"I have seen him," said Haldir quietly, relaxing beside the hearth where a coal fire warmed the cloistering closeness of the stone-clad study. He sipped from an elaborate crystal goblet, cut and faceted so that the violet wine within flashed and sparked much like a precious amethyst in liquid form.

The Galadhrim warrior had shed his battle-stained travelling garb in favour of a more comfortable set of woollen trousers with a matching robe of turquoise blue. He had refreshed himself before venturing to hold council with his Lord and now the two faced one another across the expanse of a small, exquisitely crafted carpet depicting the famous hunt of Oromë and Iarwain, a legend among the forest folk.

"Tell me," urged Celeborn, leaning back and extending his long legs to rest, ankles crossed, upon the little rug.

He, too, had at last found time to throw off the dust and grime of travel and travail, electing to don a simple set of sleeping clothes in soft silk of rusty brown. He had his own goblet in hand but had not yet sampled its fragrant contents as he waited to hear his most trusted friend's impression of the elusive and controversial Tawarwaith. He intended to be patient, knowing Haldir would choose words with care to precisely express what impact the forest champion had made upon his mind. Yet the pause following his encouragement spun out longer than he would have expected and the Lord of Lothlorien, already duly intrigued before a single syllable left the March Warden's lips, could not help wishing he would proceed apace.

"He was not as I expected, for I had in mind the King and his brothers, so bold are the accounts of Legolas mastery of war craft and his dominance over the woods, both its good and its evil inhabitants," Haldir spoke at last. Then he stopped and took another swallow from the glass, almost smiling to see the nearly undetectable tightening across Celeborn's forehead that indicated the Sylvan Lord's forebearance was waning though he wished to maintain composure.

"I had likewise pictured him in Thranduil's image. He is not similar in appearance to his father and uncles, then?" prompted Celeborn again. He finally tasted the well-aged vintage.

"Nay, externally he is nothing like them. He favours his mother strongly and thus is fair almost beyond comparison, save our Evenstar, yet he is slight, even for a Wood Elf. For all that, he possesses an aura of authority and nobility that put me in mind of Oropher's eldest. Tramborlong bore a quiet dignity that sprung from the soul, an integral component of his nature rather than an affectation wrought by outward demeanour. I perceive the same in Legolas."

"Aye, that trait comes from Oropher. Go on," Celeborn smiled, thinking on the former king of the Greenwood. He and his elder brother Galathil were contemporaries of Oropher; they had grown up together, like steps in a stairwell so close were their ages, in the glory that was Doriath in the early days of the First Age when Luthien ensnared the heart of Beren. "Did you speak together? What did you learn of him?"

"I did not wish to intrude, for I witnessed an intense reunion betwixt him and a former comrade in arms. Verily, the veteran warrior was fading as I watched."

"Yes, the rumour spread rapidly through the stronghold; I believe Thranduil was aware of it before Legolas, for he sent his old friend Talagan to offer aid to the family. We were in the little prince's nursery when word reached us."

"Ah! Tell me of the infant; was the King so proud he had to show you the new heir even before supplying you with rooms, a bath, or a meal?"

"He was and is positively exultant over the child. Thranduil is concerned, however, over the little one's well-being. It seems from the description the King gave that Legolas invoked a very strong benediction upon the babe's first dawn, an ancient hymn of Tawar into which he infused his own essence, which is somehow augmented by Mithrandir and the Forest Spirit. It is very complicated but the result is that the brothers are more staunchly linked than is normal. When Legolas suffers so does Taurant. Thranduil feared his new-born child would die of grief this morning."

"Ai! Surely he exaggerates and worries needlessly," scoffed Haldir. "The King has never understood the ancient ways. The bond I share with my brothers has done no harm to me or to them. Without it we would never have survived the Dark Days."

"That is so but the fact remains that the elfling has been in severe distress throughout the harrowing events just recently resolved," explained Celeborn. "You three were raised by loving parents who invoked a similar yet not identical Blessing. I am sure Meril will have created a link between her three children also; it is a common enough practice among Sylvan Elves. When tragedy struck, you were already fully grown; there had been ample time for each of you to develop independence. The strength of the familial bond was sustaining and beneficial.

"This is not the kind of bond forged between Taurant and the Tawarwaith. Legolas did not intend to make so hindering a tie, I am certain, and wished only for the little prince to know he had a protector. His state of mind and health when he initiated the attachment, however, was quite precarious. He was too generous, not thinking that all aspects of his inner soul would be accessible to the babe, both the joy and the sorrow."

"Does Legolas not realise his muindor laes (baby brother) is thus afflicted? I would think he might make some means to shield the child from such things." Haldir could not quite imagine what Celeborn described, for the communion he shared with his brothers occurred on an intuitive level. He could sense when one of his siblings was in distress but did not experience the discomfort as if it were his own.

"I have no doubt he feels it," commented Lothlorien's Lord, "yet the archer has fixated on another cause for the child's disquiet. Recall Lindalcon's words: Legolas believes this Judgement must be resolved or the elfling's life will be cursed. In his thoughts, the prince and princess of Greenwood owe their existence to the deaths of three valiant warriors. If balance is not restored, the two shall bear the burden of that debt forevermore. Additionally, Legolas has been so deeply immersed in grieving himself that I fear he has not examined alternative causes for Taurant's straits.

"The King shares this notion about his heir's doom, in a different manner. Legolas' life, from all accounts, even Thranduil's, has been fraught with nothing but tragedy. Thranduil believes this is his eldest child's fate and asked me to sever the link; that is the real reason he escorted me first to his son's nursery," replied Celeborn grimly.

Haldir was shocked speechless for several seconds. He stared at his Lord in unvoiced horror. Never had he heard of such a thing and indeed it was upsetting even to imagine his fraternal bond with Orophin and Rumil sundered. "Is such possible?" the March Warden stammered. "Would you agree to a request of that nature? Can the link not simply be moderated so as not to hurt the child? A less invasive connection to Legolas will lend the child strength, for Lindalcon avers that the Tawarwaith is devoted to the elfling. With a father like Thranduil, Taurant is going to need Legolas sooner rather than later, I fear."

"There is no need to be disrespectful; the King is after all my kinsman," admonished Celeborn. "Thranduil's life has not been easy and it is not your place to judge."

"Forgive me for being so outspoken, Hîren, but I am uneasy with this request to sunder the brothers' souls," rejoined Haldir stubbornly.

"In any other situation I would share that uneasiness. As I said, this is far more complex and I am uncomfortable with the strange association to the wizard, though I regard Mithrandir a close friend and a steadfast ally of the Elves. Thranduil reported an incident that occurred here but days ago, which I will not discuss just now, that convinced me all is not right with the Istar. I did as Thranduil asked, though the join between the brothers' hearts is not wholly dissolved. Fear not; Taurant will still share a sense of Legolas' kinship to him, though distantly, while the parental bond will again become predominant, as it should be."

Haldir gifted his superior with the most disapproving, sullenly sanctimonious scowl he could manage. Yet for all this outward bravado, Haldir's heart was racing. The Galadhrim warrior felt himself in Celeborn's presence as if for the first time, so strong was his sense of dread over this news. He had known the great Lord his entire life and their friendship was so close that it was easy to forget Celeborn was a First Age Elf, one of the few remaining from the days when the Green Elves learned the ways of shifting Nature from Melian. The making of a bond was a sanctifying action; was not then the breaking of such its opposite in character? He shivered and strove to dispel that idea. Celeborn the Wise knows things even Yavanna has forgotten. There is more to this than I can comprehend. He took a sip of the wine but found the fruity vintage had lost its savour. He set his goblet aside on the table at his elbow and turned his eyes to the incandescent coals and their softly sighing flames of blue.

Celeborn smiled fondly, watching Haldir's dismay on behalf of an Elf he had but glimpsed and a babe he had never even beheld. His March Warden's innate sense of protectiveness was an invaluable asset and one of the qualities that endeared the Galadhrim archer to the noble Lord. "I did not do it to appease Thranduil," Celeborn said and smiled again as Haldir's attention was instantaneously and completely his. "I did this for the brothers. How could I permit an infant to undergo needless torment? And what of Legolas, should his ill-luck be the cause of Taurant's demise? Would he survive that?"

A disgruntled sigh of capitulation followed this explanation, for Haldir could not counter the logic of such arguments. He met Celeborn's eyes with a grim smile of his own. "Nay, I do not think he would. He was willing to die for them if that would secure their safety."

"Indeed, he nearly did according to the healer. Now then, as we are back on the subject once more, tell me of the Tawarwaith," coaxed Celeborn. "You have kept me in suspenseful anticipation long enough."

"So I have," Haldir laughed. "Very well, I will try and do justice to the scene, for it was intriguing and inspiring at the same time." He took up his goblet and tried the wine again, watching to see if Celeborn would react, and grinned hugely at the frown now openly displayed. The March Warden relented.

"I was with Lindalcon and the healer in the formal gardens, trying to calm the youth for he had succumbed to supreme agitation over his perceived betrayal of his adopted elder brother. He was ready to flee, thinking to go forth and seek the true culprit of the Erebor Judgement: our recently banished immigrant, Rochendil. While we were thus engaged, a commotion arose in the kitchen yards and we all desired to know what transpired, for Lindalcon heard the disinherited prince's name spoken. We reached a hedge of yew trees and halted there, observing without being noted for all attention was fixed upon the unfolding drama.

"A large crowd had gathered in the stable yard and there within this loose encirclement stood Legolas, clasped tight against the frail frame of the ailing Elf. The Tawarwaith was cloaked with a regal mantle of panther skin clasped about his shoulders. It spilled down his back to the crease of his knees. The breeches he wore were stained with gore and his tresses were likewise tinged red as if dipped in fresh blood. One arm was bound in a sling and without any shirt or tunic the thick bandaging with which that shoulder was swathed stood out against skin turned golden from long exposure to the dappled sunlight under the eaves. He might have been a ghost from the Last Alliance: primitive, wild, and fiercely defiant yet possessed of a naivete common in children. The very picture of what I imagined a woodland warrior must look like when I sat upon Adar's knee as he told tales of that doomed battle.

"This encounter was painful to behold, for Lindalcon made the dying warrior's significance clear to me: he is the only survivor of the sortie against the goblin guards, meant to provide Legolas a chance to kill the vile Bolg. The Tawarwaith was frantic to help his old comrade and beset with forlorn anguish to know he could do nothing. It seemed to my eyes that Legolas did not want the soldier to be parted from him, fearing the Elf would fade from life in his absence. The parents were insistent, however, and at last placated their son's colleague enough to depart. At that point, Gladhadithen left in hopes of offering the family some comfort and Lindalcon went with her, desiring to speak of his father with this Elf.

"Now as the gathered Elves began to disperse I beheld a scene even more unusual than the one just described. The Tawarwaith turned to leave, heading in my direction though he did not discern my presence, for the shrubbery concealed me. Talagan followed closely after and as I watched a second Sylvan approached, leading a mare bedecked as befitted the mount of Thingol or Dior. She was draped in richly embroidered silk and satin, her forelock outfitted with silver bells that sang a quietly jubilant song when she proudly tossed her head, her mane and tail braided, laced with ribbons, and bejewelled with precious stones. More bells were therein entwined as well and she looked like a horse ready for some grand procession, meant to bear a great Lord among the people, bound for a reception of high honour and import.

"The Sindarin captain, the Sylvan archer, and the Tawarwaith began to converse and I was as amazed as Legolas to hear Talagan profess he was there, at the bidding of the Tawarwaith's foster-father, to ensure a suitable and secure means of transport through the city in consideration of the wild Elf's depleted health."

"Ah! The King's war-brother makes concessions because of his guilty conscience," Celeborn nodded sagely, not in the least surprised by this news.

"Aye, no doubt you are correct, Hîren. There is more. The Sylvan archer pledged fealty to Legolas and begged a place amid his army," Haldir grinned to see astonishment wash over his Lord's generally placid expression.

"What answer did Legolas give?" demanded Celeborn, shifting forward in his seat in anticipation of the answer.

"He was struck dumb! He had evidently not envisioned such a situation. Talagan found that amusing and advised it was but the first of many such demands from among the woodland warriors." Here Haldir held up his hand to forestall his Lord's next comment. "Then something happened that even took Talagan by surprise: the Tawarwaith commissioned him to fulfil a task, a lowly request any messenger or servant might accomplish, and the captain acquiesced."

"What say you? Of what nature was this request?" Celeborn was fascinated by this unexpected turn from the norm, considering the lofty opinion Thranduil's best friend harboured of himself.

Celeborn knew the captain well, having watched the two friends grow up together in Beleriand. Thranduil and Talagan were alike in mind and manner; sworn blood-brothers and comrades in arms. There was scarcely an event in one's life that the other had not been at hand to witness; what silent oaths they had made together the Sylvan Lord could well imagine. Talagan, who was not of noble birth, bowed to Thranduil's will in deference while from all others he demanded the respect this friendship had bought him. It was one thing for the veteran warrior to perform a token kindness at the behest of Legolas' foster-father, arrogantly assuming so small an act of generosity would expunge the horrific consequences his condemnation on the field of battle had generated. It was another matter entirely to take orders from a humble Wood Elf he had formerly commanded. "You must be mistaken; it had to be something quite serious."

"Perhaps, yet I distinctly heard the Tawarwaith ask the captain to go and fetch Fearfaron. Talagan was displeased and made to walk away, yet Legolas called him back, insistent upon the chore being completed by none besides the renowned warrior himself."

"What did the captain say to that?"

"I know not, for the two bent their heads close and spoke too softly for the words to carry. Whatever Legolas told him was sufficient; I followed Talagan from the gardens and he went straight to the carpenter's abode."

"Did Fearfaron act on Talagan's instructions?'

"Again, I am ignorant of the final outcome. The carpenter and the warrior parted company immediately and I followed Fearfaron. He went to the talan of the fading soldier and there remains, as far as I know."

"That must have been the request, then." Celeborn murmured. "Why is this ailing warrior so important that Legolas sent his adoptive father to abide with the Elf?"

Haldir shook his head. "Mayhap it is nothing to do with him. Mayhap Legolas wished to show Talagan that things in Mirkwood have changed, flexing his new-found power a little."

Celeborn considered that and discarded the notion. A lifted brow in Haldir's direction elicited a wry grin and a shrug from the March Warden. "Nay," agreed Haldir, "that does not fit within my estimation of Legolas' nature either."

They were silent for a time, ruminating on the Galadhrim guard's account of the evening. Then Celeborn sighed. "We shall have to wait to learn from Legolas what it was all about," he said.

Before Haldir could respond, a brisk knock resounded from the closed door and a voice called from without: "Lord Celeborn, may I enter?"

"You may, Dúnadan," answered the Lord, gladdened to hear the Man's voice, and rose to greet Aragorn as he strode through the door. "Mae Govannen. How you come to be here now is a tale I would much like to hear told. I had thought to seek out you and Mithrandir but wondered if you had retired for the night."

"Nay, I have only just left the kitchens," the Man said with a broad smile, "for Fearfaron and I were so busy at the talan in the clearing that I neglected to partake of the repast this eve."

"How fares Lord Erestor?" asked Haldir.

Aragorn shrugged. "He is healthy and his memories seem to be slowly returning to him. We shall know more with the dawn for Legolas is with him now. Fearfaron sent the archer home to renew his bond with our seneschal, hoping to promote Erestor's recapture of lost events using the sweetest sort of stimulus possible."

Celeborn smiled to hear of the impending reunion, pleased for some happiness to find Legolas at last. "We shall have to ask Fearfaron or Lindalcon why the dying soldier is so closely watched, unless you know something of it?" he queried the mortal.

"Not I," Aragorn shook his head as he joined them by the fire. "The carpenter and I missed all the excitement. He was engaged in schooling Erestor in proper conduct toward his adopted son; I was merely enjoying a quiet walk amid the trees to the baths. You shall have to make certain to take the waters; very invigorating and restful at the same time."

"Hah! I should have enjoyed watching this Wood Elf teaching Elrond's haughty cousin bedroom etiquette!" laughed Celeborn, but silenced his glee upon seeing Haldir's brief flinch of discomfort. The Lord frowned and sat forward, reaching a hand to rest upon his friend's knee. "Forgive me, mellonen, I meant not to slight your brother's woe."

"Nay," Haldir sighed, "I am resigned to Orophin's loss of his Noldorin mate. While I am not pleased for muindoren (my brother) and Dambethnîn to endure such a breech of faith, I trust in the strength of their bond to see them through the strain of this separation. Orophin has a good heart and 'Beth is the personification of compassion; neither would want to deny Erestor a true soul-mate, even if that means he will not be part of their lives any longer. Besides, after hearing of Legolas' suffering from Lindalcon, how could I wish to sever him from the only joy he has ever known?"

"Well said; I am of like mind. Tell me, how does Lindalcon fare after your counselling?" asked Celeborn and thus adroitly turned the conversation from Erestor's wandering heart.

Now Haldir's disquiet deepened, maturing into uneasy foreboding. He was always one to trust his instincts and every nerve and fibre warned that the youth was bound for danger and disaster. "I am not satisfied. He is as I was after Durin's Bain once more fled from free air and clean sunlight into the depths of Khazad-dûm, having wearied of slaughtering Elves and Dwarves. Alas, I have not your wisdom and have thus far failed to break the barrier of anger and guilt surrounding Lindalcon's heart. Though the failing warrior diverted him from this precipitous plan to seek out Rochendil, I fear what he may yet do."

"That is not good. We must keep our eyes upon that young one, Haldir, lest some irreparable grief befall him," intoned Celeborn.

"True. Only Legolas has endured more strife in this unpleasant business," added Aragorn. "Lindalcon needs guidance and I am pleased he has made your acquaintance, March Warden. Do not discount your influence; mayhap he will heed you now that Legolas' fate is less precarious. We may yet turn him from so dark a destiny as you foresee.

"Now, what of these charges against my father, Lord Celeborn? I understand he is already en route, for a messenger bird arrived with news. Have you learned what Thranduil may seek in compensation?"

"Nay, of that we have yet to speak. Still, I am the King's kinsman and have aided him once or twice in the past. It is my hope this relationship will afford me the opportunity to mitigate whatever revenge brews in his heart."

With that the three turned to the impending trial and Lindalcon's fate was dismissed for a time. It was of no consequence, for it was already too late to prevent the predicted catastrophe from coming to pass. Even as they conversed in peaceful comfort in the luxury of the King's subterranean palace, Lindalcon was ascending to the royal chambers some three tiers above them. He had concluded his conference with Gildin and now sought to determine the accuracy of the soldier's testimony. It was difficult to refute such, as the narration had about it the sound of facts bound within every cadence, tone, and inflection.

Valtamar's son arrived at his destination and for long minutes simply stood staring, unable to make his hand obey the command of his thoughts. A servant passed near by and the movement roused him from his dark and doleful trance. Finally he raised his fist and softly rapped upon the boards. The latch turned and the barrier swung silently on its hinges, revealing Meril's smiling face in the expanding gap, a look that faltered and faded the instant her son spoke.

"Gildin is dead." His voice was cold and emotionless, betraying not the turmoil within his ravaged soul.

Lindalcon waited upon the threshold of his mother's open chamber door for her to invite him within, watching her eyes as she absorbed his announcement. He watched as she stood staring, frozen and silent, letting the implications of his sentence gel within her thoughts. A strange array of emotions swept through the shifting light of her vision, swift as swallows in a summer sky, surprise melding into shock, a spark of satisfaction igniting instead a brief flare of fear, caution and wary appraisal reflecting from her hazel irises. Lindalcon's heart quailed even though his feet remained firm; surely he could comprehend her every thought and these were not flattering. How had he never noticed before that calculating, predatory glint of self-preservation filling her gaze with its subtle sheen?

Enlightenment of this nature was naught but a torment. Such illumination revealed only the slithering, crawling, foul things of nature; things that made the soul cringe and the mind rebel; things that could not be of Eru's will. Lindalcon recalled the night Legolas had first expressed the idea of Meril's involvement in Valtamar's death. Had it really been only a handful of days gone by? He felt as though he had lived a thousand years since then. The notion had been growing and gaining strength every day despite his desire to force the concept from his thoughts, distracting his mind with Legolas and Erestor, seeking for an alternate answer in the Council Chamber. These efforts had not dispersed the gnawing trepidation steadily consuming his heart, nor had they worked to win peace for his father's soul. The youthful ellon had thus taken himself to Ben'waeth's talan, there to hear of the Battle of Erebor from the only Elf still living who had fought side by side with Valtamar.

Gildin's words, could they be trusted, revealed the black, poisoned heart that had engineered his father's death. And a death-bed confession is hard to refute. Lindalcon had come to his Naneth needing answers, determined to resolve the issue once and for all. For he had clung to the fading remains of hope that it could not be her, that another solution had been overlooked in his grief. Gazing upon her now, he could conjure no faith in that decaying confidence. The last tinge of an elfling's tenacious loyalty dissolved.

"That is ill news, Hên Faen, (Radiant Child) but he was failing and perhaps it is more merciful for him to seek the peace of Mandos." Meril attempted a motherly smile but found she could only manufacture a poor fake, chilled as her spirit was to see the darkening of her first-born child's brilliant nimbus. So bright had he been at birth that his father had declared him kissed by the holy light of Laurelin and had named him on the spot. There was a tightness, a drawn and weary look about her son's face that made her uneasy, something she had no wish to define. The fact that he was the one bringing her this information was ominous in ways she had no desire to fathom. "Were you told to bear me these tidings by Ben'waeth?"

"Nay. She is overcome in lamentations. I come of my own volition, for I was there at his passing. The final words he spoke were heard only by my ears; the last breath to pass his lips, I have taken into my lungs. All that was Gildin is known to me."

Meril exhaled suddenly, not realising until that second that she had stopped breathing, and awkwardly took a step backward. There was an element revealed within Lindalcon's gaze she had witnessed once before. A sense of knowledge pervaded his presence, not unlike the dawn twelve years ago when he had come to her, cheeks stained with salty sorrow, and declared that his father was not coming back, not ever. Before that day, before the first episode of dreaming his Adar's last moments ensnared him, Lindalcon had not truly understood what death meant. Now Meril beheld the same kind of horrible comprehension cloaking his fair form.

"Why were you there, ion?" (son) Comprehension of what? He cannot know; Gildin could not have revealed information that was never his.  "What took you to that place of heartache?"

"Adaren." (My father)

Meril felt a great pressure building in her chest such that it required effort to draw air. She could only stand and gape at Lindalcon, unwilling to accept the meaning packed into that single word. Somehow he had learned the truth; she wondered if Ben'waeth had finally broken faith with her. She would not discuss this with her child, not now, not ever. But is this still my son? Fuelled by her husband's graphic explanation of how it could be achieved, possession of the living by unhoused souls raced through her perception. She fought a tremble of dread from betraying her revulsion as she surveyed her son.

A piercing, unsparing misery shone from dewy ochre eyes that normally sought hers to give and to receive love, to ask for and to grant reassurance, to find and to offer hope. Now she beheld accusation, betrayal, disgust, and anger. Across her mind galloped the memories spanning Lindalcon's nativity to this instant and Meril found that she was afraid of the Elf revealed before her. This was not the elfling she knew and cherished any longer but an ellon fully grown, all innocence erased, replaced by bilious acrimony and seething fury. She moved the door closer to her body subtly to block free passage into the sitting room and displayed again the fine, straight upper row of her perfect white teeth, a false show of warmth from a heart thudding so heavily it must have turned to lead.

"What do you mean? How is Gildin's death linked to Valtamar?"

"It is not, except that Gildin would not release his feä with so weighty a burden of guilt yet bound within it. He desired to cleanse himself of this stain before facing Námo."

"Guilt? Tell me not that this ancient and worthy warrior was involved with the terrible events at Erebor. Will that dreadful day never cease to plague my heart?" she railed. "Is there no Elf free of the taint that battle spread upon our folk? If so valiant a spirit as Gildin's could be turned to evil, there is no refuge in which we may safeguard our lives and freedom. Alas that the curse of the kinslayers has pervaded the purity of our people!"

Lindalcon listened to his mother lie, marvelling in sickened admiration at her skill in presenting just the right combination of incredulous repugnance. This was not the Elf he so loved and cherished; it could not be the same elleth who had given him life, created him within her body, nourished him in infancy, taught him to read and to sing and to love the trees. This was some creature, some hideous thing disguised as his Naneth, some dire abomination generated from evil intent and selfish desire, a fiend craving power and prestige and caring not what means must be employed to secure those objectives. Then she prattled these deceits and he knew it was her, knew these two concepts must be conjoined, the demon and his mother, and Lindalcon's heart tore.

"Of course he was involved; he was a soldier and he fought there beside Adar. He was not responsible for any evil deed, however, save perhaps that which all the realm must equally own. He attached no import to what he knew, for he attached no value to the Elf it concerned: Legolas."

"Speak not of Tirno! I already know he has been absolved of all wrong and the Judgement lifted. This is a grotesque perversion of justice! Who now shall secure Valtamar's passage to Mandos?"

"I shall."

"Lindalcon! What is this you say?" Meril was horrified, imagining her first-born attempting to earn the grace necessary for his father to gain entry into Námo's domain. She no longer doubted that this was her child addressing her for only Valtamar's son would make such a declaration without giving a second's worth of consideration for the magnitude of the sacrifice. "This is not your task to finish. Hênen, (my child) you are overwrought and thinking irrationally. Let this go, I beg you."

"Let it go? How can you ask such a thing? Do you not wish for your first husband, your true husband, to find peace? Valtamar did nothing wrong yet he suffers. Legolas did nothing wrong yet his torment has been extreme. Rochendil perpetrated this misery yet wanders at will across the lands. Malthen has committed hideous crimes yet walked free, a respected member of the community, until this day. Yet though I have laid the burden of Release upon him, I have no faith in his intent to fulfil it. He is craven and foul; he will die a dishonourable death and the offering will be for naught. There is no one else who can do this, Naneth."

The resolute and controlled manner in which Lindalcon made these statements was shocking and Meril found she needed to hold tight to the door handle to maintain her upright position. Her conscious mind refused to allow this idea room and she shook her head slowly, her wide brown eyes locked upon her son's.

"There is Rochendil," she whispered hoarsely. "He is the true instigator of all this tribulation. Thranduil will have him found and punished, Lindalcon, you do not need to take this upon yourself. Hear you mother's plea! Do not put my heart in such jeopardy!" Impulsively she reached out to him and gasped in disbelief when he pulled back to evade her touch.

"Yes, there is still Rochendil to consider. It is of this Elf I have come here to learn. Let us go in, Naneth, for I leave in the morning and would like this resolved before I do."

"Leave?" Meril's voice climbed an octave, stunned by the expression of disgust on her child's face, the determination within his words. "Where are you going? Tell me you are not taking ship to Aman."

"Nay," a dismally lopsided smirk upended his lips as he shook his head. "I already explained it to you; I go to complete the Task for my father. Now let us discuss what we must." He motioned with one hand to the room at her back, brows arched in expectation of her compliance.

"I have nothing to say on Rochendil; I barely knew the Elf. There is nothing for us to talk about." Her left foot reached behind her and as she shifted her weight onto it her fingers pulled on the handle of the door. Her other hand reached over to rest casually against the lintel, obstructing the entrance. The gap reduced to the width of her petite frame.

"Aniron ped ah le. Alannathach enni dâf minno?" (I wish to speak with you. Will you not give me leave to enter?) said Lindalcon as his palm pressed upon the smooth, polished grain of the heavy oaken barrier, just above the height of her head. His right foot bore him forward into the space her retreat created and his countenance was cast in sable shade.

"Sen arad trastannen a pathrant nîr o Taurant. Boe gerin îdh. Alben ista man minuial tegitha." (This day has been troubling and filled with Taurant's tears. I must have rest. No one knows what the dawn will bring.) Meril answered sharply, fixing him with the weight of her long years of parental dominance over his will.

"Iston. Na minuial, I ben-odhril a ben-odhron. Na minuial, bedithon eddaur faro dagnir o Adaren. Pedithon a le si." (I know. At dawn, I will be motherless and fatherless. At dawn, I will go from the forest to hunt my father's murderer. I will speak with you now.) Valtamar's son shoved and the door flew from her grasp, striking the stone wall into which it was set with a reverberating report, and resiliently returned to graze against her knuckles where they were still poised in mid air. While she stood gawking and frozen in shock, he grabbed her at the wrist and pushed her backwards, clearing the threshold and kicking the door closed behind him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded sternly yet the notes trembled as they passed her lips. "Release me, Lindalcon, and go. I have told you I am weary and need…"

"I have told you I will speak now," he dropped her arm and watched in a peculiar sort of detachment as she rubbed it as though he had bruised her. He had not, this he knew, and he snorted in combined ire and contempt at this affectation. "Nay, do not try such foolish ploys with me. You are not injured in any way, for I know my strength and would never use it against my naneth. You are the one who has done all the damage and now you will reveal to me every detail."

"You are not making any sense, Lindalcon. I have not harmed anyone." Meril decided it would be wise to distance herself from her first-born, for the meaning of his words was plain. She hastily strode to the hearth and made a show of tending the fire.

"How dare you?" he shouted and followed her to the fireside, face contorted with undisguised anguish and hatred. "Tell no more lies to me! I am your son; I am Valtamar's son. I deserve to hear it from your own lips and in your own voice, the same voice that consoled me in my grief when Ada did not come home, the same voice that boasted of love and pride in every aspect of my character. Tell me how you plotted Adaren's end; tell me how I was conceived solely to make this life you now have possible!"

"Daro! You do not mean these things you speak!" Meril gasped out, dropping down into a chair before her legs failed.

"I do not even know what you are!" he raged, pacing before the hearth in agitation. He halted and turned, pointing at her in damning accusation. "You cannot hide it any longer, for I have sworn only one oath and that is to see justice fall upon my father's killer. I will not break this vow, even though you are the one I must now hold to account for this horror. Answer honestly and beg mercy from the remnant of your son's love, for therein lies your only refuge. Gildin confessed all to me with the last of his breath and life."

"Gildin?" Meril was both frightened and confused, wondering if Ben'waeth had confided in her great-great-grandfather. This seemed unlikely, for Ben'waeth felt naught but pity for her ailing kinsman and would not have wished to add to his burdened feä. The Royal Consort decided the veteran warrior must have been ignorant of her true dealings with the horse master and could not have said anything of import. Nothing that can be proved, at any rate. His madness will prevent anyone giving credence to his words. A seed of hope sprouted in her breast and her heart's cadence smoothed into a more regular rhythm. "What did he say to you? You cannot accept his testimony for even his kin believe his mind to be ruined." She stalled, thinking to make her son reveal the extent of his information.

"Do not do this." Lindalcon's low, quavering voice was filled with pain and despair. The bright glint of doom threatened from the penetrating glare he trained upon her. "The time when I would have hearkened to you is far away, more distant than the shores of the Undying Lands. I offer you this one chance to seek clemency. If you refuse it, woe be unto you. I will disown you publicly. I will have you charged and put in the dungeons. I will take my brother and sister from you and flee with them to Lothlorien."

"You would not!" Meril shouted back shrilly, clutching at the fabric of the cushion beneath her frantically. She wanted to get up and run to the nursery, there to gather her elflings to her. Lindalcon's menacing presence barred her way. "Thranduil will not permit it and you will be the one punished for such a vile charge against your own mother! How can you say such things to me?"

"I say them because no one else will, no one else has the right to do so," he countered in icy tones and pointed at her heaving chest, "save Legolas, and he will not speak for dread of bringing grief upon Taurant and Gwilwilith. He does not understand; the core of their existence sprung from evil and they were so marked at the instant of conception. Just like me, they cannot escape the fate you have made for us.

"Shall I repeat to you the last words of the ancient warrior, the only survivor of the five brave volunteers who undertook to distract the goblin guards that day?" She did not answer but he had not expected her to and paused just long enough to draw a strengthening breath.

"Gildin remembers a party held in the meadow by the baths, a celebration of the company's safe return from a three-month patrol into the Central Mountains. Everyone was there and brought all their family, a great number of elves. I remember this event and so then must you, Naneth."

"There were many parties; one was much the same as any other," she shrugged nervously as all the colour drained away from her rosy cheeks.

"This was the last get-together held by the company before the troops rode out en route to the Battle of the Five Armies. Does that help you place the event more fully in your thoughts?" His pitch was mocking yet laced with sadness.

"I remember it. Andamaitë and Rochendil hosted the event that time. What had Gildin to say of these festivities that has so overcome your natural feelings for me?" Meril's heart was hammering erratically and again the notion of an avenging spirit broke from her subconscious, exhorting her to flee, insisting that she was not treating with her eldest son. She shrank back against the plush upholstery and a hand climbed to press against her chest, desiring to still the pounding pulse resonating there.

"He overheard a conversation he was not meant to hear. No one was to be privy to such speech, I am sure, other than the principals involved in generating it. Those were you and Rochendil, Naneth. Do you recall speaking with him that day?"

"Really, Lindalcon, I spoke to everyone," she tried to dissemble and make light of his query but failed, shifting awkwardly in her desire to get farther from his reach. "It was a social gathering; do you imagine I would sit in silence and not greet your Adar's colleagues and friends?" she scolded, hoping her words sounded unconcerned and indulgent rather than stuffed with the panic his talk produced. It was a mistake to answer thus, however, and she quickly regretted it.

"Do not mock me!" Lindalcon shouted and paced away only to return and tower over his mother's cowering form. "This is more serious than anything we have ever spoken about and I am not a child any longer. You will treat me with respect!"

"Respect? That is a sentiment you owe to your mother, Lindalcon! I will not tolerate your insolence. What would your Adar say of such behaviour?" Desperately she tried to invoke her son's conditioned reaction of immediate remorse for causing his mother displeasure. This, too, failed.

"He would say he is sorry and beg my forgiveness," whispered Lindalcon, unable to prevent the overflow of tears that drenched his pale cheeks, "for he was not free of fault yet he could not see how he was manipulated. He never suspected such treachery, least of all from you."

Meril sat in silent and profound apprehension as she watched her son, for these assertions and the abyssal despair from which they welled convinced her that nothing would sway him. He knew and there was no undoing it. She had no more tricks to try. There was nothing left but lies and more lies, denial and refusal to admit the truth of his words. Instinctively she longed to reach out and wipe away the bitter fluid coursing down Lindalcon's face but refrained; he would only repulse her hand and revile her more. This was not supposed to be happening; Lindalcon was never to learn these things. She loved him, no matter what else had transpired between her and Valtamar, their child was beyond it; her love for him transcended it. How can he not perceive this?

"I love you, child, will you persist on this loathsome course? Only tragedy lies at its ending, for you and the little ones as well. All that has happened will remain unchanged, whatever action you may take, and never will your father return to you; this is the way of things. Let him go. Let him go, Lindalcon, before every good born of your affliction is destroyed!" She pleaded, tears now cascading from her eyes steadily. She was beyond rational capability and prayed for the vengeance of Valtamar to pass her by.

Lindalcon shut his eyes, physically faltering under the weight of her declaration, for he could hear that it was real, the emotion she claimed to feel, and this was even harder to bear than her repudiation would have been. Yet though her expression was genuine, what she termed love was not the same thing that defined the concept within his perception. For Meril, love was something to be bartered, a commodity traded only on terms advantageous to her, a sensation too easily mitigated and truncated, too readily converted into mere affection or blank disregard. He took a shuddering gasp of a breath and steadied himself with a hand upon the delicately carved tracery of ivy rimming the edge of the mantle.

At this moment, excepting his Naneth, he alone knew with certainty the degree of her involvement in the deaths of the Lost Warriors. Once uttered, the words he would voice could not be revoked. Should he give them life by the breath of his lungs, their vibrations would rend the fibres of Vairë's loom the way a clear, high note ruptured glass, reducing him to an orphan and leaving his siblings in the care of Greenwood's self-serving, mercurial monarch. Within his hands he held not only her fate but all of their destinies combined, and though he loved her and adored his baby brother and sister, the burden of his vow, the intensity of his wrath, and the magnitude of his grief consumed him.

She had offered nothing to ameliorate the wounds she had carved within his heart. She cared nothing to witness her son's soul withering in the blast ignited by her lust for prestige and power. His despair, his sorrow, his slow descent into unending torment, none of it touched Meril. He forced himself to look upon her, to confront her openly as he spoke her doom.

"It is already finished, Naneth, how can you deceive yourself into believing otherwise? How shall I choose betwixt your love and my father's, between duty to you and my vow to Adar, between my future and that of my siblings? You ask what is impossible; I cannot resort to rationalisation and perfidy as you so ably do. Like a foul seep of black tar within a pool, this vile history will not remain submerged. Listen, and say no words to me nor seek to halt my narration, for it is better to hear it from my mouth than from Iarwain. He will show you no mercy, yet with me there is still a hope for that if you will put aside this pretence and answer when I am done. Heed me: I would salvage what is left of my family."

He paused then, just staring into her disbelieving eyes, wondering when her mouth had fallen agape and whether she would realise it, and could not really tell how long they remained thus, locked in raw and ragged communion, sharing the silent dread of the fate about to overtake them. His vision blurred as a fresh wave of weeping crested his lower lids and he blinked, swallowing down a harsh sob, and then Lindalcon commenced his recitation.
 
"So spoke Gildin to me, Lindalcon Valtamarion, with the final breath of his body and the terminal thoughts of his mind:

"'It was a good party and I was pleased to have the chance to relax and converse with my friends and fellows, easy and safe within the bounds of the King's city. We congregated in the meadow by the limhir (trout stream) and Tondorn (Tall Oak) had brought his lyre and was strumming accompaniment to Aurhain's (New Day) flute. Talagan was flirting with his latest conquest and Analdîr sat playing Aegleben Nedhtî with his father. (Five Points in a Row (Gomoku Narabe - an ancient strategy game still played today, sometimes called simply 'Go')) A crowd was gathered watching, for they were well matched, and bets were being placed. Andamaitë and Ben'waeth were helping her brother with the preparation of food while some of the other warriors' mates watched over the younger elflings at their games. Valtamar and Roval (Great Wing) were arguing politics again. Legolas was leading an archery contest for the older children; you were in that, Lindalcon. Do you remember?'"

"I remember," I answered him, smiling, for this was a good memory and I had no idea where his narration would lead me. "I did not win but Legolas told me not to be concerned, for I had improved my control of the bow and my aim was better. He said he was proud of my effort but more so of the goodwill I showed to the victor."

"'He was always among the young at these gatherings and I never really thought about why,'" Gildin resumed. "'Over time I have come to understand it: Maltahondo never attended and the rest of the company ignored Legolas, overall, except when we wanted a sad song or someone to help clean up. Once I realised this, the next question that arose was why he chose to participate at all?'"

"That I could understand, having been forced to dwell in the shadow of Thranduil these last few years, and so I told him."

"'Ah, true; no love lost between them. At any rate, the party proceeded in this harmonious fashion throughout the day. We dined and drank wine, danced and waded in the brook, sang the old songs and enjoyed the peace. After a time, I craved a little solitude and went to walk among the trees. The pathway was carpeted with the last of autumn's leaves for winter was at hand. I wandered away, giving no thought to my destination, and soon came to a fine othol rind (dreaming ring) formed by twelve old cedars. I settled at the base of the tallest tree and let my thoughts roam.

"'How long I was there I am uncertain, nor can I say when I left the dream and merely watched the scene. Perhaps it is of no importance, for the mind perceives much and understands even more in this state, as you can no doubt attest. Two Elves stood outside the ring and my presence was thus hidden from them, for I was pressed close to the ground, sprawled beside the mightiest trunk. I could see them plainly, however, for they were framed between two bolls opposite me. These were Meril and Rochendil and they conversed in terse and argumentative tones. What they said was strange to hear and yet I did not really think much about it at the time. Long have I regretted my lack of perception.

"'Your Naneth boldly and sternly remonstrated the horse master, saying to him: 'You have had these last three months to accomplish the deed. Was there no chance for you to see it through? Valtamar tells me many spiders were hunted and killed; surely you might have taken a moment to fire two arrows.'

'I did not have the chance to do so unobserved,' declared Rochendil. 'I am master of the horses not the bow. For me to locate myself near enough to hit my mark would incite curiosity and questions. What would I say when Talagan wants to know why I seek to place myself among the best of his archers?'

'How can it matter what answer you give? Are you a Wood Elf or a clumsy Noldorin smithy? You are as well skilled in slipping unseen among the branches as any other warrior, especially when your comrades' attentions are focused on the hunt.' Meril mocked him. 'I think there is another reason. You are too timid, Rochendil. My husband did not report of any failings on Legolas' part this time. How can this be when you were set the task to make it so?'

'It is not so easy a chore. The archer is not stupid for all he is naive. After the first attempt's success, he has avoided me, not trusting my overtures to make amends and pursue a friendship. He suspects I have some unseemly motive.'

'Well that is your fault! You should not have revealed your interest to him. What were you thinking? You have nearly ruined everything!'

'Forgive me for seeking an honest means to achieve my end.'

'Honest? You are joking. Legolas will never willingly accept you whilst you are bound to another. Besides, he has not taken a lover since Callon left him. Some say he grieves. You will not get what you seek with Andamaitë as your mate. There is no alternative save to accept that fate denies your fulfillment. I for one have grown weary of my pre-ordained place in the Music.'

'You would not have to endure it but for your own folly! Andamaitë would go from me if you would free Valtamar of his bond to you. Yet though you express that very desire, you produced a child by Valtamar to hold him to you. He will never leave your side or abandon his son. I should accuse you of spoiling the plan!'"

Lindalcon fell silent as he struggled, head bowed low and fists clenched, to rein in his riving emotions. "Can you imagine how my mind rejected these words? Can you understand what I felt to hear that my father wished to be with someone else and that you had made me just to keep him bound to you? Little then did I understand what real torment is, for that would have been easier to comprehend and bear than what followed."

He trained his stricken gaze upon Meril as she gasped out a strangled moan of despair. Lindalcon did not fly to her side to offer comfort, as he would surely have done but a few hours ago. Naught but the tiniest increment in the great long history of Arda had transpired, yet in that dusty mote of elapsed time he had transformed from her staunchest defender into her most brutal accuser. He waited as she rocked to and fro, a subdued keening issuing from behind hands covering her face, until she composed herself and dared to lift her red-rimmed sight to his, and began his recount anew.

"I challenged Gildin's words, but the failing Elf did not heed me. He went right on with the tale and I had to silence my protests in order to understand what he needed to reveal:

"'Meril was not perturbed by his retort and answered immediately. 'My desire to create life is none of your concern. The plot is foolproof if only you will steady your nerves and follow through.'

'Nay it is not. I am the one taking all the risk and if something should go wrong I am the one who must face the dire consequences. I am thinking the archer is not compensation enough for so dangerous a scheme.'

'Ah, so it is a question of return on your investment? Why did you not simply say so? I can arrange for you to become quite wealthy once this is done. You can emigrate to Lothlorien or Imladris in grand style, a noble Lord of the Nandorin people, a respected breeder and trainer of exquisite steeds unmatched in any lands. To tend your every need and desire, you shall have at your disposal the misbegotten child of Ningloriel.'

'How so? You have no holdings nor treasure coffers to empty in payment to me.'

'Not yet, but should you manage your part I will have wealth to rival the King from which to draw your reward.'

"'Then the two contemplated one another in silence as Rochendil thought upon her speech. When he replied, I admit to complete confusion as to their meaning, yet I recall what was said distinctly:

'Ah!' cried Rochendil, and threw back his head as he laughed, long and low and with great delight. 'I bow to you, Lady, for that is indeed well thought. This explains the child; you mean to invoke the old Law.'

'I do. Now, are we in agreement to carry on or should I search for another means to achieve my goal?'

'Other means? There is no one else who would be willing to help you, Meril, so do not pretend you have no need of me. Our pact stands. I will see it done on the next patrol. You see to it that my compensation is sufficient for the lifestyle you described. Should you renege, I will…'

'You will what? You can say nothing against me without implicating yourself, Rochendil. Do not make idle threats.'

"'With those words Meril turned and left him. Rochendil cursed her under his breath and then walked away in the opposite direction. I laid where I was and considered their talk.

"'It was an ugly business and clearly involved some plot to discredit Legolas; I remembered the detestable incident of the archer's drunken excess revealed to us by Rochendil, for he reminded us of it often enough and was always finding fault with him. Like everyone else, I was prepared to believe it, having heard Callon boasting of his lover's depravity in the past. Now I no longer question why the horse master was so vitriolic in his hatred for Legolas, though to be honest I truly never gave it much consideration: he yearned for what he could not have, had been spurned in his attempt to gain it. I wonder now how many years he nursed this hidden proclivity?

"'Additionally, the pair spoke of dissolving their bonds to their mates. The remark about the old Law, this I did not see the pertinence of until after the fact, for such a notion was unthinkable. I did not understand what Meril wanted though Rochendil's lust for Legolas was evident. It seemed his goal was to bring the disgraced prince so low that he would accept any companionship, no matter how demeaning the affair might prove. Indeed, from Callon I was led to believe Legolas preferred to be abused thusly. I could not purceive the real intent then; the concept of Chastisement did not enter my mind. Can you see how I was blind to the truth? Who would consider it possible for two to plan the murders of their own mates and then seek to lay the blame upon another?

"'Alas! This is what happened and I did nothing to stop them! Rochendil made good his promise, using the confusion of the bloody battle to unleash the rocks that disabled Legolas' consummate skill. How clever he was, removing any chance for the deed to find its way back to him, for had he done as they planned, your father and his lover would have died with the Tawarwaith's arrows in their hearts. For all his twisted nature, the horse master could not bring himself to take life with his own hands. How pleased he must have been to find that fate would for once assist him, and he availed himself of that aid fully.

"'The rest you know. Meril changed her destiny and altered the Song, displacing Ningloriel by stealing the title Prince of the Greenwood for you, Lindalcon. How well she understood our selfish Queen's heart! How fully did she comprehend the King's hopes and dreams! Now she has produced Thranduil's heir and her future is secured, whether you remain a prince or renounce the title.

"'The horse master succeeded in gaining control over Legolas and used it ruthlessly, by all accounts that reached my ears. Yet of this wealth they discussed I know nothing and that alone mystifies me still, though I have pondered it all these years. None can gain entry to the vaults save Thranduil, and so I began to think perhaps he was aware of this plot from the very beginning. Mayhap he has been quietly buying Rochendil's silence with Legolas' body and treasure all along.

"'Now I am finished, only child of my former comrade, Valtamar the Valiant, a decent and honourable Elf, no matter what his infidelity reveals. No one is without flaws, Lindalcon, and he did not deserve to die for his. As for Andamaitë, I have come to pity her, for as Rochendil's mate, what kind of torments did she silently endure? Do you remember her at all? She was fair to look upon, slender and yellow-haired with eyes of pale green like sun-bleached lily pads. No doubt she was the object of the detestable ellon's cruel tortures until her death.

"'Not a day passes that I do not pray for her to be at peace, healed of such strife and woe. Indeed, I beseech the Valar to permit Valtamar and Andamaitë to be together in Mandos, for surely they have earned whatever comfort such a place may grant them.

"'Render your judgement, Lindalcon, for I would sooner accept your verdict than that of Námo. I am prepared. If you hold me liable for Valtamar's death, I will accede to your charge and undergo any punishment you deem fitting. I should have revealed to your father what I overheard. I beg you will find a means to forgive me in time.'"

Lindalcon ceased talking and concentrated on breathing, fighting the overwhelming urge to retch. It was more difficult than he could have ever imagined, for he had convinced himself that repeating Gildin's testimony would make the pain less and the horror more bearable. Instead his agony doubled and he struggled to remain on his feet, determined to see the trial through to its completion. Sweat collected across his upper lip and every breath drawn was like inhaling a thousand daggers, so cutting was the assault upon his heart. Within the grinding jaws of the grieving sickness, Lindalcon wept openly for his shattered spirit and for that of Legolas', who had borne such dire distress of hroa and feä for so long. This was not an experience Lindalcon was pleased to share with his adopted brother.

During these interminable minutes of her eldest child's cruciation, Meril remained fixed within her seat, daring not to go to him, to touch him, nor even to call his name. What could she do to amend this horrendous result of Gildin's return? Lindalcon would despise her now and disown her, even as he had threatened, and she could only think of how to prevent him from bringing his grief upon the younger children. She had already lost her first-born; she must not lose Gwilwileth and Taurant. They were the future; they were the reason for all this, the purpose that justified whatever wrong she might have conceived. It was never meant to come to this; it was all Legolas' fault. The outcast should have perished in the wilds before the second year of his banishment.

"Silence! You will not speak! I forbid you to speak until I am done!" shrieked Lindalcon, his ragged voice fraught with the racking aguish assailing his soul.

Meril pressed both hands over her mouth to hold back the scream threatening to burst free, horrified to hear her son in such despair, unaware she had been babbling her thoughts aloud, and found that she had not ceased crying for her nose was dripping with the excess of fluid.

The outburst forced Lindalcon to focus on something other than the pain, though the image that formed in his mind was frightful in its vivd detail. Involuntarily, his hands lifted, fingers curved and ready like the talons of a hunting hawk, ready, even aching, to encircle the slender white neck from which issued such insidious falsehoods, such brazen deceits. He could feel the satisfaction throttling her would grant, craved the sensation of choking the breath from her, ending forever the opportunity to give voice to such distorted interpretations of the concepts of love, devotion, and maternal responsibility. He would drive out that false vindication shining through her fear, force her to admit with her final gasp the supreme self-seeking ambition that drove her thoughts and actions. He watched her eyes widening, the tears ceasing as realisation overcame her and she shrank from his impending assault.

"Nay!" Meril brokenly cried, terror and guilt limning the word, drawing her knees up as a shield and dashing her arm wildly against his imperilling hands.

That contact woke him from the lucid dream and Lindalcon straightened up, startled to find himself so open to accepting the lure of violent expulsion of his wrath and hate. Hate? Do I hate my mother? How alike we are; she cares not for the child of her body while I find means to despise the elleth that created me. Shame overcame the anger; an intense feeling of how deep would be Valtamar's disappointment to know his son had sunk so low. Abruptly he turned his back to Meril, squeezing shut his eyes to block the sight of her frightened face from his mind. He had not come here to act the part of executioner, yet even as the thought filled his mind he was forced to acknowledge the reality such imaginings revealed.

A hard and brutal truth was that to stomach, yet Lindalcon refused to hide from it. He could kill her; the capability but lay dormant, a dagger sheathed but ever at hand. He could indeed find enjoyment in claiming so final and complete a vengeance, and not for Valtamar alone but primarily for himself, for Meril's betrayal, the rape of his innocence, the destruction of any hope for happiness.She deserves such an end and I claim the right to bring it about.

Yet he had sampled the flavour of revenge and found it an unsatisfying substance to ingest. Verily, it seemed his partaking of it had created greater emptiness within his being, a ravenous hunger for more that had served only to bring him closer to committing the sin he sought to condemn. He saw himself anew, two views of Lindalcon displayed for his edification. One image presented the ellon he wanted to be, the son Valtamar smiled upon and loved, his father's pride and joy, an elder brother his siblings would look up to for guidance, a warrior worthy of such respect and admiration. The other showed Lindalcon as he was: broken and twisted, a soul warped by the incessant pressures of loss and guilt and anger, deserving only pity and rejection.

The idea revolted him and Lindalcon fought again the need to vomit. I will see Ada again; I will! And when that day came he wanted nothing more than to look into those same adoring brown eyes that had always smiled upon him from the valiant warrior's loving visage. Gathering that concept closely around his bruised and battered heart, Lindalcon chose to remain the son of Valtamar.

The decision did not relieve his suffering, however, and granted but meagre comfort to know the power of choice remained his. He summoned the will to finish his inquisition, heaving several laboured breaths before he could retain enough air to give voice to his thoughts. He turned with opened eyes to Meril.

"Of course I forgave Gildin. He was not at fault. Hearing that one conversation without knowing the end of the tale was not enough to make the picture clear. He was right; none would first think that kinslaying was being so coolly discussed. Breaking sacred bonds and discrediting Legolas, these were serious enough errors, yet Gildin did not feel it was his place to interfere. The schemers implied that their mates were unfaithful; who would not think of separating from false lovers? As for Legolas, the old warrior felt he had not much status of which to be stripped anyway and was unconcerned. I forgave him, on my behalf and Legolas', for I have learned the burden revenge lays upon the soul of those who claim it. Gildin's last exhale was used to thank me; he has found peace.

"Now is your opportunity to ask the same gift of me, for I would rather grant expiation than exact retaliation. What have you to say to this, Naneth? Will you recount the history that led to the scene Gildin witnessed?" Lindalcon stood before his mother, face contorted in bereavement, voice calm yet tense with bitterness, braced for her retelling of the incriminating event.

Meril found her mouth dry and her thoughts as dust, scattered on the wind, whirling in all directions, incapable of being collected into any coherent order. She could not admit that her undoing had come about, especially in such a manner. She had thought herself safe once Rochendil was forced to leave the forest. Ben'waeth's tongue she could control, one way or another, and no one else knew anything. Never would she have considered a third party was eavesdropping on her meeting with the horse master that day. That Gildin had chosen to unburden his soul to her son was preposterous. It simply could not be happening; she must be trapped in some insane nightmare. She stared at Lindalcon and listlessly shook her head. Her son could not be standing here proclaiming her doom.

"Will you not answer? I need to understand. There has to be an explanation and only you can provide it. This at the least you owe me," he reiterated, his tone now pleading and his eyes aglitter with the clinging liquid layer left by uncountable tears. He took a tentative step toward her and held forth his hand, but his soul blenched even as his mother recoiled from him, her shrewd, calculating eyes surveying him closely. He let his arm drop limply to his side and just stared at her in dismal despondency, for the elleth before him was more foreign to his perception than any orc could be.

Yet Meril said nothing.

"What of the payment in treasure? How did you buy Rochendil's silence? Was Thranduil involved in this? Speak, Nana, I beg you!" Now Lindalcon dropped to his knees on the floor and took her hands forcibly into his, gripping tight as she tried to get loose.

"Is that what you would ask me, Lindalcon?" she snapped, her tone fraught with contempt, yanking free of his hold, arising so that he was forced to stand and move back. "How Rochendil was paid for his nefarious deed? You do not question if Gildin's summation is true; you have no desire to hear me refute these unforgivable charges? Be cautious of repeating this tale, for the story indicts Thranduil in an act of kinslaying. With far lesser provocation the King has broken many an Elf. Let this go, Lindalcon, before I lose you."

"Lies and threats, this is the way you reply, denying it to my face, hoping for Thranduil's love of the children to prevent him from acting against you?" seethed Lindalcon. "Perhaps he would have me killed indeed, but you cannot. If you were capable of such a thing my father would have died in his bed at home instead of on the field of battle. I warn you; it is not Thranduil with whom I will share this knowledge but the Council. Iarwain will do as the Law allows.

"Yet if you will be honest with me no one else need ever know. I will escort you to the Grey Havens and see you off across the Sea. There you may start over and find means to repay the horrible debt you owe to so many: Ada, Andamaitë, Analdîr, Fearfaron, Gildin and his family, Ningloriel, Legolas, Taurant, Gwilith, and me. What say you, Naneth?"

"There is nothing to say, Lindalcon, for you have already judged and convicted me. What use are my words in the face of such betrayal?"

Meril's cold response fell like biting sleet upon naked flesh, so harsh was their impact upon her first-born's ears. Lindalcon heaved a great sigh and his chin fell to his chest, eyes closing to shield his mind from the sight of her. He did not look upon his Naneth again as he spoke to her for the last time.

"Then I relinquish you to the verdict your silence has chosen. I go to inscribe all that was told to me by Gildin in a declaration of condemnation. I will name you a kinslayer, the author of Adaren's murder."

He heard her sharp intake of air as he turned and trod the few steps to the door. The distance seemed leagues long and he felt nigh exhaustion, for these recent days had been trying beyond anything in his previous experience, culminating in the ultimate loss of every normal, familiar, and comforting aspect of his childhood. It seemed to him that such were not events fit to mark an Elf's Coll O Gweth. (Coming of Age) He opened the portal and paused just beyond the threshold, hoping to hear her following, hastening to stop him, to confess to him, to explain everything in such a way that he could forgive her and permit himself to love her still. He heard nothing beyond his respiration and the hasty tempo of his heavy heart.

Lindalcon shut the door softly and left the stronghold.

TBC