "Definitely male, dark haired and fair as are all the Wood
Elves, but I think mayhap he was Sindar…"
"Or half-breed," commented the second Man by way of revenge for the
King's unnecessary denigration. Instantly his indignation wilted under
the wave of bristling outrage this epithet invoked among all the elves
present. "That is to say, of combined ancestry," he whispered and fell
back to his knees.
"…for he was taller, bulkier, as a swordsman or spearman would be," his
comrade continued as if no interruption had occurred, and in their
eagerness to have the identity of this miscreant the populace let the
insult pass. "Yet he had only a bow and quiver which he did not
utilise, thus I thought it was very strange for him to take a position
requiring a long range weapon."
"Aye, for after causing the crest to crumble, he did not reappear upon
the spur, at least not near at hand. We did not see him again," the
apologetic voice of the second concluded.
"Rochendil," said one of the Sinda warriors and Thranduil almost
jumped. This was not a name he had expected to hear.
"Aye, that had to be the horsemaster, for everyone else is accounted
for and he was left to hide the animals and prevent their destruction.
He oft stated only a bow was beneficial in his task and never carried
sword or spear," another commented.
"Well the horses were not quartered on the spur," another remarked, "so
why was he up there in the first place?"
TBC
Previous
Contents Next Comments
