"Blood, Vengeance, and Death
for Life, Hope, and Love.
When shall it be enough?
When she tells us this."
"Iâr, Acharn, Guruth," (Blood, Vengeance, and Death) barely audible, the words of the curse slipped through Elladan's clenched jaws as he thrust his broadsword deep into the pristine gloss of a snowdrift beside the narrow path across the Hithaeglir. The abrasive crunch of metal on frost accented the dark decree and the resultant gory crimson smear, stark against the white crystals, underscored the bitter pronouncement.

The battle was over.

He hissed in combined anger and pain, covering a deep gash upon his sword-arm with the opposite hand, his countenance reflecting the gnawing grip of unquenched fury burning in his eclipsed and benighted soul. Elladan surveyed the scene with meticulous attention, cataloguing every detail, every spattered drop of blood, every severed limb, documenting the placement of the oozing corpses of orcs as if the arrangement held some sign or rede. His sight paused on the torn and mangled form of one of his countrymen, gutted, organs and entrails strewn across the ground, an Elf among the refuse of Melkor's beasts.

Elladan's nostrils flared in revulsion to scent the aromatic fragrance of the bright carnelian pool mingling with the foul and tainted flow from the vanquished glamhoth. He spat, his mouth sour with acrid bile, heart and spirit defiled by the image.

Another immortal life obliterated when none should ever enter Námo's domain.

The attack had not been unexpected and they had planned well in advance for such troubles, even before leaving Imladris. He and Elrohir had anticipated just where an ambush might occur, knowing fully the dangers of the High Pass, and Orophin's cautious scouting had discovered ample signs of the hidden war party scattered among the outcrops rimming their foetid caves. Every warrior under the elder twin's command was experienced in such forays against evil, instruments of war craft tuned to perfection.

A careful diversion was deployed; four elves sauntered down the trail as if unaware of the danger, decoys to draw the enemy out. The ploy had worked well; the predators became the prey and the skirmish was soon over. The orcs realised they had lost the advantage of surprise and scuttled back into their noisome holes. Not before seizing a victory of their own, however, for one of the First Born had fallen, ripped to pieces by the abominable foes.

Yet it was not from these dire injuries that the Elf had perished. Piercing his breast, the brightly feathered shaft of an elven arrow pointed to the cloudless sky.

How came it so, when our skill and intellect so greatly outweigh these blighted creatures'?

Turbulent disgust lanced through this thought, caught upon the tail of his wrath and rage, inflamed by the familiarity of the scene spread before him and the futility of the actions that had created it. It was always the same, unchanging, as eternal as an Elf's life-span: blood, death, and vengeance. Haw many centuries had passed, the time marked not by Arda's changing seasons or the ephemeral fluidity of human history but by the numbers of orcs killed, the tally of battles fought, and the names of friends and family members no more to be greeted in love and kinship until…when? Was there to be an end at all? He no longer spoke of his deeds as means to achieving a realisable goal, for this vicious obsession was just more evidence of the twisted sickness that marred everything under sun and moon.

Am I a warrior or naught but a killer, like them, hiding my lust for destruction by choosing more carefully what to destroy? Nothing I have wrought has availed her, nor has it healed a single other soul in any land, here or across the sea. The evil grows, it breeds and multiplies more readily than vermin feasting on offal, a sucking leech gorging itself on our blood and fear, a parasite feeding off the hate and anger. I wonder if we are willing hosts. What is it we receive in turn that prevents avulsion?

Elladan's gut constricted in protest but even this was too familiar and he overruled the impulse to retch. This internal tirade deploring his insatiable brutality had become an established component of the routine of slaughter. As always, answers, reasons, purpose escaped his understanding and his anger expanded to fill the void. His vision sliced through the thin and biting air to lock with his father's and withheld nothing of his eternal injury from Elrond.

There, the frenzied conclusion arose from his mind's chaotic reeling between rage and guilt, there stands the answer.

The Lord of Imladris, hastening to reach his injured son, halted mid-step, stumbling as if blocked by an invisible barrier, so profound was his shock to see this expression of his eldest's character. Not since before their mother's departure had he beheld the twins in battle, and never had he witnessed this immersion into hatred, this descent into unchecked savagery. His heart froze to find Elladan training this virulent emotion upon him. In the quietude that follows the cacophony of war, in the silence of its harvest of ruin, the ragged, stricken breath that left Elrond's lungs was louder than the whistling wind.

"An Cuil, Estel, Mîl," (For life, hope, and love) much louder, Elrohir's antiphon, his half of the pact they had made so long ago, echoed dully against the surrounding rocks lining the steep cleft through the mountains. He moved in a deliberately measured pace toward Elladan, closing the gap betwixt them, both of body and mind, drawing his brother's gaze from their father.

"Ir ten far?" (When shall it be enough?) Elladan spoke the next part sadly, his voice transmuted into the tones of a callow youth, and his boiling blood stilled as he watched Elrohir's quiet advance.

"Ir he trenar sen mín." (When she tells us this) Elrohir reached him and for a half second's worth of eternity they shared the renewal of this grim oath. The ritual completed, the younger twin plunged his sword into the red-smirched powder beside his brother's and held out his hand, waiting for Elladan's permission to bind the injury still seeping its vibrant flux from under the clamped fingers obscuring it.

They were five days out of Rivendell, twelve warriors, one aide plus the Galadhrim wardens, Elrond and his sons, half way to the bottom of the long descent of the Misty Mountains, the savage skirmish coincident in time with Legolas' reunion with his beloved Berenaur. Up to this point, it had been an uneventful, if incommodious, trip; yet the explosive energy released during the fighting was not enough to subdue the constrained tempers of the twin Peredhil Lords.

Elladan and Elrohir had spoken little to their father since the night of the gruelling interrogation and his ultimate breakdown. Elrond had likewise remained reticent, unwilling to confront the source of the renewed disharmony. The wall around his inner soul they had so diligently worked to breach had been hastily reconstructed, thrown up in obstinate opposition to their presumption of agency over the situation.

Elrond had emerged from his bedchamber, surprisingly refreshed and lighter of spirit after his confession and the much needed sleep, to find his study empty. He had left at once to seek out his sons, craving reassurance that their avowals of love and support had been no dream. He had found them gathered in conference with Glorfindel, Erestor's Lorien lovers, and the members of Imladris' Council, discussing the impending journey. Without him.  

All converse had ceased the instant he had thrown wide the heavy double doors; all heads had pivoted to favour him with silent stares of pained remonstrance. He had demanded an explanation for such a meeting in his absence. He had accused them of conspiring against him, deciding his fate without consulting him, debating what manner of atonement might appease the Woodland King, adjudicating his sentence before the facts had been made clear. They had cringed, dropping their eyes and turning away their faces one by one, and Elrond had felt a peculiar surge of triumph over this reaction.

Until Elrohir had turned and explained exactly what purpose the meeting was meant to achieve. Elrond wondered if he would ever be able to relegate the vivid image of his younger son's aggrieved visage to dim memory. Would the sting of his words, couched in tones devoid of emotion and empty of warmth, ever fade away?

"There is no time for such conceits and vain affectations. Orophin and Dambethnîn feel speed is vital and are determined to set forth across the Hithaeglir through the High Pass. We cannot permit them to do so alone, and thus we were discussing whether taking a contingent of guards violates the restrictions set forth in the charges. We have concluded this would be admissible provided our warriors do not accompany us beyond the western banks of the Anduin. An official communication to that effect shall precede us to Greenwood."

The Lord of Imladris had stood there, staring blankly at his son, unable to quite make his tongue produce any sounds, for several seconds. A swift perusal of the others revealed them to be staring back, their expressions a collective example of disillusionment, pity, and embarrassment on his behalf. Indignant pride flared up in his heart. Determined to maintain his dignity, Elrond had reassembled his façade of righteous discontent and without a word moved to his place at the head of the table. The discussion had resumed, awkwardly at first, as none felt free to speak their thoughts openly in his presence. Only Glorfindel behaved as he ever did, stubbornly arguing in defence of his choices for the delegation. In the end, Elrond had sided with him, in part because his sons were adamantly opposed and he had wished to remind them of their places. The group had departed Imladris that very day and he had refused to engage in anything but talk of the journey and its likely dangers ever since.

Now here they were, survivors of the gruesome attack, and a father's heart would not be denied. That one of his sons was injured tore at his soul and Elrond forgot about their impasse until the harrowing eye to eye communion with Elladan. He could not guess the reason for such blatant condemnation nor did he wish to squander the time required to discover it. Spared the intense recrimination in his oldest child's tormented stare by Elrohir's intervening presence, a shudder worked through Elrond's body upon hearing their awful pact. Another aspect of their suffering of which I have been ignorant. His resolve to bring healing rejuvenated, Elrond gathered his wits, resumed his pace, and covered the remaining metres between them. Just as he was opening his pack of medicinal supplies, Elrohir's words again brought him to a standstill.

"Nay. I will tend him." The younger twin's tone was bitter and hard and permitted no entreaty. If earlier his voice had echoed now it fairly rang from the heights, as if one of the Valar called down a stark and icy command from Aman.

"The blade may have been poisoned, let me…"

"We will manage," Elrohir threw the words over his shoulder without bothering to turn as Elladan at last held forth the damaged arm for him to see. "Take care of the others."

The two moved off together and Elladan allowed his brother to settle him carefully upon a small crag in the jutting outcrop. The sound of the tearing of the cloth followed; that and the low moan of the wind through the crevice filled the peaks for leagues in every direction.

Elrond looked upon his sons and knew them not. In the presence of these two hardened warriors he felt bedimmed and diminished. Control and command assumed his by right dissolved, illusions dispersed by the evident ascendancy of this self-contained pair. Elrond's gaze flickered over the small troop of soldiers that comprised their escort; every eye, fixed upon him though it might be, turned quickly to avoid meeting his. The Lord of Imladris focused on his sons anew and he watched Elrohir's efficient attention to his brother's injury. Even occupied in such a grievous chore, the aura of mastery about him was undeniable. Beside him, Elladan's calm fortitude radiated strength and attested to the trust he placed in his brother's hands. Together, their insular concentration bespoke the confidence each felt in the warriors guarding them while this necessary task was accomplished.

The uninjured soldiers had repositioned, forming a protective barrier between the black obscurity of the caves and the twins. No order had been given or needed. It was instinctive, this drive to preserve the best among them, an unspoken recognition. Such conferment of respect and status bespoke a rank requiring no banner, insignia, or token. Elrond had experienced this before, both as one of the living shields and as the shielded leader. Clearly, he was the leader no longer, not here, not in this domain of death and battle. Perhaps not in any domain.

It occurred to him that perhaps Elladan and Elrohir deferred to him out of a very different kind of respect. Mayhap their acquiescence to his authority was granted, a gift bestowed through their love as his sons rather than acknowledgement of any superior strength and wisdom he might imagine himself to possess. It was humbling; he felt ancient and weary. Envy for Elros shimmered through these morbid thoughts.

One of the guards cleared his throat discretely and took a step in Elrond's direction. "It is but a scratch, Hîren, yet the threat of poison bids me beg your aid." His hand was pressed against a dark damp stain upon his side.

"Of course," Elrond was almost happy to have this distraction and hastened to treat the wounded soldier.

The tension noticeably lessened and the familiar sound of swords being cleaned and sheathed amid low murmurs of quiet speech arose. Elrohir tied off the dressing on his brother's arm and retrieved their blades, wiping away the gore, inspecting them for nicks and gouges, returning each to its scabbard since Elladan was now hampered by a sling. He brought the elder twin water and insisted he remain seated. They conversed in silence if at all and disregarded Elrond's presence as he moved among the soldiers, ascertaining that there were no unrevealed hurts to mend. It seemed the agitation of warfare was ebbing. This assumption of relaxation was premature.

"I cautioned you not to bring him along," Elladan's voice, tight with restrained fury, shattered the fragile peace. "He was not fit for battle; can you deny these were my very words to you? You seem thirsty for innocent blood these days."

The gasp that met these scathing denouncements arose not only from Elrond but from the entire company of warriors as well. Discomfited as skittish colts in a lightning storm, they sought to move along the narrow path out of earshot. The attempt was futile; they would have had to descend to the Anduin's banks to escape knowledge of the confrontation.

"He was no innocent, Elladan, and I am not the one who insisted on his presence. Glorfindel demanded it," Elrond retorted defensively, too amazed by his son's imputation to construct a better response.

"Is Glorfindel the Lord of Imladris?" Elrohir's voice was equally disparaging, immersed as he was in the foment of his twin's anguish.

"I alone am Lord in Imladris." Elrond's tone was firm and betrayed none of the shock and hurt these taunts from his sons evoked within his heart.

"Well, the bounds of that noble station you exceeded long ago," stated Elladan caustically, "yet if you would claim such authority then this Elf's death you must own as a consequence of your rule."

For someone must answer, yet I will not!

Sîdh, muindor; le ar'wathannen. (Peace, brother; you are unstained.)

In the silence following this outburst the wind buffeted against them and sent a stinging swarm of crystals curling off the drift into their hair and cloaks. The muted sound as the frozen particles were flung upon the stone intruded with the pinging cadence of hail striking glass.

The catalyst of the debate lay abandoned in the snow.

Elrond used the interruption to compose himself and his reply, unwilling in his obstinate pride to see Elladan's condemnation for what it was: a cry from a soldier over-burdened with guilt, a cry for absolution, at least of this one death, a cry from the soul of his son.

"You surprise me; I thought you were the Wood Elf's champion."

"What has Legolas to do with this?" demanded Elrohir warily.

"While it is impolite to speak ill of the dead, I fear your impression of this diplomat's character is false if you truly believe him honourable. Callon shared a rather sordid tale with Lindir, a story of his association with Legolas whilst serving as an envoy to Mirkwood some time ago. Our household staff are not as discreet as I might wish and the true cause of this ridiculous charge against me has gotten out. Callon thought to aid my plight, probably in hopes of advancing his position, stating he could provide evidence that the Silvan was a willing party to whatever transpired," Elrond sternly rejoined, for the deceased was in fact the very Elf to whom Maltahondo had given Legolas in hopes of quietly ending their illicit affair.

A ripple of uneasiness passed over the warriors and Elrond was well aware of the fleeting glances they cast his way. He realised they had heard the gossip about what was happening and why their Lord was required to answer the charges of the foreign King. It angered him, thinking of his soldiers discussing his personal life at table with their mates and friends, and despite the elevated discord, Elrond could not quell his tongue. He would have them see the truth: Legolas was accustomed to such depravity while their Lord had never before been implicated in anything so base. Who was more likely to have been the instigator of the unsavoury affair? They will regret their lapse in loyalty and, in gratitude for my swift forgiveness, will swear their fealty anew with greater fervour and stronger dedication.

"Lindir naturally reported what he had heard to Glorfindel. As you might imagine, an interview with our Master-at-Arms had lowly Callon volunteering to return with us in order to make amends for his lascivious and flagrantly twisted relationship with Thranduil's son."

"He was slandering Legolas?" Elrohir half turned to send his father an evaluating stare, seeking for signs of deceit; something he would never have done prior to the letter from Greenwood.

"Slander is a term reserved for stories that are false," droned Elrond, perversely pleased with the shocked expressions on the faces watching him.

The air became animated with the intensity of the brothers' indignant anxiety and crackled in the jagged energy emitted from their internal communication.

Again! He diverts notice from his actions by pointing to Legolas.

And to Callon, as if the Elf sealed his fate by his association with the archer.

If so, what of Adar's future? His conscience betrays him even while his wit denies fault.

If so, in what role has he cast me? It is my arrow embedded in Callon's heart.

The implications of such a doom sliced through their conjoined minds, dividing them at the point of unity in which the idea resided. They did not retreat to safer ground, however, but pressed to comprehend this new insult to their unclaimed heart-brother. As was often the case, it was Elrohir who must speak out.

"True or not, we would not wish Callon to pay for past misdeeds with his life," he barked, turning fully to glare at his father even as Elladan's hand firmly grabbed hold of his shoulder to keep him still. "Legolas would not want this either. Nor would I have believed you avowed such a creed."

"I do not," averred Elrond, surprised by the vehemence of his son's reaction. "His character was redeemable and nothing in his past warranted such a heavy penalty. Whatever his motives, Callon's testimony would have aided my cause. His death abets my enemies' plans."

He gazed on his sons, nonplussed. It was beyond his emotional comprehension, the cause for their renewed defiance, and equally elusive was the true source of his subsequent needling and baiting. Unable to accept their perceived abandonment in favour of someone they did not even know, Elrond punished his first-born children's lack of respectful allegiance and expected them to seek his pardon. He could not prevent the growing jealousy over the twin Lords' ascent to dominion nor quell his resentment for their open challenge to his authority. Yet neither could he identify these flaws and own them, stymied by the knowledge that his first-born had just accused him of causing the lowly emissary's death. Elrond was the one who had been wronged, not they, and it was he who had both right and reason to be angry.

"I would have preferred him to stand before Thranduil and repeat the tale spoken in Lindir's ear. None believe the Sindarin King would defend his forsaken child, condemning our fallen comrade to the dungeons for these indiscretions, there to rot, a victim of passive kinslaying rather than the beneficiary of a mercy killing. Thranduil has no parental feelings for his disinherited heir; it is far more likely that he would use the information to publicly humiliate his son. Thus, Callon's death at your hand, Elladan, serves to protect Legolas from further shame while sending the fornicator to Námo for judgement and exposing your Lord and father to the indignity of public trial."

"That had nothing to do with it! I acted on instinct," Elladan jumped to his feet and now it was Elrohir who had to make a hasty grab to keep the two apart. The elder twin met his brother's gaze and drew in a slow deep breath to calm his soul. It did not help.

It is my arrow! He refuses to take responsibility and names me kinslayer!

Nay, he does not. Nor do I or any other here, besides yourself. Your arrow freed Callon's feä that is true; but three more are embedded in his body. One of those is mine, Elladan, and it was loosed but an instant in time behind yours. If you are at fault then so am I, yet I do not hear you casting blame in my direction.

"None could abide his screams and mercy drove our desperate acts." It was Dambethnîn's soft voice as she sought to comfort the distress of her mate. The third arrow piercing the deceased had been drawn from Orophin's quiver.

"Valar forgive me, I could not get to him!" Elladan's words shook with his anger and remorse. I could not bear his terror. They were devouring him alive.

"Nor could I. None of us could save him."Do not torment yourself, muindor. (brother) Know this: you acted on the wish of my heart as well.

"You gave him peace, Lord Elladan, and sacrificed your own peace to do so. We honour such strength," spoke one of the soldiers, drawing closer in order to lay a supportive hand on the elder twin's shoulder.

"Though it is a great burden to bear, yet I would ask it, confident of your given word: should Callon's fate be mine, finish me in the same manner," another added.

"Aye, quick and clean. The same compassion we expect from one another, no less would we hope from our Lords," a third confirmed amid the combined avowals of the remainder of the company.

Though this did not release Elladan from his guilt, their firm support lightened the weight of it considerably. There remained only the acrimony between father and son to rectify but neither twin believed such a rift could be bridged. For a long moment there was only the lowing dirge of the frigid wind to be heard as everyone waited for the outcome of the stalemate.

Elrond considered the warriors before him carefully, noting that they had made their decision to stand with the younger Lords of Eärendil's House. Bitterly he recalled Elladan's warning on the night of his confession, that if forced to do so he would choose to act as one of Imladris' defenders rather than stand at his father's side. I did not believe him. His heart told him he could yet reclaim his sons' succour and solace, but his wounded dignity shouted that too much had been said, the accusations too damning, for a quick and easy remission of hostility. With no other recourse, Elrond fell back on the tried and true diplomatic protocols that had always served him when dealing with an antagonist, a designation he had never imagined to bestow upon his eldest.

"Aye, Elladan, your actions were charitable and your motives unblemished by intrigue. I regret my callous words; the darkness of battle shrouded my judgement," he spoke with the cool, unruffled diction so familiar to his councillors. "Mayhap your complaint is valid; I might have forbidden Callon's inclusion. Glorfindel's reasons were sound but his wisdom was perhaps blinded by his anger over the sordid tale. If I relied too heavily on his advise, it is only because he is so seldom wrong."

"That is true; Glorfindel's errors are infrequent," rejoined Elladan coldly. It was not Glorfindel's counsel he supported; he merely wished to deny ours.

"It is not fitting for the evil of this event to linger in our souls," prompted Elrohir, eager to have the dissension excised. Forgive me; I know it was for my sake that you did not act on the Council's wish. But for that, Callon would have been spared.

"Aye. Let all animosity be buried even as we inter our comrade," Elladan finally relented. This crime is not yours to claim. The Council was precipitous and you were right to ask forebearance. I was no more ready for their request than were you.

"Callon did not deserve to die but that was his fate. The end Elladan gave him was kind in comparison to the one the Enemy devised. Sîdh ar îdh o Mandos na în." (The peace and rest of Mandos be his.) Elrond concluded the diplomacy smoothly, redirecting everyone's thoughts to the deceased.

At the speaking of this prayer strained nerves minutely soothed and all repeated the invocation, heads bowed and hands over their hearts. If the remainder of the company prayed for more than the felled ellon's soul it is not a thing to promote wonderment. The stability of Imladris was a constant, the unchanging foundation of their contented lives. The formal reconciliation of their Lord's family was but a thin patch over a widening crack, as slender as a strand of silk tossed across the breach, but the division was concealed and the gap bridged.

As unobtrusively as possible, Orophin and one of the Noldorin warriors moved to bury the deceased, wrapping his torn body in a cloak and carrying it from the scene of the ambush. There was no fitting place to lay the former spy to rest and none felt comfortable situating the Elf's remains on the doorstep of the orcs' cavernous dens. A solemn procession formed up: Orophin and the other bearer, Dambethnîn and Elrond next, the twins with the rest of the warriors keeping rear-guard in case the vile demons attempted another sally into the ravine. Last of all came the horses in single file, gingerly tiptoeing over the snow-covered trail.

"Uireb cuil úbreithannen;
hroä a feä dammen;
ind uin gûr ristant.

Callon, údartha sí.
Bado a Mandos.
Lasto! Námo le cân.
Post a nestadren le darad ennas.
Údartho sí, údartho.

(Eternal life should not be broken,
body and soul sundered,
inner thought from the heart severed.

Callon, do not stay here.
Go to Mandos.
Listen! Námo calls thee.
Repose and healing await you there.
Do not stay here, do not stay.)

So sang Orophin softly and the others joined the simple hymn, repeating each stanza in gentle tones of quiet sorrow.

Every one in Imladris knew this Elf Callon was not of a perfect nature. Complaints had been lodged against him in the past. Elrond had even placed a judgement against him once for compromising an Elf visiting from Lindon. Yet the lesser diplomat had recently reformed and none had spoken ill of him in many loar. (years)

What he had done to Legolas was unknown to most; even Elrond had but lately learned of it. Yet had they been told the tale, would any of the party have felt Callon's horrific death was earned? Indeed, the warriors chosen for this journey were of the highest character, selected by Glorfindel for their loyalty to Imladris and its Lord, renowned for their fair-minded attitudes and belief in forgiveness for past wrongs rather than revenge. They were no more likely to take vengeance upon one of their kinsmen than were the twins. It was not in their natures to be pleased over the loss of any Elf's immortal life and thus was Callon's passing mourned.

At last they came to a broadening of the path as the mountain track opened into a small green cove, sheltered from the chilly winds and unsullied by the foul orcs. Before the first dawn, this had been one of the holy fanes of the unhoused and some remnant of Yavanna's grace yet protected it. In that place was Callon's body laid to rest, concealed beneath a cairn.

No more orcs were encountered as their trek resumed and progress was swift as the snow vanished in the lower elevations. Soon they were able to continue on horseback and traversed a great deal of the eastern slope before nightfall. The entourage decided to halt when annûn painted the sky behind them in pastel hues of lavender and peach.  A sheltered spot had been secured amid a copse of cedars beside a trickling veil of a waterfall. The horses were greedily drinking from the small stream and the warriors had begun to set camp.

"We need not speak of this to Legolas," Elladan said abruptly as he removed the sling and flexed his arm. All activity ceased at his pronouncement as every eye focused on the Lord and his sons.

"Agreed," Elrohir nodded. "It serves no purpose to burden him with such knowledge; Legolas has demanded no recompense from anyone."

"You speak as though you have taken counsel with him," Elrond was immediately irritated, spurred by the lingering strife between him and the twins. The closer they grew to the Woodland Realm the more his concerns centred on what form of retribution the Sindarin King might demand, while theirs was ever on the disgraced archer.

"In my heart I feel it is so," answered Elrohir stubbornly.

"Yet it is not. You have never met this Elf; how can you presume to know his thoughts?"

"I have not met him either, but I know my own heart. If such a death befell someone who had wronged me in years past, I would not want to think on it," Orophin quickly added his voice to Elrohir's. "I would be forced to recall everything I wished to forget. I would be concerned whether I had secretly wished for harm to find that Elf. Guilt would hound me and I would have no means of freeing my soul of its clutches. Elladan is right; let this not be repeated outside our circle."

"I wonder if you will wish to remain ignorant of the extent of the Wood Elf's dallying with your mate," sneered Elrond.

Orophin's face turned dark and stormy and he took half a step in the Elf Lord's direction. Dambethnîn's hand upon his arm stayed him. He met her gaze and they drew together, moving apart from the others as they sought a private moment to console their worried souls. Neither could deny the presentiment filling their thoughts: Erestor was lost to them in favour of this unknown Silvan warrior.

"That was not necessary," chided Elladan but he refrained from leaving his place beside the pool. "Just because you are in error does not permit deliberately striking against another with your venomous words."

"It has not been established whether I am in error for I have not expressed my thoughts on this topic," retorted Elrond.

"You are weighted with fault, whatever your opinion on this issue may be," seethed Elladan, glancing up sharply as his father approached.

"Enough! This contention wearies us all, Elladan. We must be united in purpose for the trials ahead," Elrond rebuked him. That he had used nearly these same words before eluded him.

"Then stop contending against us," demanded Elrohir, likewise relying on words that had served earlier. "We are united; it is you who stands apart and argues in flawed logic and unveiled hostility." He stood and Elladan moved to his side. In unison their arms folded over their chests and they sent him identically chilling glares.

"Let us state the cause that thus unites us," the elder brother said. "We seek to make amends for grievous harm wrought upon an innocent, to remove a stain upon our family name, and to defuse a threat of war against Imladris. All of these your clandestine acts of trespass initiated. Is there another goal you wish us to consider, higher than the ones I have named?"

Elrond gaped, struck dumb to have Elladan reveal this openly before the warriors. Speculation was one thing, hearing their Lord's son confirm the story was quite another.

The guards watched, eager to have the matter resolved while pained to witness the recent accord crumble under the strain of scandal in their Lord's family. Nothing but respect and admiration had they for the twin sons of Elrond, yet the same had they ever felt for the Keeper of Vilya. Still, if the gossip was true the brothers had good reason for their rage, as did every citizen of Rivendell. Nonetheless, the soldiers could not but hope the news was false, for never had any of them entertained an emotion other than pride for their service to the descendants of Eärendil.

The Mariner's son could not decide whether to be incensed or devastated with sorrow. Anger won the battle, for while he had accepted their brusque interrogation privately he was not pleased to be berated by his sons in public for the second time in a single day. They had journeyed all this distance without loosening their tongues; indeed, he had wondered over their aloof reserve, not knowing of their discovery of Legolas' soiled picture among his papers. Elrond had not found the courage to question them on it, using the excuse of too many ears to let the matter be.

Yet with every league passed Elrond came to resent his sons' silence more, for he felt disregarded and deceived. Had he not bared his blighted soul to them and begged forgiveness, pleaded their support? Had they not pledged to give it? His heart ached to feel their withdrawal from him but arrogance quickly transformed the pain into vexation. The fissure between them grew in proportion to the distance they travelled. With the added stress of the Callon's death, he was bereft of resources with which to combat the ballooning animosity. Now his sons would challenge him openly and force him to admit his disgrace publicly. He again recalled Elladan's ultimatum, mourning the truth his eyes beheld. "It would seem you have made your choice," he said mordantly.

Elladan met his father's stricken stare coldly, his brows arched in surprise. "If you mean we have chosen to face the consequences of your pitiless plotting with whatever dignity is left for those of our House to present, then you are correct."

"Further, having abandoned all semblance of genuine honour, having forgotten the duty to Imladris your status demands, we feel you are not fit to represent our House," Elrohir continued just as icily, though his eyes betrayed the grief he felt to speak such words.

"The Council agreed to leave the matter to our discretion and determination. We agreed to grant you the opportunity to regain our trust and your honour." Elladan explained.

"Sadly, what we have observed indicates you are but sinking deeper into this quagmire of self-pitying self-deceit," Elrohir inserted.

"In light of your continued lack of contrition, your defiant aversion to admitting your errors, and your insistence in foisting both your responsibility and your acerbic temper upon others, we have no choice but to exercise the trust and the burden placed upon us. Until this matter with Greenwood is resolved, Elrohir and I shall serve as Lords of Imladris," concluded Elladan, knowing well that his brother could never manage it. Unconsciously reaching for the younger twins fingers, he enclosed them within his to confirm their solidarity.

"Gwerrianen!" (Betrayed!) hissed Elrond, lips retracting from his clenched teeth in an ugly scowl, arms raised to his sides in fisted protest.

"Úbedo gweriad!" (Do not speak of betrayal!) shouted Elladan. "Beriam bar mín, Nost Eärendil, ar Imladris. Gweriannech men, gweriannech Arwen, Erestor, ar Ningloriel." (We protect our home, our House, and Imladris. You betrayed us; you betrayed Arwen, Erestor, and Ningloriel.)

"Gerim albeth an man le carnen Legolas. Orbân, gweriannech lín-ind," (We have no words for what you have done to Legolas. Above all, you betrayed yourself.) Elrohir's voice was low and filled with sorrow while his eyes would not look upon his father at all. He tugged lightly on the hand gripping his and led Elladan back to the pool.

The movement broke the warriors free of their stunned paralysis. Noiselessly they dispersed, some tending the horses, some patrolling the surroundings, others setting watch-posts on the camp's perimeter, the rest setting out their blankets upon the chilly late-autumn ground. Orophin and Dambethnîn joined the scouts.

The issue decided, they refrained from comment or discussion and performed the duties Elladan and Elrohir had already assigned them. Not one stood forth to protest on behalf of the deposed Elf Lord. The outcome was not wholly unexpected for Glorfindel had briefed them on this possibility. He had reminded them, quite unnecessarily, that they were sworn to the service of Imladris and all her citizens.

They were soldiers, not politicians, and though many of these Elves had fought with Elrond in Ages past, they were under the command of the young Lords on this mission. That the twins would now lead them in governance as well as in war was acceptable and mete; better this than to continue the unnerving and detrimental altercation. Whatever was amiss, they trusted the decision of the Council and of Glorfindel; they trusted the unimpeachable characters of Elladan and Elrohir. If the twins, who must love Elrond far more than they, would stand against their father, who should gainsay them?

In the centre of the little clearing, Elrond stood alone, his mind reduced to numb oblivion, incapable of forming thoughts, trapped in repetitious recitation of the doom spoken by his children. Ousted by his own sons when all the evil designs of the Dark Lord could not unseat him. All he had worked so long to achieve, the haven of peace and freedom he had built, his island of hope amid the gathering swells of a malignant sea of black hearts and covetous minds, all succinctly removed from his control. There was no need to journey on; he had forfeited everything. What more was there for Thranduil to take?

Above him the night grew, the depth and breadth of the heavens revealed as shadow covered the earth and the small wonders of Arda were obscured. The stars began to gleam, yet their light was no comfort to his soul.

He was lost.

TBC

NOTE: All right everyone, here at last is the next chapter, beta'd and corrected and hopefully improved. If I have over done anything, please just shake your head, roll your eyes and remember that I do tend to do that now and again. It is not the fault of my beta reader, who has worked so hard to find errors and point our weak places and areas where I missed the mark completely. I am so grateful for Chloe's efforts on my behalf and if not for her honest remarks then maybe all the chapters to follow would be as 'off' as this was in spots.

I am ecstatic about the number of people who have taken the time to give me so much positive encouragement and feedback in the Guestbook. You folks are without exception the very best and kindest fans in the Tolkien Slash community! I was very reluctant to delve back into Feud, obviously, and if you read any of the earlier drafts of this chapter it is even more evident. I did not want to think what they are thinking and feel what they are feeling. I hope I can do it well enough to satisfy your gracious patience and perseverance in refusing to abandon me and this story.

We shall have resolution for Legolas and I will not make you wait such an interminably long time for another update. In re-writing this chapter, I was able to engage once more with the characters and hope it shows here and in future chapters.
Thank you for so much strong support, dear readers and reviewers!
Cheers,
Ellen, 09/04/2006