Ben Nestaron [According to the Healer]
"I was only an elfling when Oropher and his sons led the Sindar into
Greenwood, and a mighty force they seemed to me. We did not keep horses
under the trees before then and to see these imposing warrior elves,
seated tall and proud astride their sturdy chargers, cantering across
the Old Ford from out of the Hithaeglir, banners waving from ash-wood
shafts of spear and pike, armour gleaming and noble crests upon their
bosses, was a heart-stilling sight. The cavalry's thundering hooves
threw up a screening spray of sparkling water that dazzled the eye
under the noonday sun like beads of silver and crystal tossed into the
air!
"It looked as if the ranks were unending, for the host rode four
abreast and stretched from the centre of the ford back onto the knees
of the mountains, and following behind them came a multitude on foot.
The disciplined warriors flanked and guarded the citizens and ox-drawn
wagons bearing their provisions and personal goods. Onward forged the
van toward the tree-line, a continuous, living column of invincible
magnificence.
"Our silvan archers filled the limbs of the beeches just inside the
cover of Greenwood's shadowy half-light, for we knew not if they came
as enemies or as comrades," spoke Gladhadithen, the tranquil antiphony
of her melodious voice returning to envelop the three elves camped
before the Vaults on the vestibule floor.
Three trips up and down the dreary staircase she had made, gathering
what she could find in the way of comfort for the Tawarwaith under her
care, having conferred with Aiwendil and agreed Legolas was in no state
to return to the Council and endure the stressful recitation of
Malthen's testimony. All trace of blood was gone from the granite, for
she had quickly soaked it up and tossed the soiled rags into the
scullery's ever-blazing hearth, replacing the crimson splatter with an
insulating layer of woollen blankets that separated the wounded elf's
body from the cold, unyielding stone. Next the healer had sought out a
fur-lined cloak in which to wrap her shivering patient, taking away the
torn and ruined tunic to be burned as well.
On her way back through the kitchens, she paused to throw off the
gore-sullied brown physician's esgal (cover, apron) traditionally worn
over her garments and snatched a fresh blue one from the cook's pantry.
A quick scrub of her hands and a swift run of a comb through her
tresses returned her to the customary crisp, professional appearance
she fastidiously maintained. It would not do for the Realm's principal
Nestaron [healer] to go about mussed and mired with evidence of her
calling plain for all to see. Before exiting the pantries, Gladhadithen
had procured a bottle of strong spirits and hastily compiled an
appetising assortment of sweet pastries and nuts. Finally back in the
vestibule, she had located the small brazier Thranduil kept in the
upper chamber of his treasury and dragged that out into the anteroom.
In mere minutes the resourceful healer had transformed the gloomy,
forbidding cave into a cosy, inviting nook; a safe shelter from the
harrowing events reordering the wild elf's world in the Chamber of
Starlight above. Gladhadithen sat cross-legged before the radiating
warmth of the small stove, opposite Fearfaron and her weary charge. She
took a small sip from the bottle of lavender alcohol, having forgot
cups, and passed it to the carpenter before she continued. No word did
she utter of the violent demarche that nearly unseated the Sinda Lord,
nor of Celeborn's unprecedented arrival did she speak. The affairs of
state and the Erebor debate she ignored, instead embarking upon a
reminiscence of her young years, for Fearfaron had relayed to her the
true nature of the terrifying spirits even as he informed the wizard.
If it surprised her that Legolas had secured their freedom, she did not
give sign of it.
"We were aware of the incursion two days before the Sindar reached our
trees, for border guards spotted them the instant they emerged from the
mountain pass and sent word back to Iarwain. I was but 40 years of age
then, and certainly no elfling should have gone along with our archers
to watch from the eaves at the valley's verge. But, I was a curious
one, and already learning the ways of herb-lore and the workings of the
hroa. With the sense of personal responsibility only a child can
muster, I believed my assistance was invaluable even though I could
hardly do more than brew a soothing tea or crush the ingredients for my
mentor's medicinal concoctions. If there was a chance a healer's hands
might be required, I did not want to let any suffering linger when my
presence might allay it.
"Not one to beckon trouble, however, I made sure none of the adults
learned of my proximity to the momentous events! I climbed all the way
to the top of the canopy and watched the soldiers approach, in one part
hoping they would turn and head south following the course of Anduin
toward Lothlorien, the other half longing for a closer look at these
foreign, exotic First-born. For all I knew, they could have been
Calaquendi returned from Aman."
Legolas was sprawled against his foster-father's sturdy chest, snugly
ensconced between the lanky ellon's long legs and clasped close within
the encircling comfort of the carpenter's arms. Limp and drowsy, head
tilted back in repose upon Fearfaron's shoulder, he peered at
Gladhadithen from under down-dropped lashes, faintly smiling as she
slowly drew him into her vision of the Greenwood as once it had been.
The sonorous pitch of her gentle words filled the room with the
familiar cadence bound within the structure of all grand tales, whether
told by elves, Men, dwarves, or even Hobbits. Willingly he succumbed to
her enchanting spell of recollection and followed the winding turn of
her thoughts back into a time before his existence was merely a dream
among the trees.
Fearfaron took a swallow of the potent liquid and held the vessel to
Legolas' lips, tipping it enough to give him just a taste. He
understood that the healer hoped the drink would grant his adopted son
some relief from pain and warm his thinned blood, but did not wish him
to lapse into unconsciousness so soon after the emergency was past.
Indeed, the talan builder could still feel the trembling that ran
through his son's depleted body despite being swaddled in an exquisite
cloak of black, velvety panther pelts that had not seen service since
Oropher's death. He wondered where Gladhadithen had found the article
as he absently caressed Legolas' uninjured arm.
"Oropher rode a dun-coloured mare with mane and tail of inky strands so
lengthy the fringe of hair on her neck, even braided with ornaments of
mithril that tinkled like bells in a breeze, fell longer than its
breadth while behind her the ground-sweeping plume soon became soaked
as she paced through the ford. Her muzzle and ears were also dark and
each leg looked as if she had stepped knee-deep into tar. Her forelock
shone with coloured jewels and was also plaited, for otherwise I
believe her vision would have been occluded so thick was the thatch of
coarse tendrils between her ears. I imagined she must surely be the
mate of Nahar, for her gait was proud as well as swift and the boldness
of her heart fairly blazed from the liquid depths of her chestnut orbs.
I heard the Sinda Lord call her Emmelin [Yellow Bird].
"Now your Miny'adar [grandfather] was no less impressive, and truly I
thought he was Eldar, an emissary from Oromë come back to learn
how the Danwaith fared, bringing wisdom and strength to ease our
tribulations. Never had I seen an elf this tall and broad, for such
were the Sindar then, even as are the remaining elders from those days,
though the stature of later generations has lessened in the mingling of
our peoples."
Legolas' heart leaped to hear Gladhadithen speak thus, as if it was the
most natural thing for him to have such ties of kinship and the right
to feel justified pride over so esteemed an ancestor, yet it was only
when the words found life through her voice that the full measure of
this new reality settled within his comprehension. For so long the
shame of not knowing the fundamental relationships bestowed through his
father's lineage had tainted his existence and darkened perception of
his place in Arda. He found he was breathless with amazement. Oropher,
beloved of the Silvan and Sindar alike for his devotion to Tawar and
his staunch sense of duty, who had salvaged the people of Neldoreth
from the destruction of Beleriand, sought to re-unify the sundered
brethren of the Teleri, and boldly challenged the evil of Sauron at the
Last Alliance, was his Miny'adar [grandfather].
"He wore no helm and his hair was the colour of golden pinewood just
beneath its hide of knobby bark. Three thin braids tamed the flowing
locks at his temples and two thick four-part twists gathered the
filaments behind him, for he was an archer and would not have the
distraction of wind-blown strands hampering his vision or tangling in
the bowstring. His weapon was in his fist rather than stored upon his
back and the quiver of arrows across his shoulders was but half filled
as though he rode from battle. It was so; we later learned there had
been trouble in the mountains and some of his folk had perished there.
"Travel worn and stained from the skirmish his raiment was, no doubt,
but it was clear the manufacture was of finely woven silk and rare furs
from game never seen east of Hithaeglir. Indeed, he was wearing this
very cape that warms you now! A long sword was belted at his hip; its
scabbard dotted with white and green gems while the hilt of it was
capped with an expertly faceted, translucent tourmaline. High boots
reached over his knees and a fine shirt of gilded chain overlaid a
sturdy jerkin of hard, tooled leather, protecting his vital organs. No
gloves burdened his fingers' deadly gift but his vambraces were wrought
to match the body's armour. Now this archer with such noble bearing
sported the colours of the Danwaith, breeches in nutmeg and tunic of
jade, and this amazed us all for it was as if he belonged to us,
somehow, before we even knew his name.
"At his right rode Tramborlong [Heavy Fist] and on the left were
Thurin'aur [Hidden Flame] and Thranduil, so obviously his sons for the
resemblance was keen. Upon the eastern bank of Anduin, the four alit
and disbanded, each attending a portion of the multitude, organising a
bivouac upon the meadow-lands. Under their efficient command and with
laudable co-operation, the Sindar soon established a neat and tidy
array of pavilions, all perfectly aligned in rows as straight as an
arrow's shaft, and each group of tents had a cheerful fire blazing.
Just at tinnu, Oropher and his sons mounted up once more and turned to
the trees."
Gladhadithen ceased and reached out for another sample of the sharply
biting liquor, smiling through merry eyes when Legolas frowned over the
lengthening interval of the interruption.
"Ai, do not stop! What happened?" he demanded.
"This you know," she shrugged one shoulder coquettishly. "Iarwain
welcomed the Sindar Teleri back among the Wood Elves."
"Nay, that cannot be all to the story," Legolas complained. "Was there
trouble at all? Were you spotted amid the branches? Did you meet
Oropher and his sons? What was he like, Miny'adaren? [my Grandfather]"
And Legolas smiled shyly upon possessively pronouncing this word for
the very first time.
By now Gladdie was chuckling warmly, for she was quite pleased to have
distracted the Tawarwaith from his dire fate, even if only for a short
while, as he delighted in hearing his family's history told to him. She
spared the carpenter a happy grin as he gently squeezed his foster son
in joyous commiseration.
"Aye, there is more. Patience, Tirno!" she admonished. "Fearfaron, I do
not think Legolas has eaten even a single bite from that basket, has
he?"
"You are right, as usual, Gladhadithen." The carpenter smiled as he
shook his head, seeing where she was heading with this question. "In
fact, it is past midday and neither of us have taken a meal since
yesterday."
"Oh Valar, will you coerce me by promising more narration only if I
agree to swallow down a tart?" fussed the Tawarwaith.
"Nor have I," she commented, ignoring Legolas' outburst. "I really must
insist that we break fast now, especially you, Legolas. How about a
blueberry scone?"
High above them through nearly thirty metres of igneous intrusions and
four levels of delved and excavated caverns and corridors, the elves
crowded into the Chamber of Starlight gave no thought to hunger or
thirst, for the events at Erebor had taken an unexpected detour. The
implication of Rochendil in the expert sniper's failure had the room's
occupants embroiled anew in raw emotion and discontented argument.
"Nay, it could not be so, for his Hervess [wife] was killed in the
aftermath of the rocks' damaging rain," said Iarwain incredulously.
"Mayhap he did not mean for it to happen; it was all a terrible
accident," a silvan female offered.
"Still, he was not given orders to desert the horses and those were no
where near the battle," countered a Sinda lieutenant. "All the animals
were hidden away amid the rubble between the western spurs beneath
Thorin's Back Door. There was once a secluded cove in the mountainside
there, ruined by Smaug, but in this case his destruction was a boon for
us, limiting approaching enemies from both the south and north.
Rochendil had no reason to leave his post."
"Aye, whether it was unintentional or not is meaningless, for his
presence on the crest was the cause of the Tawarwaith's failure. The
horse-master was the guilty one and should have accepted his fate," a
silvan archer posited.
"True, we demanded no less from Tirno and he was then Greenwood's heir."
"Valar! Rochendil destroyed his own mate!"
"And Adaren [my father], then allowed Legolas to take the blame! He
even tortured him for it and yet that traitor incurred no punishment! I
cannot abide this!" Lindalcon could not contain his agitation and paced
distractedly back and forth in front of the dais.
"Not so, for we banished him to Valinor for his evil perversion of
Chastisement. I am certain his sentence is fitting," reminded Iarwain.
"Indeed, I would not spare too much grief over his absence here today,"
affirmed Aiwendil. "The Will of the Valar is remorseless and all but
eternal. Whatever penalty Námo deems correct, I doubt Rochendil
is likely to find peace for many andrann [100 Valian Years, each
equal to 137 solar years.]."
"I do not believe it! If he is under censure in Aman, why is my Adar
still trapped here? Nay, there is something amiss!" cried Valtamar's
son as he came to a halt before the wizard.
At this the crowd increased their grumbling for it was impossible to
hide how unsatisfying Aiwendil's assurance of justice was to their
minds.
"Who can say what the Valar would consider an appropriate sentence?"
"And Lindalcon's point cannot be ignored; what of the Lost Warriors?"
"Aye, and how could the Valar allow the dreadful suffering and abuse
perpetrated on Legolas, innocent of any wrong in the deaths of his
comrades?"
"Nay!" rebuked Aiwendil. "It is not the Powers who have ratified these
abhorrent Customs and Laws among you! You cannot have it both ways,
saying the Valar ignore the Wood Elves and refuse to act while also
impugning them in the deeds done within the gates of this city! The
harm inflicted upon Legolas was wrought by the hands of his own people."
The population's discourse subsided as the impact of these words
settled in their collective conscience. The Wood Elves had shown little
concern for their talented sniper's misdirected destiny until it
benefited them to have a brave and stalwart champion committed to their
defence, and none could deny this truth.
"This is a dark day for Greenwood." An anonymous voice uttered this
summation of the public consensus.
Silent and sombre the Lord of the Golden Wood and his March Warden
listened to this depressing discussion, sharing their growing chagrin
in furtive glimpses between equally concerned grey orbs, for they were
fully informed on the details of Rochendil's part in Legolas' sentence.
Galadriel's interrogation of the Mirkwood miscreants had yielded this
name as belonging to the principle tormentor of the fallen archer over
the long years of his banishment. Their news would not be greeted with
benevolent tolerance. So grave was their demeanour that they failed to
note the anxiously morose expression colouring the King's contused
features.
Thranduil held his tongue and scarcely breathed as his gaze wandered
from marking the various speakers to resting with disquieting intensity
upon Ben'waeth. The last thing he wanted was for her to join this
troubling exchange of ideas and opinions. Too well he recalled Meril's
bosom friendship with this inu and a startling thought had presented
itself. The apprehensive father worried whether Ben'waeth might be
privy to the connection between Rochendil, his wife, and Erebor. That
he had not pursued this line of inquiry before attested to the
disordered distraction of his thoughts raised by his emerging grief
over Meril's lack of faith in their love. Thranduil's compelling
concentration caused the stronghold servant to fidget and he relaxed
slightly when she eventually retreated behind a knot of quarrelling
warriors.
"Hold, can you be certain this elf is truly Rochendil? The Man's
description is not very detailed and many a warrior is forced to drop
sword and spear in favour of knives when fighting becomes eye-to-eye,"
cautioned Celeborn, for he was hoping the ellon's identity might yet be
mistaken. "Could there not be another elf of the woods given this
agnomen?"
"Nay, he is the only one. It is not a common appellation among the
Danwaith," stated a silvan archer. "From the Sindar's arrival in the
forest until his banishment, no other served as caretaker of the
chargers."
"And though to you folk my years seem short and my vision poor, yet
never have I seen a swordsman stop in the heat of battle and unbuckle
his belt and scabbard, discarding them without thought," retorted the
human, "and I am thinking none of you have either! This elf had neither
girdle nor sword, he was not with any of the troops, and he fled when
the deed was done."
"Aye, that was Rochendil, for he was never eager to be in the front
lines," a warrior scoffed.
"As to looks, he is Sindarin and of Thranduil's height, hair the colour
of oak bark and eyes to match placed close together and deep-set. His
face is long and lean, with a straight nose and full lips. Seldom does
he smile and he is often short of patience with edhel, holding devotion
only for the horses," added a swordsman from Talagan's old company.
"I still cannot fathom what purpose prompted his desertion of his
duty," grumbled Iarwain, for he knew not the connection between the
Royal Consort and the humble soldier. This was not the sort of warrior
he had envisioned would be allied to the suspect inu. "How do we truly
know it was he with only these insubstantial suppositions? Many elves
meet this description. How is it none of our own noted his presence on
the ridge?"
"We were not standing around taking attendance, Elder!" snapped
Thranduil. "We were fighting for our lives."
"Excuse me, my Lord, but someone did notice he was not with the
horses," a subdued feminine voice spoke from amid the silvan soldiers
and all in proximity to the sound stepped aside to reveal the source.
It was Ben'waeth.
"This is not the place for idle story-weaving." The King clenched his
hands into belligerent fists as she hesitantly shuffled forward. "You
were not there and I will not permit you to speak for another. If there
is anyone in this room who did observe the horse-master's actions, I
charge that elf to reveal him- or herself now!"
For a lengthy span of seconds not a breath stirred or a nerve quivered;
all remained frozen in anticipation of additional revelations, but no
one ventured from the cover of anonymity to answer Thranduil's mandate.
Finally, the tension subsided and an uneasy, low decibel susurration
again flowed upon the ambient air.
But Iarwain held the lowly elleth's eyes and pondered her sudden
interruption. Although she presented elevated distress, he could not
fail to sense her determination, for she did not turn from his
inspection; rather her doe-brown eyes fairly implored him to
understand.
Clearly, no elf with this knowledge is in the
chamber, but that does not signify no such person exists.
The counsellor searched the room as if taking a mental tally of the
soldiers present, and in a jarring flash he comprehended whom Ben'waeth
sought to implicate.
"My Lord, not all the warriors who fought at Erebor are here. Now that
Aiwendil has ensured there is no threat of a possessed elf harming your
children, please send for Talagan."
If the stone of the mountain might be described as a still, unmoving
mass of unfeeling matter, the living beings crammed inside its hollowed
core projected a fitting impression of being comprised of the self same
stuff in that moment. Everyone's perception fixed upon the King,
awaiting his reaction to this subpoena of his life-long friend. That
this was an unimagined occurrence was plain for all to see in the blank
gaze of confused denial plastered upon the Sinda Lord's stern
countenance.
Thranduil recovered his shock with admirably swift fortitude, giving
the briefest signal with his hand for the captain's second in command
to fetch his superior. His eyes found Celeborn's and transmitted the
heavy leaden dread the Counsellor's request cast upon his heart.
Talagan was to the King as a brother, regardless of his hot-headed
nature, the last alive in all of Arda who had been at Thranduil's side
through the tragedies that claimed every member of his immediate
family. To surrender the captain to the harshness of the Council's
Judgement would be another rending torment upon a soul already scarred
by overwhelming loss.
The wait was interminable but at last the warrior returned, downcast in
embarrassed defeat for Talagan had refused to follow, holding to his
Lord's command to safeguard the prince an princess until Thranduil
rescinded the duty. The King had to go retrieve the captain himself
and, upon his departure, loud was the clamour of speculative discourse
over the re-calling of this primary witness. It was Talagan, after all,
who had condemned Legolas on the spot and reported his failure to
Thranduil.
A lesser delay preceded the re-entry of the two Sindar fighters, pacing
briskly into the chamber from the interior corridor, the King leading
with stoic gravity moulding his visage while the captain, disconcerted
wariness revealed within his candidly bewildered expression, followed.
Their arrival initiated the total abatement of further voiced
conjectures amid the populace.
"He is here, Iarwain," Thranduil said coldly, "now ask your questions
and be done with this hearing."
"Truly, I welcome your queries, Elder; I am not seeking to obscure my
faults." Talagan spoke quietly but with sufficient distinction to make
certain his words would be audible to everyone. "Already have I stated,
in this room and before the assembly of our people, that I hold myself
responsible for the errors committed by the elves under my command at
the Battle of Erebor. If it is the Council's wish to render Judgement;
I am prepared to accept this sentence."
"We are not here to impeach you, captain," Iarwain began.
"And why not?" demanded Lindalcon hotly. "Is it only silvans of lesser
rank that must abide by the Laws of the Danwaith? I say if this Sinda
acted in collusion with his traitorous countryman then he must bear the
same punishment imposed upon Legolas!"
"Aye! Someone must reconcile the life-debt!" This resounding shout
fuelled a heated bloom of irate interjections.
"Banish him!"
"Nay, upon his shoulders lay the yolk of completing the Tasks of
Release!"
"Imprison him in darkness!"
"Give him Tirno's dagger!"
Despite his courageous statement, Talagan's gut churned and his soul
quailed to hear this list of punishments, for among them one he must
endure. Still, he held himself with dignity, determined to obey his
heart's demand to rectify the injustice his rash reactions inflicted
upon the outcast archer.
"Dîn! Sith! [Silence! Peace!]" called Celeborn and raised his
hand as his daunting glare swept the room and chastened the surly mob.
With many a scathing glower upon the King's trusted compatriot, the
Wood Elves subsided into querulous grumbling.
"Hannaden [My thanks], Lord Celeborn," Iarwain bowed politely. "I wish
to put before you but one more question, Talagan. Do you recall if
Rochendil remained at his post among the horses or whether he may have
joined the forces defending the southern spur?"
"The horse-master?" blurted the warrior, quite surprised for this to be
the matter that had wrought the realignment of Thranduil's features
into such severe and harsh lines. Talagan's brow wrinkled as he thought
back over the events of the day. "Aye, Rochendil did enter the fray; a
most unusual event. Somehow he must have heard the whistled command to
organise a decoy for the goblin guards, for I did see him running along
the crest toward the valley. I believe he was trying to get to
Andamaitë and prevent her participation. He was too late. What
does this signify?" The captain shifted his sight between the King, the
Elder, and the visiting Lord in perplexity.
With a groan of bitter frustration Lindalcon cast himself down upon the
stone step of the dais and bowed his head to his knees, hands entwined
within his chestnut mane pressed against his temples. Aiwendil joined
him and sat alongside, wrapping one arm over the young elf's shoulders,
as Haldir spontaneously moved to Lindalcon's left and supplied a
steadying grip upon the silvan's rigid shoulder.
The Wood Elves could not find their tongues, uncertain whether this
admission should be received with gladness or disappointment. It was
evident the Sinda warrior had no idea of the importance of his speech,
thus no claim of conspiracy, either in action or dubious omission of
pertinent details, could be sustained. The captain's responsibility did
not extend beyond that which he had already confessed. The peoples'
dissatisfaction was as deep as that of Valtamar's son for, while the
troops benefited from Talagan's millennia of experience and his loss
would be nigh impossible to fill, now there was no one at hand upon
whom to foist their guilty wrath.
Thranduil and the Elder exhaled equally expressive breaths, one in
relief and the other in irritation. Their eyes joined for a brief but
intense exchange of flinty loathing.
Lothlorien's Lord grimaced as he absorbed all of this and gave a minute
nod to Haldir. Both sighed dejectedly. The time was come; the
enlightenment that had drawn the Galadhrim from the safe seclusion of
Lothlorien must be revealed.
"Based on this report of Rochendil's appearance and actions, I am
aggrieved to confirm that we sheltered an emigrant from Mirkwood who
bore such a name," said Haldir quietly. "Undoubtedly, it was this very
elf."
"What?" shouted Lindalcon, head uplifting to gape at the March Warden
with features as bleak as a cloud-blanketed sky of dingy grey.
"Rochendil dwells in Lorien?"
The chamber once more resounded with noisy acrimony as everyone began
shouting for the foul elf to be extradited forthwith.
"No longer," Celeborn held up his hand for silence. "Rochendil departed
Lothlorien before our party rode forth. Eleven refugees entered the
Golden Wood seven years ago and asked for citizenship."
"How came the Lord and Lady to grant this?" interrupted Thranduil. "Was
no effort made to learn what drove them from their home?"
The King could barely contain his horror, equal to Lindalcon's
affronted astonishment, and hoped his accusing words might distract the
crowd from their thirst for vengeance. For now this spectre of disaster
arose anew and the vision of his House destroyed returned; Rochendil in
custody would present a potent and substantial threat to the well-being
of his children. He had no doubt the horse-master would gladly
implicate Meril if he were to be returned to Greenwood and charged with
these misdeeds, hoping to draw attention from himself or lessen his
sentence by doing so.
Or even just out of spiteful nature, refusing to suffer alone.
This elf is an abomination among Eru's Children, securing his pleasure
from another's agony. Such a one would care nothing for the
consequences that would befall Taurant and Gwillith if he names their
Naneth an accomplice in this heinous crime.
"All were warriors and gave as reason for their relocation
dissatisfaction over losses in the Battle of Erebor. We had no reason
to suspect they would be involved in any injurious activity and
welcomed the addition of seasoned fighters to our ranks," Haldir shot
back, eager to defend the elves' presence in his homeland, for it had
been his recommendation that yielded the Lord and Lady's sanction. The
unwitting part he had played in this ugly mess was unsettling to his
soul.
"Indeed, the folk of Lorien are certainly trusting of strangers. Never
would such be allowed in my Realm, for too easily might spies
infiltrate the ranks of my troops by such means," commented Thranduil.
"Your oversight gave shelter to a convicted oath-breaker and his
cohorts."
"And deeply do we regret this," Celeborn interceded, denying Haldir the
opportunity for rebuttal, "assuming this is the same elf. Galadriel was
warned of the soldiers' vile practices upon one of their own through
the Mirror and under subsequent questioning the truth was revealed.
However, Rochendil had already fled rather than face Hervessen's [my
Wife's] soul combing."
"By Elbereth, we must hunt him down and force him to answer for these
atrocities!" fumed Lindalcon. He arose and approached Thranduil. "I
insist we send out word to the other elven realms of his treachery and
even to Rohan and the settlements throughout Eriador. Let this coward
not escape to find a haven among the Noldor or the mortals."
"It is not necessary to broadcast our tribulations among the entirety
of the free peoples on Arda," countered the King. "He will not go to
Imladris nor look for aid among humans or dwarves. Rochendil will be
travelling to Mithlond."
"Aye, that is likely. Yet he knows we are aware of his sins and
probably expects you to send notice to Círdan. He may thus be
forced to seek shelter amid Men. Would the woodsmen be willing to aid
this elf? Do the rest of your people understand who he is?" asked
Aiwendil of the human with the spyglass.
"We have not the gift of reading hearts as is known among the
First-born, yet I have heard here that even this talent is not
unfailing. How then shall my folk determine this cunning liar's true
nature when he evaded discovery among the wise?" he said.
"I think he might be on his way to Laketown or Dale. The people there
will welcome one of the veterans from the Battle of the Five Armies. If
he is skilled with horses, he will have no trouble earning his keep
among King Bard's cavalry," said the second woodsman.
"My Lord, I suggest we draft a writ of detention and send this to both
Mithlond and Dale," said Iarwain. "We can send two small contingents of
warriors to search for and return him to the stronghold. If this is the
elf guilty of Erebor's tragedy, then he has compounded his crimes by
shifting culpability to another and participating in Chastisement. Such
a depraved element among us is most disturbing!"
"Agreed, see to it, Counsellor," Thranduil concurred. He had his own
ideas concerning the miscreant's fate and was sure the silvan soldiers
chosen for this mission would not need too much encouragement to force
Rochendil to take his own life, especially if they tracked him to
Erebor. There had their comrades fallen and within the system of
Nandorin lore, the battle ground yet craved a final watering with
immortal essence. "And I believe that we have established both that
Legolas was not responsible for his errors in battle and granted
Lindalcon knowledge of the culprit's identity. Will this now suffice to
conclude the hearing and lift the sentence against the archer?"
"Most definitely," averred Iarwain with a slight bow to his King and a
meeting of eyes with his fellow counsellors. "No conference is
required; we find the Judgement of Erebor to be false. Let the Record
of our history show that all fault is removed from Legolas; the
banishment is lifted and he is hecilo no more."
"So noted," added Fêrlass and thus was the ponderous
responsibility for the Lost Warriors' Release lifted from the
Tawarwaith.
A subdued jubilation swirled through the crowd, for while all were
pleased to have their champion returned to full citizenship among them,
the victory was tainted by the weight of the evils the wild elf had
endured over the years of exile, none of it earned. The knowledge that
the real perpetrator had not only escaped reprisal but enacted those
very torments upon the misjudged archer galled. The Wood Elves' Laws
had failed them, their faith had proved fickle, the King's boon
companion and most trusted captain had eagerly laid the blame on an
innocent, the elders had not even tried to pierce the fog of
misconception obscuring the truth, and too quickly had the populace
accepted the rendition of facts expounded by their leaders.
Ample was the volume of accountability for Legolas' misery and nearly
everyone shared in the guilt for having promoted it.
TBC
Odd words, seldom seen?
agnomen: a name that also describes some characteristic of the
individual.
antiphony: chanting or singing in two parts such that one voice (or
choir) is answered by its counterpart (in this case Gladdie's echo).
contused: bruised
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