Chapter 2: Unexpected complications

Draw, release. Pull another arrow and fit it against his bowstring. Galithil concentrated on efficiency--on moving as quickly as he could. The bow would never be his favored weapon, but this was the largest group of orcs that they had encountered on their journey south so far. Every enemy that he could fell with an arrow was one that he would not have to face on the ground. Or that would not escape to attack a nearby village.

Galithil did not know this particular part of the forest. Instead of taking the normal path that led straight from the stronghold to his family's village, they cut across the forest to the western border and followed it southward. That made the journey longer, but they avoided the patrols and other villages, giving them best chance of approaching Manadhien at unawares.

Traveling that route also meant they ran across orcs--three times--in the un-patrolled areas of the forest. Dolgailon had clearly not expected that. Galithil doubted his brother would have risked this route if he had.

Galithil glanced left towards a downward motion that he could not identify. It was Galuauth lowering his bow. Another fast glance explained why. His guard was out of arrows. He was a fast shot. Faster than Galithil, for certain.

Dolgailon made two short whistles.

The orcs redoubled their panicked efforts to escape. They knew the meaning of that call, apparently. Galithil reached for another arrow, this time spreading his fingers wide as he did. Only two arrows left in his quiver after this one. It was just as well Dolgailon made the signal for everyone to prepare to go to the ground. Galithil released the arrow, shouldered his bow swiftly, and pulled his sword from its sheath. His arrow sank into an orc's ear.

Dolgailon loosed one long whistle.

With a deep breath, Galithil looked at Galuauth. The guard nodded. Galithil did not stop to think. The first time they had to fight orcs on this journey, he learned that not giving himself time to think was the key. He made two running steps further along the branch he was perched on and leapt down, directly next to an orc trying to escape past his position. The drop to the ground was enough momentum to cleave the orc's shoulder pauldron and his shoulder underneath it, nearly separating its arm. The orc dropped to its knees, screeching, and Galithil placed his foot on its chest to push it over and to gain leverage to free his sword. Galuauth covered his back, killing two orcs, while Galithil raised his sword to a high guard to face another attack.

One orc fell to Galithil's downswing, when his sword plunged into its gut. Another fell to his upswing, which cut across an orc neck. He parried the sword coming at him in his peripheral vision, forcing his enemy's sword down and to the side. Then he stepped inside the orc's range, while drawing his belt knife. He thrust it under the orc's breast blade. Disgusting black blood flowed onto his hand and knife hilt. He pushed the orc away and stepped back to face the next enemy.

It was over as fast as it started. The sounds of screams and clashing metal were replaced by low groans and otherwise utter silence in the trees around them.

Galithil turned a full circle, making sure no more orcs stood. Then he looked for his brother and found him, on the opposite side of the battle field, scrutinizing the blood on Galithil's tunic. Galithil looked down at himself. Only black blood. Dolgailon had already come to the same conclusion and was accounting for all the guards. While his back was turned, Galithil looked his brother up and down. The only blood on his clothes was also black. Galithil quietly released a long breath that only shuddered slightly and began wiping down his sword.  

"Strip them and pile them up," Dolgailon ordered.

Galithil immediately bent over the last orc he killed and concentrated fully on the task at hand, grateful for it. If he focused on destroying the orcs, he did not have time to think about anything else. His hands did not shake as much. Or least it was easier to hide how badly they shook. And Galithil refused to allow any of the guards, or worse, Dolgailon, to see his hands shaking.

He took the orc's knife and sword, used its own knife to cut off its breast plate and then he tossed them both, along with the sword, onto a pile of metal Dolgailon and Galudiron had already started. He picked up the orc's leg and dragged it to another pile--one of dead orcs. Then he went to another orc. This one was still moaning. He leaned over and slit its throat, careful to cut deeply, but to do so at arms length, in order to avoid the blood that would spurt forth. He learned that the hard way after their first battle. He had burned that tunic along with the orcs.

He dragged this orc, still bleeding, to the pile and hefted it onto it.

"You fought well," Dolgailon said to him, speaking quietly, as he deposited his own orc onto the pile. "Again," he added, his voice bitter and his expression stern.

Galithil smiled at him, pride driving off at least some of the shakiness. As for Dolgailon's tone, Galithil knew his brother's anger was not directed at him. But he was angry. Angry in a way Galithil had never seen him. Angry in a way that looked far too much like Uncle Thranduil with foreign criminals in his court. That was definitely something Galithil did not want to entangle himself in.

They worked silently, set fire to the pile of orcs and stashed the scavenged metal in a small, nearby cave made by a jutting rock. Dolgailon would send a patrol to retrieve it later. Then, without any more wasted time, they retrieved their horses from where they had scattered during the battle, mounted and moved on.

They traveled until the sun was almost midway across the sky before reaching a small clearing. Something moved in it.

Galithil tensed, gripped his bow, which he carried in his hand while riding, and looked to Dolgailon. His brother only raised his hand, a signal that they would stop. Neither he nor any of the guards seemed alarmed, so Galithil peered more carefully into the clearing, trying to determine what they saw that he did not.

Ostarndor and Morillion, the captains of the Southern and Western patrols, emerged from the shadows of the forest and stepped forward to greet Dolgailon as he jumped down from his horse. Galithil and the guards dismounted as well.

"You sent for us to meet you," Ostarndor called, inclining his head to Dolgailon.

"So here we are," Morillion added.

Their casual attitude quickly disappeared under the Troop Commander's harsh glare and the two captains came to attention.

Dolgailon stepped between them and then walked past them without a word, pointing into the clearing they had just left, a silent request to speak to them in private. Galithil sucked a soft breath across his teeth. He knew what private conversations meant. Not warm pleasantries, that was certain. Those two officers were not going to enjoy explaining the presence of all those orcs to the Troop Commander. Not at all.

Ostarndor and Morillion turned to comply and as they did, both looked back at the guards, to at least nod in greeting to them.

Ostarndor froze in mid-nod as his gaze passed over them. Then he took a step towards them. "Galithil?" he exclaimed.

Galithil smiled at him a little sheepishly, given the circumstances. "Mae govannen, Ostarndor. Morillion," he said quietly.

Morillion turned at the sound of his name and, seeing Galithil, his eyes widened. "Galithil?" he repeated, confused. "Is that orc blood?" he asked, eyes fixed on Galithil's tunic.

"It is," Dolgailon answered, also stopping and turning to face Galithil. "That is what I intend to talk to you about."

"Galithil is already joining the patrol?" Morillion asked, trying to conceal his surprise and still looking Galithil over, especially the sword and bow he carried. "But why bring him this far south?" he continued. "This has to be his first patrol. I would prefer him stationed much closer to the Path. At least until he is tested." His gaze lingered on Galithil's tunic again. "Of course, if he has already been tested..." he let that statement trail off when he noticed the bandage on Galithil's forearm, where the orc in their second fight had cut him.

"But he could not be of age," Ostarndor protested. "It has not been fifty years since Lord Aradunnon left his village to live in the stronghold, and he went there to raise Galithil."

Morillion swung back around on Dolgailon. "Is he not of age, my lord? In that case, I really must object. I realize who he is, but even you were of age before you joined the patrols."

That exchange drove Galithil to stare at Morillion. The captain of the Western Patrol thought he was joining a patrol? His patrol? That was insane. First year warriors, even if he was one, which he was not, went to the Guards, not the Patrols.

"I am not of age," Galithil replied. "But neither am I joining a patrol. Not today, at any rate."

"Quite correct," Dolgailon said, his tone icy. "Of course, despite that fact, for the last three days he has done the job of the Western Patrol. I intended to do you the courtesy of discussing the three orcs encampments we destroyed in private. We can have this discussion in public if you insist."

"Three orc encampments?" Morillion and Ostarndor repeated, instantly focused on that alarming news.

"Yes," Dolgailon confirmed, ignoring the fact that Galithil and the guards still stood a few steps away. "One a little over half day's travel west of Midhion's village. Another the same distance from Nandoril's village. And you will find the carcasses of the last still burning less then half a day's travel due north."

"Those are areas my patrol does not normally frequent, my lord," Morillion responded. "We visit those villages and patrol their surrounds, but only the areas where the villagers hunt. The areas further outside the villages...those particular villages..." he paused, thinking. "The last time we passed that deep into the unoccupied forest would have been at the full moon. The western border is very long, my lord. Our priorities are the forest edge, to keep out incursions by men, and the areas inhabited by villages."

"Do you think I do not know that?" Dolgailon snapped. "Do you think I will accept any excuse for finding almost one hundred orcs inside your patrol area? If you are patrolling the forest edge, how did you not see signs of them?" He turned to Ostarndor. "Unless they came up from the south, inside the forest. In that case, how did you not see signs of them?"

"They might have come up from the south, my lord," Ostarndor replied, "and we would not have seen them. My patrol has moved north of the southern villages and south of the mountains, per your last orders. Orcs could very well slip between your village and the forest border under those circumstances, if your village guards do not do their job. And I warned you not to count on village guards to do that job."

Dolgailon frowned. "My last orders to you were for you to carry on as you were," he began. Then he froze, realization dawning, and his gaze darted to Galithil and the guards. "Surely she has not become so bold," he said.

"Apparently, she has," Galithil answered softly.

Dolgailon muttered some words Galithil did not think he would have said in court. Then he turned and resumed his march to the clearing. "Come, sit down," he ordered, making a gesture that encompassed Galithil, the guards, and his captains. The anger had left his voice.  Everyone hurried after him and they sat in a tight group on several logs.

Galithil studied the clearing as he sat next to his brother. The ground here was well trodden and the logs had not naturally fallen in this arrangement. This must be a meeting place the patrols used.

"My last orders to the Southern Patrol," Dolgailon said to Ostarndor once everyone was seated. "What were they, exactly?"

Ostarndor looked at Dolgailon askance, but he pulled a folded paper from the pouch on his belt. "I have the orders right here, my lord."

"Good," Dolgailon said, taking the paper.

Galithil blatantly leaned over his brother's shoulder to look at it and he drew a sharp breath in surprise. The letters were Dolgailon's hand. Galithil would have sworn to it. He reached and bent the paper at its fold.

"Dolgailon, that is your seal," he exclaimed.

"It is an outstanding copy of it," Dolgailon agreed. "As this is an amazing forgery of my writing."

"Forgery!" Ostarndor cried.

Dolgailon lifted his gaze to look back at him and nodded. "I did not order you to position your patrols north of the villages or south of the mountains. I can think of no good reason to do that."

Ostarndor and Morillion were shaking their heads. "What is the meaning of this, my lord?" Morillion asked.

"The meaning of this is the reason Galithil and I have come south. It is the original reason why I sent for both of you to meet me here. And none too soon, it would appear," Dolgailon answered. And then he proceeded to explain who Moralfien was and what crimes she had committed, including her first attempts against the queen, her alliance with orcs, the murder of the queen's parents, her most recent attempts against Legolas and the murder of Celonhael, the warriors and guards. By the time he was finished, Morillion and Ostarndor were reduced to open-mouthed staring.

Ostarndor pointed to the orders in Dolgailon's hands. "So you are saying that she forged those orders and sent them to me, so that orcs could pass through my patrol area and into Morillion's?" His finger swung around to point at his fellow captain.

"Those orcs were outside Midhion and Nanodoril's villages, you said," Morillion whispered.

"And the ones today were within a reasonable march of your village or Nandoril's," Galithil added, looking hard at his brother.

"Surely, no elf would conspire with orcs to attack innocent villagers," Ostarndor said, frowning.

Dolgailon nodded. "Moralfien would. Her plans are clearly advancing much more quickly than we expected. We need to get word of this to the king. Immediately."

"What is the king doing about this?" Ostarndor asked.

"Galithil and I are here as part of a plan to arrest her," Dolgailon responded. "The king has had spies watching her for a month now--since we realized who she was--and we have identified all her servants but one. The King wants that servant found before we move against her. Galithil and I are going to the village to keep an eye on her, ensure she does not escape, and to thwart the worst of her schemes--like this one," he shook the orders in his hand, "until we can arrest her. The king has given us one month to find the unknown servant. After that, we arrest her and you two," he pointed at Morillion and Ostarndor, "will be helping us do that, because we will also be arresting two other elves in that village for treason and detaining her entire council and three guards for suspicion of treason."

Ostarndor and Morillion nodded, too stunned to manage anything else.

"Until we arrest her," Dolgailon continued, "we had already decided to make some changes in the way the orders for both your patrols are managed. The need for those changes is now very clear. From now on, orders will come directly from me, in my village. Your couriers should expect to take them from no one's hands but mine or Galithil's directly and they must travel to the village to receive them. Moreover, I want you both to use specific couriers and no one else. Haradon for the Southern Patrol and Geledhel for the Western. If they cannot come for some reason, send only one of your officers. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," they answered.

Dolgailon pulled his most recent orders--legitimate ones--from his tunic and opened them. "To ensure all correspondence is authentic, it will now include this symbol. And anything you send to me or to the stronghold should contain the same symbol, so we know it truly came from you." He handed them the orders, pointing to the miniature of his device, hidden amongst the runes.

They studied it.

"Obviously, a very good and necessary idea," Ostarndor said.

Dolgailon nodded. "Tell no one of any of this," he concluded. "Not who Moralfien is, the change in reporting procedures, and especially nothing about this symbol. No one but your officers. And make sure they understand they may tell no one. Until Moralfien's final servant is caught, we must assume it might be anyone."

"Yes, my lord," they repeated.

Dolgailon turned to Galithil. "I think we had better hurry to that village. The sooner we bring her under control, the better."

"And the sooner we get word of this," Galithil flicked the fake orders with a finger, "to the king, the better," he added.

"Indeed," Dolgailon agreed.

*~*~*

Manadhien stared past the empty chairs at the end of the meeting table to glare at the tapestries that decorated the walls of her Hall. She always hated those tapestries and not just because they depicted the supposedly great deeds of the former lords of this village. She also hated them because she did not doubt that they were woven by the former ladies of this village, who she also hated. But now she had a new reason to hate them: simply because she could see them. She should not be able to see them. Her view of them should be obstructed by her loyal servants and longtime friends, Fuilin, Mauril and Demil. It was once.

But now, Fuilin was forced into hiding far to the south. Worse still, Mauril and Demil were dead. Dead along with two other dear friends, Lagril and Pelin. She could scarcely believe it. She had not yet truly fathomed their loss. They often served her separated from her by great distances. Even so, she always knew they were here. Somewhere in Middle Earth. They would come if she called for them. They would follow her to the ends of Arda.

Now they, like so many others dear to her, were in Mandos. Sent there by the House of Oropher.

Her hand clenched around the blue jewel in her skirt pocket. So many losses.

"This letter, my lady, is from Selwon," Gwathron said, interrupting her musings. "He says that their village is short of guards since two of theirs, brothers, have gone to look after their sister. Her husband was one of the recent fatalities in the Southern Patrol. He asks if we can spare a guard--he prefers two--until they return, which he expects will be sometime before the new moon."

Manadhien took the letter Gwathron offered her and glanced over it.

"I recommend we try to find someone to send," Mornil said softly as she refolded it and placed it on the table. "We cannot leave Selwon and his people to depend on Thranduil's patrols for their defense. To do so would be cruel."

Manadhien nodded. "Speak to Seregon," she said, directing herself to Mornil. "Command him to send Buiowon and his younger brother to Selwon's village. I will prepare a response for them to carry to Selwon." She turned back to Gwathron.

"That is the last matter for us to consider, my lady," he said.

"Thank you, Gwathron," she said, and she nodded to the scribe at the end of the table. A dismissal.

The scribe stood, bowed to her, picked up his materials, and left the Hall.

Manadhien, Gwathron and Mornil did not move from the table.

"Baranil reports that he saw the owl again, my lady," Gwathron said as soon as the Hall was empty of everyone but them. "It is definitely the same one. It has a distinct speckled pattern on its breast. And he is certain he saw a pouch on its leg."

"Did he find where it is landing?" Manadhien asked.

"Somewhere on the outskirts of the village, on the southern edge, but it had flown again before he got there. He will see it land next time, now that he knows generally where to wait for it."

"Good," she said. She did not like this owl. It could be just a villager communicating with family, but she doubted it. People used hawks or falcons or doves for that if they did not use regular couriers. Not owls.

"Fuilin reports the orcs killed a hawk they were suspicious of near their camp," Mornil added.

He seemed almost eager to hear her response to that news. The amusement he derived from watching her temper was almost disturbing. She refused to rise to the bait. "Good," was all she said. "Are the orcs in place? Are we ready?"

"Yes, my lady," Gwathron replied. "Do you honestly believe this will draw both Thranduil and Dolgailon out?"

She laughed a cold laugh. "The outright slaughter of two villages? Yes, they will both come to avenge that. You will personally lead the last group of orcs to capture Thranduil and Dolgailon. No mistakes."

"We still do not have a plan to draw out Legolas. Or Galithil," Mornil said. "The king still has heirs, if young ones."

"That Legolas is still alive is not my fault, Mornil," Manadhien replied. "It is your brother's." She paused to glare at him when he made a face. "We will find a way to deal with Legolas. With luck, the people will not accept so young a king. We will see. But, regardless, plans are advancing. He wants the forest entirely under our control and that suits me. It is time for greater things. And time to avenge the losses they have dealt us. Definitively."

Both Gwathron and Mornil nodded to that.

"Let us go prepare for dinner," she said, rising from the table. She was just drawing a breath to dismiss them when the door of the Hall opened and Solchion rushed through it. He walked straight towards her.

"Dolgailon has returned, my lady," he announced, without waiting for her leave to speak. "He must have come from the border rather than the stronghold. My cousin was watching further north on the path, as you ordered, to make sure we had better notice of any arrivals and he did not send word of seeing them. What is more, my lady, Dolgailon has some child with him."

"A child?" Manadhien exclaimed. Despite the supreme annoyance of suffering the renewed intrusion of the king's nephew--not to mention the fact that his presence here might endanger her current plans--the idea of him arriving with a child was intriguing. He would only be traveling with either Galithil or Legolas.

"At best, the person accompanying him is just barely of age," Solchion clarified. "He does not appear to be fully an adult."

Manadhien frowned. "What color hair does the child have? And is it only one child?"

"One, my lady," Solchion confirmed. "He has silver hair. Like Dolgailon's."

"Galithil?" Mornil and Gwathron whispered, eyes locked on her.

"Almost certainly," Manadhien replied, also in a whisper. "I wonder what has inspired Lord Dolgailon to bring his delightful younger brother to our village," she continued in a normal voice, while stepping around the table. She stifled a smirk as Mornil, Gwathron and Solchion tried to work out if her description of Galithil was sincere.

By the time she reached the end of the Hall to pass through its open doors, Dolgailon--and it was, indeed, Galithil, she saw as she descended the stairs of the Hall--had already entered the village. People were calling to him and hurrying to the courtyard to greet him as they always did when any member of the king's family made an appearance. She pasted a neutral expression her face in an effort to disguise her disdain for their foolishness. The villagers made way for her and bowed as she passed.

"My lord Dolgailon," she said in a soft voice that cut over the clamoring villagers. Then she silently watched Dolgailon tense and say a few more words to the people nearest him, before turning to her. Keeping her expression bland, she studied him as carefully as she could while approaching him. His last visit to the village was uncomfortable in its timing, at best, so soon after the debacle that her plans for Legolas had become. Add on to that his unfortunate discovery of her purchase of those horses, and the visit was nearly disaster. She needed those horses in those villages for her current plans to work. Fortunately, he brought horses for the villages himself.

Still, she had trouble determining if his attitude towards her during that visit stemmed solely from his discovery of her 'illegal trade' or if he, and therefore the king, since Dolgailon did not seem capable of independent thought, had discovered something more. That was her primary worry. She had no idea how thoroughly Thranduil questioned Mauril or Lagril before their deaths. Rumor said they died in battle, without speaking to anyone. Her last remaining source of information in the stronghold, such that it was, seemed certain Lagril died before Thranduil spoke to him. They saw him die, so they claimed. But Mauril and especially Pelin, who the king had killed personally.... She knew nothing for certain of how they died. And given that Thranduil had been willing to abuse Fuilin to make him speak, he might have done the same, in earnest, to either Pelin or Mauril and actually learned something significant.

Coming to stand before Dolgailon and Galithil, she drew and released a deep, calming breath, in an effort to control herself. Thranduil would pay. Soon.

"Lady Moralfien," Dolgailon said in response to her greeting. His tone was distinctly stiff, but he managed the half-bow that seemed rung from him during his last visit.

Galithil, on the other hand, bowed to her properly and even had a pleasant smile on his naive little face.

That made her answering curtsy all the more easy.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your return, my lord?" she asked, now gazing directly into Dolgailon's eyes. He was her same height. Shorter than Oropher had been, despite looking so much like him with that absurd silver hair. Like an old man's, she thought, though she could not deny, even to herself, that was not entirely true. The silver hair of the House of Thingol gleamed like True Silver. She shook off that thought.

She had more important things to concentrate on. For example, how she would convince Dolgailon to leave her in charge of this village, if his return signified that he intended to reclaim rule of it. That was certainly what she expected him to say, but she could not allow it. Not when her plans were so close to fruition. She would have to persuade him differently. Of course, persuasion was never something she found difficult.

"I have a favor to ask of you, in truth, my lady," he replied as Seregon led off their horses.

Manadhien frowned, following the six horses with her eyes. Four guards. Why four guards for two people? She belatedly scanned the guards' faces and could not restrain a sigh of relief. None of them would know her. Then she focused on Dolgailon's words. "A favor?" she repeated, genuinely surprised. "How may I be of service, my lord?" She did not care when his expression registered annoyance, likely due to the assumption that her sigh arose from an unwillingness to do him, or his family, any favors. He was correct if he though that, so no harm done.

"The king wants Galithil," he gestured to his brother. "I believe you have met?" he interrupted himself.

She nodded.

"We have met," Galithil confirmed with a bright smile and another nod to her.

She found she could not help but smile back at him.

"The king wants Galithil educated in the governance of villages," Dolgailon continued. "He asked me to bring him to this village, since it is one of the largest, with the most complex administration and defense, so that he might learn."

The momentary relief Manadhien had felt at the mention of a favor fled. The favor still required her to relinquish rule of this village. She did not allow her reaction to show on her face. "So you intend to reclaim the leadership of the village to teach him," she said to buy herself a moment to devise an argument against that plan.

She could, perhaps, suggest another village. A smaller one, she thought. But she immediately disregarded that idea. It might sound insulting and it would not do to arouse their anger by insulting them. Galithil might learn more about a wider variety of villages by working with Golwon rather than staying one one village in particular. That was a good starting point, but surely one the king had already though of and discarded. Why would he have rejected that idea and how could she counter his arguments? Her mind raced, formulating a defense.

"Therein lies the need for a favor, my lady" Dolgailon said, interrupting her thoughts. "I simply do not have time to manage this village, teach Galithil and command the patrols. We were hoping that you would be willing to allow Galithil to serve you and to teach him as he does so."

That request caused Manadhien stare at Dolgailon. "You want me to teach him?" she repeated. The king was delivering his foster son directly into her awaiting arms? It was impossible to trust that sort of luck. Something had to be wrong with this request. She turned her mind to determining what it might be.

"I would not be too great a burden, my lady, I assure you," Galithil hastened to say. "Indeed, I might even be of some useful service to you. I have served the king's court for over fifteen years, first as just a scribe, but for the last few years as a member of his council. And I have served the Troop Commander's office for equally as long. I have some idea how both petitions and defense are managed. I really just need to learn more about the specific needs of villages, especially those in the south. It is so different here than near the stronghold." He paused and took a step towards her. "I suggested to the king that this village would be the best place for me to learn, not just because it was my adar's, but mostly because you suggested to me once that you would be willing to work with me. Remember? When Legolas and I last visited the village? I hope I was correct that you were being sincere and not simply offering empty promises. You seem too honest for such things," he concluded with that same, guileless smile.

She studied him narrowly. If the child had suggested it, perhaps it was a fortunate opportunity and not a trap.

"You will be leaving him here?" she asked, speaking to Dolgailon.

He shook his head immediately, barely concealing a horrified expression. "He is under age and still requires a guardian," he explained. "I will be staying in the village to supervise him."

"And so you will be managing the patrols from this village?" Manadhien asked. That had advantages as well. Did Dolgailon tense at that question?

"I will," he replied. His tone carefully measured once again. "As well as the defense of this village," he added.

Galithil seemed surprised by that. His head turned sharply to look over his shoulder at his brother.

Dolgailon smiled thinly. "I will concede that Manadhien is more experienced than I in the governance of the village," he said. "But I think I am a more experienced captain than she."

Galithil turned back to her. He appeared worried.

Manadhien said nothing, weighing their proposal. If she had been wondering only moments ago how to draw out Galithil, here he was. So was the Troop Commander. They both had willingly come to swords range. Dolgailon wanted command of the village guard. Well, he could imagine he had it, with Seregon and his few foolish guards. The baulk of the guards were still loyal to her and would take her orders over his when it came to that. And with Dolgailon here, she would have troop orders originating from her village. But she would have Galithil nosing in all her business. And likely Dolgailon too. They seemed fairly set on this idea. The likelihood of changing their minds seemed slim. She made her decision.

"I would be happy to teach him, of course," she agreed, smiling at Galithil.

He bowed to her again. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded. She would see what benefit she could derive from this arrangement. At least it allowed her to continue with her current plans, relatively undeterred. It might even speed them up considerably, depending. "Once you are settled in your talan, call on me in mine. I will introduce you to the village accounts and the most recent issues we have been managing."

"I will be there directly, my lady," Galithil replied. And he spoke with the same deferential tone she long heard directed at Fingolfin and later Fingon.

She did like Galithil. He was always respectful. Pity. With a departing curtsy, she turned towards her flet.

*~*~*

Galithil watched Manadhien walk away and loosed a long, quiet sigh of relief. She had accepted their plan. Now he had only to work with her for a month. And try to figure out who was spying for her. Yes, only that. Still, he could not help but at least hope the hard part was over.

His thoughts were interrupted when, after a few more words to several villagers, Dolgailon drew him aside with an almost painfully tight grasp on his shoulder. Instead of walking towards their own talan, he led him to an unoccupied corner of the village courtyard. Once they were safely away from lurking ears, Dolgailon leaned closer, whispering right into his brother's face.

"Are you mad?" he asked. "You do remember that you are speaking to an elleth that is personally responsible for killing our aunt's parents and who ordered the deaths of at least five others, one of whom was our uncle?"

Galithil's brows drew together severely before he stopped himself. They were still in too public a location to openly argue. "Not to mention the elleth that ordered Legolas, who is every bit as much my brother as you are, sold to men. Of course I remember that," he answered back, his words clipped. "I also remember that our plan to keep watch over her for the next month depends on her willingness to essentially apprentice me. No one wants a rude, arrogant apprentice. Especially Manadhien. She is impressed with manners. I learned that quickly the last time I spoke with her. So that is what I am giving her."

"Do not overplay your part," Dolgailon said, still with a disgusted tone.

"My ability to play this part well will save you from the need to execute two elves, Dolgailon," Galithil retorted in a low whisper, fixing his older brother with an even glare. "Do not forget that if Manadhien bolts, you must go directly after Fuilin. And, worse still, Glilavan, who was your friend for five hundred years. You told the king that you could manage executing him. Perhaps you could. But would you not prefer to avoid that deed if at all possible?"

Now Dolgailon's brow knit, but not from anger. From concern. "Let me worry about what happens if Manadhien flees," he said softly. "Let me worry about everything to do with her. You do as the king ordered and limit your interactions with her to the minimum required to support this ruse."

Galithil nodded, but pulled away from Dolgailon's grasp. "I will do as the king ordered. And I will be the judge of what those minimum interactions are and how I behave during them. You brought me here. Let me do my part."

Dolgailon loosed a heavy sigh. "I intend to," he said. "Come. Let us find Seregon. He and I will show you how we order the defense of this village. Pay careful attention. If we are attacked while we are here--and that is always a possibility this far south," he lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced into the branches, "and not only because she is here--but if we are attacked, I will expect you to fight as you did on our way here." He turned and walked off towards a talan in the center of the southern side of the village.

Galithil could not suppress a broad smile, proud of the trust Dolgailon had placed in him, both traveling and now, to help protect the village. And that reminded him of another topic. "Dolgailon," he called. "Do you really intend to send me directly to the Western Patrol? That is what Morillion seemed to expect."

"I do," Dolgailon responded. "I judge that your swordsmanship and focus warrant it. This journey proved that to me." Then he looked sidelong at Galithil. "Assuming that you intend to join a patrol."

"I told you that I would," Galithil said. "At least until I have learned to fight."

"Well, learn you will in the Western Patrol."

Galithil did not doubt that. He felt a swell of pride that his brother thought him skilled enough to join a patrol. The Western Patrol, no less. They encountered enemies almost every day. And not just wicked men, fleeing justice in Dale or Esgaroth. But spiders and, especially in their southern range, even orcs. Dolgailon often joked that he intended to send both Galithil and Legolas directly to a patrol instead of one of the Guards, where most new warriors first served. He had even made those jokes in the King's presence. Galithil doubted anyone had ever even suspected Dolgailon was serious.

"Do you intend to send Legolas to a patrol too?" he asked.

Dolgailon nodded as he pulled down a rope ladder that appeared to be the only access to the talan they now stood under.

"May I ask which one? Also the Western Patrol?"

Now Dolgailon shook his head. "You and Legolas and I will never serve in the same patrol. And only in dire need would the three of us fight on the same battlefield with the king. I am sending Legolas to the Northern Patrol."

Galithil's eyes widened. That patrol also regularly fought powerful enemies. Occasionally, even cold drakes or, more rarely, fire drakes that came down from the Ered Mithrin to hunt.

"His bowmanship will serve well in that patrol against drakes. Serving there is how I improved my archery skills," Dolgailon continued, echoing Galithil's thoughts.

"May I tell Legolas that?" he asked.

"You may," Dolgailon answered. "But it goes without saying that neither of you may mention this in the presence of the king. This is an argument that I intend to have with him only once and only when it is necessary. Not before."

Galithil could not blame his brother for that.

*~*~*

Lamplight danced across Legolas's face in the nearly silent Hall--the only noise was the scritching of his quill. It stopped, causing Thranduil to look up from his own reading. With his right hand, Legolas slid the petition response he had just finished to the end of the table, nearer Thranduil. With his left, he picked up the last petition.

Thranduil glanced over the paper Legolas passed him. He signed it without making any changes, waved it in the air a bit to dry the ink, folded it and set his seal on it. Then he placed it in the pile of finished correspondence to be given to the courier.  Rather than returning to his work, he watched his son a moment. Legolas had already begun writing again. Thranduil was quite impressed with the ease with which Legolas moved through the work in front of him. Gone was the uncertainty he once displayed in this duty--the numerous questions he directed to Hallion, the long deliberation and multiple responses he offered for the king's consideration. Now, Legolas worked confidently and alone. Indeed, Hallion paid no attention to him, focused instead entirely on his own work.

Finishing the last petition, Legolas wiped the ink from his pen on a blotter with one hand and placed the paper he had written onto one of the two much smaller stacks in front of him. One stack held responses that Golwon or one of his assistants would hand deliver, once they were approved by the king. The other held petitions that Legolas deemed warranted the king's personal attention in court.

'I wonder if helping Golwon deliver those decisions to the villages, at least the safer northern and western ones, and might be a worthy duty for Legolas over the next year?' Thranduil thought as he watched his son. The decision to remove Legolas from the Training Program clearly weighed heavily on him. Thranduil had intended for it to do so, but that did not make it easy to watch. Giving Legolas more meaningful duties might make the next year more bearable for him. And helping Golwon would be good experience. It would serve to introduce Legolas to numerous village leaders and teach him to manage them, at least as far as they could be managed.

Legolas straightened the smaller stacks and then turned to straighten the stack he had placed in front of Thranduil. Only then did he notice all the papers were all signed and sealed.

He looked up at the king with an amused grin.

Thranduil smiled at him.

"Is there anything else you would like for me to help with?" Legolas asked.

Hallion shook his head without looking up from his own reading. "No. I am afraid there is nothing here you can help me with," he replied, laying his hand over his own stack of papers.

Legolas leaned closer to the king's steward, making to look over his shoulder. Hallion was analyzing Conuion's reports concerning the progress he made, thus far, in his search for their remaining spy.

Manadhien was not a topic Thranduil cared for his son to dwell upon. "Legolas, you should go spend some time merry making on the Green before dinner," he intervened.

Legolas turned a raised eyebrow on his father, making it clear that he recognized that suggestion for the diversion it was.

"Go spend time with your friends before your naneth becomes angry with me for giving her little elfling too much work and keeping him from his games on the Green," Thranduil added in a teasing voice--an effort at further distraction.

It worked. Legolas openly cringed at that description of himself, making a sour face. He rose quickly from his chair. "By your leave, then, my lord," he said, sketching a bow. He looked directly at Thranduil with an entirely too bland expression. "I will fetch my bow," he added. "I am certain I can find some lie-about, even at this early hour, to game with me."

Thranduil loosed a brief laugh in response to his son's intentionally provocative reference to those rowdy games at the Oak and nodded his permission for him to leave.  

Legolas headed for the doors of the Hall and gestured for Colloth to stay where he was, idling at one of the back tables with Conuion, assuring him he would come back to fetch him before going outdoors.

Thranduil ran a thumb over the edges of the neatly stacked papers arranged on the table, ruffling through them. There was really little for him to do here. Except contemplate the same subject he was trying to make Legolas avoid. If Legolas could avoid it for a few more hours, perhaps he could as well.

"Legolas," he called, arresting his son's departure just as he reached the doors of the Hall.

"My lord?" Legolas responded, turning to face him fully.

"Fetch my bow as well. I believe you owe me a contest," he said, referring to the challenge he made...had a moon already passed since that conversation?

Legolas's eyes widened, no doubt in response to the idea that the king intended to game in the middle of the day. Or to publicly game at any time. "Not that I am reluctant to face you, my lord," he said. "I assure you that I am not. But if I am not mistaken, the Third Years would be using the archery range at this moment. Surely you do not intend to ask them to clear off only so that you may lose an archery contest?"

Thranduil laughed out loud at that arrogance. "There are targets under that Oak tree that we might use, are there not? What else would you reprobates shoot under there?"

Legolas's jaw fell open before he could stop himself. Colloth and Conuion turned in their chairs to face Thranduil. Even Hallion was looking at him with open amusement. "You intend to have this contest at the Oak?" Legolas asked. "You do understand the spectacle that this will cause?"

"And?" Thranduil replied.

Legolas grinned, bowed again, and left the Hall.

"Oh, I am coming to see this," Hallion said, dropping the paper in his hand and standing.

Thranduil smirked at him.

"If you will excuse me, my lord, I must retrieve some coins," he added, bowing and turning to leave through the secret door behind the throne without waiting for the king's leave to do so.

Thranduil's only response to that was to shake his head.

*~*~*

Standing under the great boughs of the Oak, Thranduil could not deny that he was surprised by exactly how correct Legolas had been to use the term 'spectacle.' Simply walking out of the stronghold, bow in hand, with his son, had garnered the attention of every elf within sight of the Gates. The questions began before they made it across the bridge. The instant Legolas confirmed they intended to have an archery contest, everyone that heard him scurried off to gather their friends and rush to the Oak.

Dollion, not surprisingly, was one of the first to appear, along with a good number of the Guard. Eying Thranduil somewhat nervously, Legolas's cousins and friends were the next to appear. Even Eirienil came, her mother with her and Golwon trailing behind them. After them came Hallion, who had fetched Engwe along with him. When the officers of the Training Program and their warriors began to appear, Thranduil raised an eyebrow. They were supposed to be on the training fields, as Legolas had already observed.

By the time Thranduil and Legolas were facing targets, the crowd that pressed around them was raucous. As raucous as battle. So raucous that Thranduil wondered if this would be a fair contest. As popular as it might be to watch Legolas compete, this level of distraction had to exceed anything he had ever experienced.

No need to worry about that.

Thranduil immediately learned that the reports he had heard of his son's skill with a bow were not exaggerated. Of course he knew that Legolas was very good. He taught him himself, after all. And he hunted with him at least twice a year for the spring and fall festivals. Legolas never failed to bring back a buck, since he was first allowed to participate in the hunts. Thranduil had seen he was an instinctive archer.

Still, he had not expected to be so vigorously challenged.

Legolas tied him twice speed shooting a stationary target. And twice more shooting targets tossed in the air.

Now, Thranduil stood with his hands on his hips, his own pride warring mightily with pride of his son, trying not to glare at him. Legolas could not suppress his grin, but he did have the good grace to keep his gaze directed at the ground. Aradunnon, the last person who came so very close to prevailing against the king in an archery contest, would have been openly gloating at this point.

The crowds around them were beyond frustration. Ties were difficult to bet on.

Thranduil considered suggesting they go to the Training Program's archery course to compete. All the warriors that were supposed to be training, and their officers, were standing around them, so they could do nothing more to interrupt them. He also considered calling for horses. On either the course or on horseback, he would easily best Legolas. His son had absolutely no experience shooting while moving, either running or on horseback, beyond drills in the Training Program. That fact soured the prospect of such competitions. Unequal contests never led to satisfying victories. Then he thought of another idea and looked at Legolas sidelong, while drawing a handful of arrows from his quiver.

"One more go," he said softly. "At either the stationary targets or the moving ones, your choice. But let us agree that we can draw arrows in any way we wish."

Somewhere behind him, Thranduil heard Hallion, Golwon, Engwe and Tirithion whisper to each other and then begin to call wagers over the number of arrows the king would now sink into the target. The numbers were high, as were the sums wagered. After a moment, Conuion laughed and joined in the betting.

Legolas glanced at them and raised a brow. He and Thranduil already competed drawing arrows from quivers on their back and stuck into the ground before them. They had already proven themselves equally fast and accurate at both. "Very well," he agreed with a suspicious tone.

He was right to be suspicious, as he would soon see, Thranduil thought, keeping his expression neutral.

"Stationary," Legolas added, opting for the easier of the two targets.

Thranduil only nodded and gestured for the targets to be set up.

Thranduil waited until all was ready--he did not want to spoil his uncles and old friend's bets, after all. Once the targets were in place, he positioned the six arrows from his quiver in his right hand--the hand he used to draw his bow--and continued to hold them as he fit one against his string. Then he checked to make sure at least twelve more arrows remained in his quiver.

A murmur arose in the crowd.

"What in all of Arda are you doing, adar," Legolas whispered to him.

"Preparing to slaughter you," Thranduil boasted, no longer able to contain himself. "You are an outstanding archer and no denying it. But I have been doing this, in war, for much, much longer than you. This is a style of shooting that I learned, perforce, during the War of Wrath. From a Noldo, I am constrained to admit. I think you will appreciate it. Or at least you will after you recover from how badly you will now be beaten."

Legolas loosed an insulted little puff of air, but his wary expression did not fade.

"Ready?" Tirithion asked, his tone anticipatory. No doubt anxious to collect his winnings.

Legolas and Thranduil both nodded.

At Tirithion's signal, they began loosing arrows. Legolas had chosen to draw his arrows from the ground before him, and he was faster shooting that way than drawing from his quiver. But each shot still required Legolas to pull the arrow from the ground and fit it to his string before he could draw.

Shooting as he was now, holding six arrows ready in his hand, Thranduil cut out one motion--the need to draw from quiver or ground. He had only to shift his arrows from his grip to the bowstring and draw. In that manner, he released all six arrows in his hand before Legolas sent three of his own flying to his target. Reaching into his quiver, Thranduil drew another handful of arrows, released each one and drew another handful, hitting his target ten more times before Tirithion called the end of the game.

Legolas stared at the targets as a uproarious cheer overtook the crowds around them. As the last time he shot this way, his twelve arrows were neatly grouped in the center of his target. Sixteen arrows pierced Thranduil's, some splitting others in order to make room inside the small inner circle.

"How did you do that?" Legolas demanded, spinning towards him. "Show me how you did that."

Many of the nearest young warriors, along with Legolas's cousins and Isteth, also pressed in closer, repeating that request.

With a smile, Thranduil raised his bow and the remaining few arrows in his hand. He allowed Legolas and the others to study how he held the spare arrows while one was fit against his string. Then, he drew, released and slowly demonstrated how he shifted another arrow into position against the string to shoot it. He repeated the process slowly until all his arrows were spent.

"Shooting in this manner makes a tremendous difference when one is facing thousands, rather than simply dozens, of orcs," he remarked with a very serious tone.

"No doubt," Legolas replied, but he was already trying to juggle a handful of arrows to test the motion required to move them to his bowstring.

"I will teach you," Thranduil promised him.

"You certainly will," Legolas replied without looking away from his arrows.

"All of us," Berior, Brethil and Eirienil chimed in. Anastor and Noruil remained silent, but they also looked hopefully at the king.

"I would like to learn that, as well, my lord," Isteth added.

Like Legolas, they were all experimenting with how to hold the spare arrows while drawing.

"Of course," Thranduil replied. Then he tapped Legolas on the shoulder with an arm of his bow. "I won," he said quietly.

Legolas turned a narrow look on him. It quickly melted into a grin. "You cheated," he whispered. "Give me some time to practice this and we shall see who wins."

"Oh!" Thranduil exclaimed, grasping his son by the back of his neck and giving him a light shake. "You are mightily arrogant. Be careful or I might be inspired to give you my personal tutelage in matters of war during the year your training is suspended."

"That would be very acceptable," Legolas replied, squirming slightly under his father's hand.

"Be careful," Thranduil repeated, throwing his arm fully over his shoulders and pulling him off towards the Gates.

"Be careful," Arthiel whispered into Legolas's ear.

Thranduil laughed. Since she was the same age as her husband, Dolgailon, and had been one of his best friends in his childhood, she would understand that threat better than most.

*~*~*

Weapons still in hand, the king's family returned to the stronghold to find Lindomiel exiting the Great Hall, apparently in search of them, or at least the king, given her expression.

"I wish I had bet on that!" Berior was shamelessly saying as they stepped into the antechamber.

That elicited a growl of warning from Thranduil.

"Torthil bet," Eirienil replied. "And he always bets against Legolas, so he must be pleased. Indeed, I imagine that he wishes he bet more this time. He has lost so much in the past that he must make the most out of any win."

"If he won enough to stop harassing me, that might make the loss worth it to me," Legolas grumbled, but his grin betrayed the fact that he was not truly annoyed.

"Especially if you can master that technique and use it in future contests to win more yourself," Hallion said, winking at Legolas.

Thranduil raised his hand from his son's shoulder and pointed at his steward. "Enough," he declared in a stern voice.

As Thranduil spoke, Legolas dodged out of his father's reach before nodding at his uncle. "Too right," he agreed.

"I will not teach you, if that is how you plan to employ my lessons," Thranduil retorted. He was not jesting. He would not tolerate his children gambling.

"You already taught me enough," Legolas replied. "All I need now is practice."

"Mercy!" Thranduil exclaimed. "What must I do to curb your arrogance, child?" He made a mock lunge towards him, as if to grab him again.

"Thranduil!" Lindomiel cried, her voice high-pitched. "What are you doing to our son and what are the lot of you shouting about while carrying weapons in the middle of the day?"

Everyone, including Thranduil, straightened up in response to that sharply delivered question and the open concern that accompanied it.

A moment later, Hallion and Engwe made odd noises that sounded very much like choking.

Golwon cleared his throat and carefully avoided the queen's gaze.

Legolas, Eirienil and Berior glanced at Thranduil with bright eyes before also frowning very seriously.

"Adar and I just had an archery contest, nana," Legolas answered in a soft, matter-of-fact voice, stepping between his cousins and his mother to block her view of them. "It was a very good contest. We are simply discussing that."

Eirienil and Berior nodded guilelessly.

Thranduil blinked and stared at them. "How is it that I have never seen before how easily you turn from debauchery to perfect innocence?" he asked.

"Because normally we are concealing the debauchery from you, not creating it with you," Legolas whispered sidelong to him when his cousins remained silent.

This time, Hallion and Engwe openly laughed.

Thranduil adopted his sternest glare, but Legolas did not look away, nor did his expression falter, at least not beyond a slight twitch of his lips.

"This would please Oropher to see," Engwe said in an uncharacteristically cheerful tone into the silence. "He always wanted Thranduil to have a son that was just like him."

"Quite true," Hallion agreed.

Thranduil turned his glare on them and then loosed one, quiet laugh while shaking his head when neither elf moderated his expression in the slightest.

Lindomiel was smiling at them. "Your messenger to Lothlorien has returned," she announced, gesturing towards the Hall. "Along with a guest, who he says he escorted from Imladris. The guards fetched me when they could not find you. I made them comfortable in the Hall and was going to find you myself."

Thranduil sobered instantly. "Thank you, my lady. I may be late for dinner. Do not hold it for me." With a nod to the rest of his family, he headed towards the doors of the Hall.

Legolas thrust his bow and quiver into Berior's hands and followed on the king's heels. "May I hear this, my lord?"

Thranduil held out a hand to stay Conuion from opening the doors to the Hall while he considered that request. He preferred the sight of his son laughing and he doubted this report would be amusing. Thranduil sent this messenger to Lothlorien to ask Galadriel about Manadhien, now that he had a proper name for her and her family members that Galadriel might better recognize. As much as Thranduil might not like it, it was Legolas's place to hear what ever news the messenger carried. "You may," he replied, and gestured for Conuion to open the doors. Legolas accompanied Hallion through them.

A travel-worn messenger sat with a tray of refreshments at one of the tables near the back of the room. When he saw the king, he stood and that movement revealed the person sitting beside him.

Thranduil's brows went up. It was an elleth. When the messenger bowed, she curtsied, but when she looked up at him, he saw a sight that he had seen only two or three times in the last two ages of this world. The light of Aman shown in this elleth's eyes. And she was no Maia, like Radagast or Mithrandir. She was an Elf. That meant she came to Middle Earth in only one manner.

Thranduil had to make a conscious effort to unclench his jaw before he could speak. "I am very glad to see you returned safely," he said, directing himself to the messenger. "And who is this that has returned with you? From Imladris, I have been told." He kept his tone polite, but could manage nothing more.

"My lord, this is Helindilme. The lady Galadriel suggested I go to Imladris to find her. She knew Ulcamarto well. Lady Galadriel thought, under the circumstances, someone who knew them better than she did herself, might be worth speaking to. And Helindilme agreed to come here to answer any questions you might have."

"Is that so?" Thranduil said, turning his gaze on the elleth. His natural inclination was to be suspicious of that offer. He was suspicious of anyone associated with Manadhien. Or the Exiled.

The elleth studied him in turn a moment and then held out a letter that bore Elrond's seal. "Lord Elrond asked me to carry this letter. In it, he says he has vouched for my character. I could not imagine why that might be necessary...." She let her voice trail off when Thranduil's harsh expression did not change.

Hallion reached for the letter she offered.

"Suppose you tell me what Lord Elrond has written," Thranduil replied, trying to make his voice pleasant and moving to seat himself. He gestured for his guests to do the same. Legolas sat to his immediate left and Hallion to his right. Conuion stood behind his chair.

Helindilme shrugged. "Very well, my lord. I am a healer, as was my atar."

Thranduil flinched, even in response to one word of that language.

"I have served in Imladris since it was founded. I served in Ost-in-Edhil and in Nargothrond before that, so I know my profession well enough to be a skilled surgeon when necessary. And I have helped to heal many who were prisoners of Morgoth. But I prefer to study herbs." She paused when Thranduil's expression still did not alter. "We know each other, though you are unlikely to remember me, even after I remind you." She looked at Hallion. "But your steward should remember me. I was the healer that helped Nestoreth treat you in Mordor when you were struck in the head by that orc's mace. I sat with you for three days and nights before you awakened."

"That is why I know your face," Hallion murmured, visibly relaxing. "No wonder I could not place it. I would not associate a lady with the memories I have of Mordor."

"Yet many of the healers in Mordor were ellyth, including your own," Helindilme responded.

Thranduil took a deep breath. "And what can you tell me of Manadhien, Ulcamarto and the rest of their family?" he asked, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

"I can tell you little of...what did you say she is calling herself? Manadhien? I knew her as Manarinde, but I had very few dealings with her. The only times I spoke to her was when I treated her atar. He, on the other hand, I knew well. He was Alcaremarto when I met him, just after he crossed the Ice."

"They crossed the Ice?" Hallion interjected. "Are you certain? I would have guessed they came in the boats with Feanor. I thought all his followers did, and we understood her adar to be a servant of Curufin."

Legolas nodded, leaning forward. Outwardly his composure was within the limits Thranduil expected him to maintain in court, but those who knew him would easily read his eagerness. The prospect of tales of the Crossing of the Ice, told by someone who directly remembered it, clearly piqued his curiosity.

"I am quite certain," she replied. "My atar and I came in the boats with Feanor. Alcaremarto and his family were not on them. And I treated them for the damage the cold and sharp ice did to them. They definitely crossed the Ice."

Thranduil heard little past her first words. "You and your adar were servants of Feanor?" he asked, his tone enough to make Hallion cast him a concerned glance. Servants of Feanor in his Hall! That, he would not tolerate, no matter how useful the information she might have could be. He would not, for any reason, remain in the presence of someone who willingly served Feanor or his sons.

Helindilme returned his gaze calmly. "Healers, like my atar and I, Feanor knew were not useless baggage upon the road. Not when he faced battle with Morgoth. He asked several of us to go with him and many did. My father agreed to go out of pity for those that he knew would be grievously wounded in the battles to come. And I went with him. I was still his apprentice then. We thought, from Feanor's words, that we would go to Middle Earth for a brief time and then return to Aman quickly after Morgoth was defeated."

That elicited a derisive snort from Thranduil.

"But as for Ulcamarto," the messenger interjected, "however he came to Middle Earth, the lady Galadriel told me that he fought willingly along side the sons of Feanor in Alqualonde. And not believing, as some of Fingolfin's people did, that he was defending his kin from Olwe's guards, who had attacked the Noldor to prevent them from leaving. Lady Galadriel said she heard Feanor order a group of elves, Ulcamarto and Oromarto included, to capture a ship and they did it. And she said Ulcamarto was very bitter when, after helping the battle in such a manner, he was left behind to cross the Ice."

"That is true," Helindilme confirmed. "I heard Alcaremarto complain of that slight myself. Still, he was anxious to serve Feanor again. Alcaremarto might have come to Middle Earth to destroy Morgoth. Those were the words he said. But he was ambitious. He sought recognition for his deeds. A name for himself. A realm to rule as he would, though he was lord of nothing more than his own household in Aman. Almost immediately after meeting Curufin in the camps at Lake Mithrim, he determined that he preferred him over Fingolfin. Curufin valued his swordsmanship in the defense of our camp far more than Fingolfin seemed to, or so I heard him say. In the end, Alcaremarto and Oromarto fought with Curufin through the Dagor Bragollach, when they were captured. They were held in Angband for nearly four years before they escaped."

"Or were let go," Thranduil muttered.

"That is entirely possible. I treated him in Nargothrond when he returned there. By that point, his thoughts had been completely twisted by Morgoth. He saw injustice everywhere. He was determined to seek greatness, felt thwarted at every turn while doing so, and that was the weakness Morgoth sought to exploit to turn him to his service. He promised him greatness where others refused it. That, I know. Alcaremarto confirmed it when I was treating him. Morgoth may have been successful in swaying him to his service. We--the healers that served in Nargothrond--could not be certain. That is why the petition that he and his son be permitted to remain in Nargothrond was denied. Naturally, he saw that as another injustice."

"If I may," the messenger said, leaning forward again. "The lady Galadriel mentioned this topic to me as well. She told me that she was in Doriath, in court, serving Melian, when Ulcamarto and his family--all of them--the father and all three children--sought refuge there. They were refused..."

"Because the High King was no fool," Thranduil said.

"Because lord Oropher stepped forward to testify that he heard from his friend, Tureden, that Alcaremarto and Oromarto had been prisoners in Angband and were exiled from Nargothrond because of it. Tureden was called in to confirm that and, when he did, they were escorted to the border and turned out of Doriath as well," the messenger concluded.

Thranduil loosed a low whistle.

"That might explain some of their hatred for daeradar," Legolas whispered.

Hallion nodded.

"Alcaremarto certainly would have read that as another injustice," Helindilme said. "But I did not see them again for a long while. I escaped the sack of Nagothrond, and was allowed to refuge in Doriath. I escaped its sack, as well, and refuged in Sirion. That is where I finally saw Manarinde again--when it was attacked."

"In the kinslaying, where Dolgailon told us that Manadhien admits she saw her father fall, which means she had to be participating in it herself," Thranduil said softly.

"Not necessarily, my lord," Helindilme said. "I saw many people fall in that battle, and I tried to heal all that were not beyond help, yet I never lifted a weapon then or at any other time in my life. Perhaps Manarinde is guilty of nothing more in that battle than seeing her atar fall. And if that is so, it is surely a grief you understand."

That comment, sharply delivered and unlooked for, made Thranduil sit back in his chair and sent an all too familiar stab of pain through his chest.

"That was uncalled for," Legolas exclaimed, in a half shocked, half outraged tone.

"Do not dare invoke memories of our late king to defend kinslayers in this court," Hallion commanded.

But their corrections were unneeded. Distress and concern flooded Helindilme's face the instant she realized the reaction her words had produced. "I beg your pardon, lord," she said gently, leaning forward and reaching a hand along the surface of the table towards him until Conuion's step forward checked her movement. "Of course I know that such wounds never truly heal, but I did not expect this one to still be so fresh. It was never my intent to tear it open."

Her eyes searched his and Thranduil felt as if they even brushed his fea, but not in a way that alarmed him or felt like an intrusion. Not as Galadriel had looked into him in the past. Helindilme's was merely a healer's appraising, even soothing, gaze. He forced himself to relax.

Helindilme looked down at the table. "I can say for certain that Manarinde was destroyed by her atar's death," she continued in a very subdued voice. "She found me helping the wounded and all but dragged me to him." She shook her head and Thranduil could see from her pinched expression that she was looking in her mind at Alcaremarto's body. "His throat was slashed by a sword or a long knife, at least. There is no doubt that his fea fled his body before the weapon that made that wound came to the end of its swing."

'My weapon,' Thranduil thought, all too aware that Hallion, Legolas and Conuion knew that too. What they may not realize was that weapon rested, even now, in a chest at the foot of his bed. Thranduil found it a little difficult to draw breath.

"You said she saw it happen?" Helindilme asked.

"So she told my cousin," Legolas whispered when Thranduil did not reply.

Helindilme released a shuddering breath. "Then I truly pity her and I understand better the strength of her reaction. There was nothing I could do for him, of course, but Manarinde would not be satisfied until I tried. So, for her sake, I spent a moment acting as if I would do my best to revive him. She was inconsolable when I naturally could not. Incoherent. I had to give her over to a warrior to get her away from the battle so she would not be killed herself."

There, Helindilme fell silent. No one spoke. Legolas and Hallion looked to Thranduil to do so, but he could not.

"I saw Manarinde again, briefly," Helindilme continued after what seemed to be a long silence. "Many years later when we both lived in Ost-in-Edhil. She thanked me for my efforts for her atar, but she seemed a different person. When I looked into her eyes, her fea was...remote. I do not know what crime she is accused of here, but I fear whatever it is, it would not surprise me. I would go so far as to say that Manarinde's fea seemed deeply shadowed when last I saw her."

The messenger nodded. "So said the lady Galadriel. She told me a bit more of Manadhien in Ost-in-Edhil, where she knew her best. By the time she and her sister lived there, both were entirely like their father--ambitious and selfish. They allied themselves easily with Celebrimbor's rise to power in Ost-in-Edhil and craved what ever prestige they could gain by their association with Annator. The lord Celeborn said he remembered both Manadhien and her sister were completely dedicated to Annatar's teachings. They spent all their time in the forge. Lord Celeborn said they were both heavily influenced by him, and not only in metal craft." This last, the messenger said with a foreboding tone that sounded more like Celeborn's than his own.

"I too believe her to be influenced by him. Perhaps even allied to him," Thranduil said quietly. Then, after moment's consideration, he decided to answer Helindilme's implied question concerning what Manadhien stood accused of. She had earned the answer, after traveling from Imladris to Eryn Galen to speak to him. "In my realm alone," he said, directing himself to her, "she killed my wife's parents with her own hands and ordered her servants to kill my cousin Celonhael, his two guards and two novice warriors. She also arranged for men to abduct first my wife and, later, my son. Her stated goal is to make me watch my entire family die."

Helindilme's face went slack through that litany of crimes. But when Thranduil reached Manadhien's last crime, her gaze darted to Legolas. "Your son?" she sounded confused. "Lord Elrond told me something of your realm when I agreed to travel here. He said you had only one son." She shook her head and looked back at Thranduil. "Manarinde did not attack..." She cut herself off and turned again to Legolas. "Respectfully, my lord, though you clearly serve this court, I would have guessed that you...well, at least were very young. Too young...well, of course any attack of an elf against an elf is evil, but one against a...someone so young seems worse, somehow."

Legolas smiled, frankly amused by Helindilme's struggle to not insult him by publicly naming him a child. "I will not be offended by the truth, Helindilme," he replied. "I am, in fact, still a child. And I think most of the populace agrees the attack against me was all the worse because of that."

Thranduil's jaw clenched involuntarily as his son fell under the same close scrutiny from the Noldo that he had endured only moments before. Legolas's smile faded and his brow puckered as Helindilme continued studying him. Her expression again clouded with concern.

"That experience, whatever happened during it, has left a deep scar across an otherwise unblemished fea," she whispered. "Very deep." She sat back, and looked from Legolas, whose brows were now high on his forehead, to Thranduil, who was all but bristling.

"My son is my concern, Helindilme. Our healer, Nestoreth, has seen to him," he snapped.

Helindilme regarded him sadly. "Do not allow your own acceptance of the damage inflicted by two kinslayings and two wars to color your expectations for your son's healing. His scars might yet fade, given the proper medicine."

Thranduil's muscles tensed, as if to pounce. Indeed, only conscious effort on his part prevented exactly that response.

"Not to worry," Legolas intervened, his voice firm. "Our king understands what I, and everyone else in this forest touched by the Shadow, need to escape its influence and he ensures that we have it. That fight is something the elves living in this forest understand very well."

Helindilme inclined her head, conceding. "I have seen so many, including Manarinde's atar, and apparently Manarinde herself, so terribly damaged by Morgoth's evil, I cannot restrain myself from responding when I see such wounds. I have been a healer a very long time, after all."

Enough, Thranduil thought to himself. He stood, raising everyone else to their feet. "I greatly appreciate your willingness to travel such a long distance in order to speak to me on such disturbing topics. Your information was very valuable. If there is any way that I can repay you..."

She immediately shook her head. "I ask for nothing, my lord. I am happy to help, both you and her. Understanding how her fea came to be so badly damaged will help Nestoreth treat her. I would be happy to speak to her about that before I return to Imladris. I have a good deal of experience treating those that escaped from Angband. I will see what advice I can give her."

"Again, I thank you," Thranduil replied. There was no need to further shock the innocent by revealing that he had no expectation Manadhien could be healed.

Helindilme glanced at Legolas as Conuion stepped forward to escort her from the Hall. "I also have a great deal of experience treating those who have experienced violence at the hands of elves," she hurried to say.

Legolas smiled at her and spoke before Thranduil could reply. "I am recovering, Helindilme. Truly. However, if you have time before you return to Imladris, I would love to hear any tales you would be willing to tell of your past. I always enjoyed my history lessons. All my cousins and I did."

"You have only to name a topic and I would be happy to indulge you. And your cousins, if they live nearby," she replied. "Perhaps you will allow me to tell you some stories of Aman. I met Yavanna once. Would hearing of that meeting interest a woodelf?"

Legolas's eyes widened before he controlled himself. "It would indeed." Then he glanced at Thranduil and his face clouded. "I am certain you are anxious, after such a long journey, to eat and rest. Perhaps we could speak tomorrow."

Helindilme nodded and curtsied to Thranduil before allowing Conuion to escort her out.

Thranduil gestured for Hallion to go with her. After studying Thranduil with open concern, and then only reluctantly, Hallion complied and Thranduil heard him saying to her that he would call Galion to make arrangements for her room and lodging.

Their departure left only Legolas in the Hall. At the moment, Thranduil wanted to be entirely alone. That conversation had stirred memories he had hoped were forever buried. "You should go speak with her tonight," he said without looking at his son. "Introduce her to the merrymaking on the Green and show her that our people--and you--are not as shadowed as she fears."

Legolas shook his head. "I am going no where, adar," he replied, his voice nearly a whisper.

Only with supreme effort did Thranduil stifle a frustrated growl. He was immediately relieved that he managed it. Legolas did not need to see his father struggling, three ages of the world later, with the same guilt he so recently was forced to confront. Seeing the pain it still caused him would not help Legolas. Thranduil fought to compose himself.

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. "You have done so much to help me bear all that I have seen over the last month. Will you not allow me to offer what ever support, or at least understanding, that I can now?"

Thranduil loosed a derisive snort. Understanding? Yes, they both understood that his own actions drove Manadhien to seek the revenge she now pursued.

"I know what you are thinking, adar," Legolas pressed. "But, like me, you did what you were forced to do to defend yourself and your people. You are not responsible for Manadhien's evil."

Thranduil forced himself to raise his gaze and look at his son levelly. Could he truly have this conversation with him? Unfortunately, he could. "Legolas, I killed her adar before her eyes. That is a grief I do understand, as this Noldo pointed out. I do not deny that I have some understanding of her hatred of me." He paused and frowned. "I always knew the phrase 'you did what you were forced to do' was empty words. I am duly reminded exactly how empty. I am sorry I could offer you nothing better."

"If you can find some pity for her, I would deem that good," Legolas replied quietly. "And that you, and I, did what we were forced to do is not an empty platitude. It will not erase the pain. That, I will admit. But it is still true and it grants us both some degree of absolution. As for the pain, here are more true words: if you feel pain...guilt for the deeds you were forced to, that is how you know you are better than Manadhien and other willing kinslayers. You said that to Anastor. Those words do not erase the pain either, but they help you understand it is a good thing."

Thranduil held his son's concerned gaze for a long moment. He was right, at least, that no words took away this pain. But, somehow, Legolas had made it recede at least a little for the time being.

"Come, adar, we can still make dinner."

The last thing Thranduil thought he could do was eat.

"Engwe, will be at the table. And Hallion should join us too. You should ask them both how much gold they won betting on you," Legolas continued, making his tone light. "You know, I think, since it is a disgrace that they bet at all, you should insist they place the coins they won into the public treasury. It would be the right thing to do. To give the proceeds of that gambling back to the people."

Despite himself, Thranduil imagined the look on Engwe's face if he suggested that he should turn over those coins to the treasury. And that picture forced a barking laugh from him. He reached to put an arm around Legolas's shoulders.

"I think you should tell your Uncle Engwe that yourself," he said, steering him out of the Hall.

*~*~*
Mae govannen -- Well met
elleth -- female elf
adar -- S. father
atar -- Q. father
fea -- spirit