Chapter 5: What fruit would spring from such a seed

When he remained very still, Tulus could manage two, maybe three comfortable, if shallow, breaths. That was a boon that did not last long. All too soon he could no longer ignore how his muscles cramped and his joints ached after days of restraint and he was forced to strain against his bonds to shift position. He resisted movement as long as possible. It invariably sent pain spiking through his broken leg, which caused him to gasp and that turned his broken ribs into knives in his side.

From the intermittent shuffling and weak groans just to his left, Tulus knew the prisoner next to him, the one that the orcs dumped there a few hours before, was already suffering the same fate. He took no absolutely no comfort in the knowledge that he was not alone. In fact, the thought sickened him. Terrified him.

There were not many elves the orcs would deign to leave alive and, unless his fellow prisoner was another guard also deemed knowledgeable enough to have worth for further questioning, all of them were people Tulus had once been charged to protect...people he had failed to protect. He had failed so many people. So many....

Footsteps scraped against rocks and roots nearby.

Tulus froze and stopped breathing--anything to avoid attracting attention and the resultant passing kick or cuff that would be aimed at some part of him that had already suffered too much.

He heard a smack, a moan and cackling laughter as the orcs ambled by.

Tulus's stomach twisted. Elbereth, please do not let that be Galithil. Or Dolgailon. There was no possibility he could help either one of them. He could not help himself. He prayed they were still safe in their village.

It was a futile prayer.

The sounds in the camp told him that even if they were in the village, they would soon be in terrible danger. Sharpening blades, leather and metal slapping together or onto flesh and being fastened, stamping feet, shouted orders. Or at least that is what the orc's obscene language sounded like--orders to arm and form ranks. All these noises meant one thing: a very large-scale attack would soon be launched, undoubtedly against that village.

The thought made Tulus struggle to stifle a sob. There were so many orcs here. So many. So many. The phrase bounced around in his half-conscious mind, beating against his skull in rhythm with the orcs' movements.

Dolgailon's village would be overrun and the mountains breached--those were the orc captain's orders to his troops. Rather than serving as a barrier between the elves and orcs' territories, the mountains would be infested with orc lairs. They would be a place from which those vile creatures would launch raids against the villagers. The Enemy would effectively control the southern part of the forest.

Tulus's breath hitched. So many lives would be lost, in this battle and the long years after it, including Dolgailon's and possibly even Galithil's. That was too much to bear. Surely Dolgailon would at least ensure Galithil escaped before the fighting began.... Assuming this was not Dolgailon or Galithil right here next to him.

He had to know.

Tulus forced his eyes open. Or at least one of them. His left eye was still swollen shut. His right allowed him a slit of vision, though he had to blink vigorously numerous times to bring what little sight he had into focus. Letting his head loll to the side, Tulus squinted at the form next to him. After a mere glimpse, he let his eyes close again and his head fall back against the tree where he was bound.

It was Hurion.

He appeared every bit as badly beaten as Tulus and Tulus definitely pitied him that. Hurion was a friend, once his fellow guard, and he was here in large part due to Tulus's failures. Worse, his presence was clear evidence of still more fearful news. Hurion had not accompanied Dolgailon and Galithil to the village. That meant he was here with some other member of the King's family. Let it not be the King. Not the King, Tulus repeated silently to himself, as if doing so could will it to be true. But he knew it could be no one else.

Thranduil would be in this battle too.

His death would be a disaster. A loss the Woodland Realm would never survive.

If only Tulus had acted sooner. Told the King where Manadhien was the moment he found out. Or simply finished her himself the first time he came to this village and realized she was here. If he had, then none of this would be happening. Dolgailon and Galithil would not be in that village at her mercy. The King would not be here facing a battle of this scale. And.... Tulus screwed his eyes tightly shut against the memory of one, last person.... If he had simply confessed all to the King immediately, Glilavan would not be amongst the orcs.

His son. With orcs. Allied with orcs. Tulus had sacrificed everything to try to save him and Glilavan had still fallen to a fate beyond Tulus's worst imaginings. The thought of his son fighting alongside the enemy tore a wracking sob from Tulus that he could not repress in his weakened state.

Everything...absolutely everything was lost.

Manadhien would command the orcs to target the King and his family above anyone else and the orcs would be all too eager to comply. Dolgailon and Galithil would be killed when the village was overrun. Thranduil would be killed.  The Woodland Realm would fall. The forest Tulus had defended since long before the moon and sun arose would descend into shadow without Thranduil, and Tulus's own son was instrumental in engineering that defeat. Grief wrenched through him. Broken ribs stabbed him as he gasped for breath and tears tracked through the blood on his face. So much loss. Everyone and everything he had ever cared about...sacrificed for.... Elbereth be praised that at least Legolas had not traveled to the village, inseparable from Galithil as always.

Legolas.

Tulus struggled to bring himself under control and think clearly.

Surely it was safe to believe that Legolas would not be anywhere near this battle. Thranduil had not allowed him to go to the village and he would certainly not send him to fight. Legolas would survive and with him survived hope for the forest. Tulus knew Legolas better than anyone else, save the child's own parents. He was his father's true son. He would take his father's place, should the worst happen, and protect the forest. Manadhien and her evil allies would not win. Tulus clung to that thought and forced all others from his mind.

After a few moments, he drew as deep a breath as his damaged ribs would allow and tried to re-focus on his one, remaining personal goal. He had no hope of escape. Not with his leg so badly broken. Not with this many orcs around him. But they were going into battle and Tulus wanted to be ready for their departure. If he could draw their attention, provoke them enough, when they were whipping themselves up for that battle--probably literally, he thought with disgust--perhaps their blood would be up enough that they would forget whatever orders they had about him and they would kill him. And if he could free his hands between now and then, maybe he could manage to seize one of their weapons and eliminate one or two more orcs from this forest before he was forced to abandon it. That fate would be much better than the alternative. He went back to twisting his wrists against his bonds.

Tulus had made little progress when the nearby lines of orcs began snarling and their officers snapped orders even more forcefully. Something was happening. Tulus tried to force his eyes open again. Moments later, he heard a steady pulse of iron stamping against earth and rock and root. It grew louder, closer. More orcs were arriving! More! How could there be more? They pushed into the camp, screeching and snorting, clamoring for position. The orc that for the last three days most often shouted over all the others was yelling again, telling the new arrivals how to arrange themselves--some to the west, near the rocks, some to the east near the stream, spears with the others in the front, but stay put. No further forward. Not yet. Not until the signal came.

Tulus braced himself for their passing, praying they would be too busy fighting amongst themselves to notice two elves bound to a tree.

The orders stopped, whether drowned out by rattling armor or because the captain stopped issuing them, Tulus could not tell.  

The spears passed by. If any of them saw Tulus and Hurion, they did not take the time to molest them. Confusion still seemed to reign in the camp, given the random shouting and growling all around him, but the captain did nothing to shut it down.

Tulus listened tensely for some clue as to what was happening.

"We are going all the way to the forward camp," a voice sounded above the grunting of the orcs. It was like a bell amongst a cacophony of discordant horns. It was an elf. "We are to march without rest until reaching it."

Tulus's injuries screamed as his muscles clenched. The arrival of any elf that commanded orcs meant nothing good for him or for Hurion.

"This is the forward camp, you mangy dog," the familiar orc's voice snapped.

For moment, there were no coherent voices. Just the ever-present background noise of snorting orcs.

"You have a prisoner here. An elf. Where is he? Is he still here?" the clear voice asked.

The question was answered by an incoherent growl.

Tulus's heart raced, but not in fear. Or at least not only in fear. He recognized the elf's voice. It was Glilavan.

Light steps, far too light to be those of an orc, raced closer. There was a gasp and a quiet groan. Something, probably knees, thumped the ground next to him. Then Tulus tried and failed not to flinch as a hand touched his face.

"It is only me, adar," Glilavan whispered. And he whispered other things. Tulus's head was not clear enough for him to grasp them all. Fingers gently cupped his chin and something pressed against his lips. Cold trickled over them. "Try to drink this, adar," Glilavan said.

Tulus's worn body seized onto the invitation to drink automatically and sucked down the liquid.

"Not too much. It will make you sick," Glilavan said and the water was withdrawn.

Tulus's tongue darted out, licking up water and blood from his lips and chin.

A moment later, a cold cloth wiped across his cheeks and forehead. Then it passed carefully over his eyes and lips. "I am going to get you out of here, adar," Glilavan breathed into his ear.

Tulus forced open his good eye to stare at his son in disbelief.

Glilavan nodded, his nose so close it practically touched Tulus's. "When the battle begins, when they march out, I will stay here under the pretense of guarding you." He hesitated and pulled away enough to glance at the other elf, as if just noticing him. "And Hurion," he added. Did he sound dismayed? "Once as many of them are gone as possible. We are leaving. Can you walk?"

Tulus flinched in pain and nausea as he tried to shake his head. "Leg," he wheezed. After days of refusing to talk and hours of screaming to prevent himself from doing anything else, speech came with difficulty.

"No matter," Glilavan said quickly. "We will find a way."

Tulus shook his head again. "You... help...village. Not me," he choked out.

Glilavan clasped a hand on either side of Tulus's face. "Adar, I am sorry about the village. I would stop the attack if I could, but I cannot. Every time one of these things looks at me and does not eat me, I am shocked. I have no real authority here. I have a slim hope of saving you and that is what I am going to do. I will knock you unconscious to prevent you from sacrificing that hope for the sake of the village. Escape is more likely if you are conscious to cooperate with it in any way you can, so please do not make me do that."

"Galithil...is in the village," Tulus managed to protest. The water had soothed his throat a little. "And Dolgailon. Your friend. If Hurion is here, the King must be too. The orcs plan to destroy the village. Breach the mountains. That will threaten the entire southern realm. Our home."

Glilavan's hands tightened their grasp enough to make Tulus try to pull away. "Manadhien will order the orcs to pull back once her goals are achieved. She does not want too many villagers injured. The villagers are loyal to her. Their losses will be limited and she will protect the southern realm..."

"The orc captain said..."

"Manadhien will manage the orc captain," Glilavan interrupted.

"And kill Thranduil, Dolgailon and Galithil," Tulus said.

"Why must you always think about the King and his family?" Glilavan bit out. "Have you ever had a thought for yourself or your own family?"

Tulus stopped struggling and looked at Glilavan. "Everything I have ever done has been to save you from this. From a life like this."

"Everything you have done--for the last forty years, at any rate--has been for Legolas and a king who has rewarded your loyalty by discarding you repeatedly this entire Age," Glilavan retorted.

Tulus closed his eyes and slumped back against the tree. Hopeless. The thought echoed in his pain-wracked brain.

*~*~*

Dolgailon lay flat on his stomach, perfectly still, bow in hand, arrow nocked--eyes wide, watchful--pressed against the wet, slimy roots near the stream he had followed into the orcs' territory. Galudiron flanked him, equally motionless and quiet. The newly arrived orcs that had charged into the camp moments before stopped so close to them that Dolgailon could see the flies crawling on the few bits of skin exposed under their armor. He was certain they would catch him. He had readied his bow to take out as many of the stinking things as possible before being killed himself. Now, as the orcs concentrated on forming the ranks their whip-wielding masters seemed to expect, Dolgailon allowed himself a shallow breath.

A soft tug on his tunic sleeve was Galudiron's only signal that it was time for them to move.

Dolgailon carefully turned to face him and nodded. His guard could not be more right! They needed to find relative safety and higher ground. Someplace from which they could bring this situation under control and do what they came to do.

Galudiron flicked a finger south and then his thumb north, a question in his eyes: which way?

Neither choice was good. Circling the camp to the south brought them in behind the orcs, but it meant risking that there might be another legion of them coming up from the same direction whence the last had arrived. If that were the case, Dolgailon and Galudiron would be trapped between them and the camp with no hope of escape. Circling north meant crossing the path the orcs would take to the village. If they marched soon, Dolgailon and Galudiron would be caught by their advance.

Dolgailon chose. He pointed north and began sliding backward while keeping his eyes on the enemy. As they moved, he measured his options.

He did not really see that he had any.

They had come south to ensure Fuilin and Glilavan would not escape arrest, expecting to find at least one of them and hoping to find the spies that were supposed to be guarding them. Dolgailon was worried when they discovered this camp and did not see either of their quarry or any sign of the spies. They had only just approached within scouting range when Glilavan appeared with this regimen of orcs. Commanding them, it appeared. Bile rose in Dolgailon's throat as the vision of his old friend commanding the orcs replayed in his mind. Glilavan was leading their most hated enemy into a battle that would kill dozens of elves in the village and patrol where he once lived and served himself.

Dolgailon had no delusions about what had to happen next. He had known what he might have to do since he proposed to the King that he should travel to the village. Now he was here to do it. He wished--fervently--that he could find a way to arrest Glilavan, but knew it was impossible. Glilavan was surrounded by orcs, barely visible in their midst, unapproachable, even by stealth. And he could not be allowed to escape. No more hoping to avoid it: Dolgailon was here to carry out the King's sentence and execute Glilavan. He was here to kill one of his oldest friends. The elf that was his mentor when he was a young warrior. An elf that had saved his life more times than he could count. And the elf that had plotted against the King's family for years while Dolgailon defended him, had helped kill Uncle Celonhael and had tried to kill Legolas before his eyes. Dolgailon's heart beat uncomfortably in his chest as he steeled himself to do what was necessary.

They reached the mid-point of northern border of the camp.

Galudiron tapped his shoulder for attention and then pointed to an outcropping of rocks to the west. They would provide cover, height from which to launch an attack and an escape route, west to the open border. It would be daylight shortly. If Dolgailon could kill Glilavan swiftly and quietly with a well placed arrow and flee to the forest edge, he and his guard might manage to return to the village before these orcs advanced on it, and that was vitally important. He had a battle to command and Manadhien to arrest, not to mention Galithil to keep safe.

Dolgailon nodded and they continued creeping around the perimeter of the camp towards those rocks.

As they moved, Dolgailon peered through the rows of orcs bearing spears. Glilavan was crouched over something on the ground, next to a tree, completely focused on it. For now, his lack of attention was a blessing. An elf should certainly spot Dolgailon and his guard moving amongst the roots and muck-covered tree trunks. And these trees were treacherous. They did not ally with him. Their voices betrayed his presence, but Glilavan did not hear their warnings. He was too preoccupied with whatever he huddled over.

Galudiron froze.

Dolgailon automatically matched his guard's actions, his gaze darting about, searching for what ever Galudiron saw and finding nothing. He risked looking over his shoulder at his guard and followed his gaze to the rocks. Then he gasped. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of the light of the orcs' fires glinting off something gold--golden hair--amongst the rocks. Looking closer, he saw a shadowy form holding an arrow at the ready, aimed at the spot Glilavan would occupy if he stood up and away from the tree. It was Thranduil! It had to be. How could he be here?

Before Dolgailon had time to contemplate that or even begin to determine how he could best support the King, the orc captains called the order to ready to march. The orcs that had already been in the camp lumbered into place amongst the ranks of their newly arrived fellows. All the orcs faced north--directly at Dolgailon's position. His heart raced. Time was up.

The roots and trunks that concealed them from a distance would no longer serve to hide them once the orcs advanced. As one, Dolgailon and Galudiron looked around themselves for somewhere to take cover. They found flat ground--no ravine or cavern or even rocks to crouch in or behind anywhere near them. Only trees. Withered trees, leafless, with rotten branches that were too low to the ground to offer shelter, even assuming they did not drop the elves altogether.  

"North?" Galudiron mouthed, gesturing in that direction with his thumb.

Dolgailon frowned. They could try to flee north, back to the village. If they were very lucky, they would be able to dodge the orc archers. They were both wearing mail. They had a fair chance of escape. But if they retreated, they abandoned the King. And the opportunity to finish Glilavan. Dolgailon refused to do either.

He shook his head. "We will continue west, as fast as we can, and try flank them. From there we can join the King and aid him--both in his own escape and his attempt against Glilavan," he whispered.

With that they resumed crawling, now faster and with much less care for stealth. Dolgailon kept his eyes fixed on Glilavan, waiting for him to rise. He soon did, when one of the orc captains approached him, barking orders. Dolgailon nocked an arrow, but the fully armored orc stood between him and his target. His arrow might not penetrate the orc's armor to strike Glilavan soundly enough to kill him.

The King stepped out from behind the rock that sheltered him, raised and drew his bow. From his angle, he had a shot.

The moment he released his arrow, Glilavan flinched in response to the twanging bowstring and automatically took cover, pressing himself against the nearest tree. The King's arrow sliced his arm. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Nothing more.

The orcs all screeched, spun around in panic and drew their weapons.

Another arrow instantly followed the King's.

Glilavan was ready this time. After an Age as a warrior, he reacted on instinct, first determining the direction of the attack against him, then placing the tree between it and him. The second arrow flew through the empty space he occupied the moment before and buried itself in the orc captain that had been yelling at him. Glilavan did not spare the orc a glance. Instead, he turned to face his attackers.

The other orc captains followed his gaze.

Dolgailon did the same. Now he saw the King, Engwe and three guards, all at full draw.

Upon spotting the elves amongst the rocks, the orc captains called for their archers to return attack.

The King's guards released their arrows, targeting the archers. The King and Engwe shot at either side of the tree Glilavan hid behind, clearly hoping to flush him out. Glilavan stayed put. He only hunched over what ever it was he had been fussing with earlier.

Suddenly, between the panicking orcs, Dolgailon had a clear shot. He raised up and took aim. Galudiron stood, taking his customary place, slightly in front of his charge, to shield him. Dolgailon drew.

"Hold, my lord," Galudiron said, pressing Dolgailon's bow to the side.

Dolgailon looked at him. His explanation had better be good.

"Behind Glilavan," Galudiron said. "That is an elf. I saw him. The hair and face of an elf, though I could not see who. One of the spies, perhaps?"

Dolgailon released a sharp breath and nodded at his guard. Killing Glilavan was bad enough. Killing an innocent elf to get Glilavan? He would not do that.

But the game was up. The orcs had gathered themselves and they were charging at the King's position. Within moments, he would be overrun.

Dolgailon reached into his quiver for a handful of arrows and nocked one. "We have to draw them away from the King," he said. "Give him time to escape." Without waiting for any acknowledgment, as swiftly as he could, he began releasing arrows into the mass of orcs. Galudiron did the same. And, to Dolgailon's great shock, though he had no time to spare to try to figure it out, more arrows, from somewhere east of them, flew at the orcs as well.

The sudden appearance of more enemies temporarily confused the orcs once again, but quickly, their captains brought them under control. The spear-bearing orcs--the orcs closest to Dolgailon and Galudiron--charged them.

Grabbing another handful of arrows, Dolgailon turned his attack on them, dropping at least a dozen before they reached him and a spear struck his shoulder. His mail held. The spear was deflected. He shifted his bow to his left hand, closed on the orc and drew his sword, driving it home before the orc could turn its spear to a more useful attack. Galudiron was doing the same to another orc that had targeted him. But they were impossibly outnumbered. The next orc, smart enough to figure out Dolgailon was wearing mail, drove its spear into his thigh, just above his knee, where his tunic and mail ended.

The barbed--and poisoned, Dolgailon noted--point of the spear ripped into his leg and tore a scream from him as its impact drove him off his feet and onto his back. As he fell, he looked again towards the rocks. The King and Engwe were falling back, making good their escape. Dolgailon forced himself to take comfort from that small mercy as the orcs grabbed at him.

*~*~*

"I am not going to allow you to give your life in order to claim Glilavan's, Thranduil," Conuion yelled over the screeching of orcs while dragging his charge away by his left arm.

Thranduil loosed a growl that was no less animalistic than the orcs' as he wrenched his arm free and snatched a dozen arrows from his quiver. Holding them all in his hand, using the same technique he had used against Legolas in their archery contest only a few day before, he nocked his bow and sent them into the charging orcs in quick succession. A dozen orcs dropped to the ground in front of him.

"There will be other opportunities to capture or kill Glilavan, but only if you escape alive," Counion shouted into his ear while seizing his arm again.

Thranduil took a step back from the tree he sheltered behind, turned and leveled on his guard the same blazing glare he had directed at the orcs moments before.

Conuion released him. "There are too many and we have lost the advantage of surprise. We have to retreat and plan another approach."

Thranduil glanced at Pendurion and Belloth, still firing arrows as quickly as they could draw them. They barely held back the orcs' onslaught. Then he looked at Radagast, who stood in front of them all. His brown robes, stained with what appeared to be years of use, blended perfectly with the mucky tree trunks. He softly chanted a spell that had, thus far, managed to compel these wild trees to at least not betray them and even to shield them. As more and more orc arrows drove into their trunks, the trees grew increasingly restless and ill-tempered.

Thranduil was loathe to admit it, but Conuion was right. They needed to yield. At least for now.

"Thranduil, I think Dolgailon was one of the archers that supported us from the northeast," Engwe exclaimed, appearing abruptly at his elbow, an arrow still nocked against his bowstring and his eyes fixed on the orcs that the guards and Radagast still held back. He resumed fighting as soon as he stopped speaking, releasing the half dozen arrows that remained in his hand and then grabbing more.

Thranduil turned to him, eyebrows raised. He assumed the source of those arrows was the spies charged with watching Glilavan and Fuilin. He was relieved to see evidence that they were still alive. From the corner of his eye, he saw Conuion nodding.

"It was," the guard confirmed. "I saw Galudiron clearly." He appeared ready to say more, but Engwe cut him off.

"Then Dolgailon fell," he said.

Thranduil's full attention snapped to his uncle.

"I saw him--or an elf that I believed was him, at least, and if Conuion saw Galudiron, the elf I saw must have been Dolgailon--I saw him take a spear to the leg and fall, surrounded by orcs."

Thranduil's heart contracted with grief and his gaze darted over the orc camp, searching for even a hint of silver amongst the sea of black. He saw nothing but darkness. If Dolgailon had been there....

He refused to accept it. Not Aradunnon's oldest son, the first child of his generation! The nephew Thranduil had so thoroughly enjoyed spoiling. Dolgailon could not have fallen. Dismay warred with grief as another thought surfaced: Eryn Galen could not afford to lose its Troop Commander. Then one, final realization caused cold fear to spike through Thranduil. If Dolgailon just fell here, Galithil must now be alone with Manadhien in the village.

Thranduil was torn in two directions. He most wanted to go back into the camp to slaughter the orcs that killed his oldest nephew. Oh, his blood sang at that idea! He reached into his quiver, taking a step towards the camp. But he also needed to go north, to the village, to protect his younger nephew.

"There is more, my lord," Conuion said, his hand closing again around Thranduil's arm to arrest his movement. "The elf Glilavan was speaking to. The one sitting against the tree. I only saw the contours of his profile in the shadows, but I would swear it was Tulus. And the elf that was bound and lying on the ground near them--I am certain that was Hurion and he was badly injured. If the orcs have Tulus and Hurion, that almost certainly means Manadhien knows you are here. We need to retreat to where we can carefully consider what to do now, my lord."

Thranduil stared at his guard. If Conuion was right...if Tulus was speaking with Glilavan in that camp....

Thranduil's fist contracted involuntarily around his bow. If Tulus had betrayed them, and Dolgailon had been lured here and killed because of that... If the village was unprepared to face this attack because Tulus lured Dolgailon here... If Galithil was alone in that village at Manadhien's mercy...

A terrified screech claimed Thranduil's attention and he whirled to face it. Through the shadows, he saw an orc, very nearby, pulling frantically at his foot or leg. It appeared to be stuck fast in some roots. Other orcs around it began to panic and stare at the ground. Thranduil looked at Radagast. He was frowning severely in concentration, still chanting, but in response to the orcs' screams, he fell silent and stared in alarm at the orcs' plight. The forest itself was perilous beyond even the influence of the Maia, it seemed.

"We retreat," Thranduil ordered, loudly enough for Belloth, Pendurion and Radagast to hear him. "North. Back towards the village. We can discuss how we will approach it on our way there, but I want to reach it before these orcs do."

"What about those poor elves?" Radagast protested, but he did join Thranduil, Engwe and the guards in retreating.

"If we can manage these orcs and protect the village, we will be saving more elves then just those," Engwe replied, loosing arrows to cover their retreat.

"And we will come back here to try to find them again once we are certain the village is safe," Thranduil added. Yes, we will find Glilavan and Tulus--especially Tulus--again, he repeated to himself looking back over his shoulder even as he ran north to protect his brother's village and youngest son from Dolgailon's fate.

*~*~*

Arien's golden rays were just beginning to light the highest leaves in the trees as Galithil stepped out of his family talan. Galuauth followed him closely. Galithil bowed his head so that his hair screened his face, ostensibly to watch his step as he bounded down the stairs, but in truth, he surreptitiously looked into the branches of the surrounding trees. He spotted Lanthir first, climbing through the trees to follow them. He was supposed to be openly guarding him, so Galithil was not surprised to see him so easily. Then he found Heledir, more thoroughly hidden, though still nearby.  And there was one of Tulus's spies, high in the most heavily leafed tree over Manadhien's talan, wholly focused on it.

Galithil saw no sign of the King, either near Manadhien's talan or in the spies' other hiding places.

If the note he received in the middle of the night had not contained the coded symbol, Galithil would not have believed Legolas truly sent it. He certainly would not have believed the information in it. How could the King be near the village? Surely if he had traveled south, Dolgailon would have been informed. And why would Legolas's note be carried by a bird used by the Western Patrol? Why would Legolas, and not Hallion, be responsible for reporting the King's movements? None of it made any sense, but it was frightening news, if it was true. The situation in this village was very dire.

Galithil eyed the flickering lamp light behind the curtains in Manadhien's talan as he hurried south down the path that led to it. Then he held his breath as he passed under it.

He knew her attack would be today. He was awake to receive and read the patrols' reports when their couriers delivered them this morning. The orcs were assembled south of the village. And the attack in the east against Maethorness's village had already begun. Galithil passed that news to Seregon and his loyal village guards. Then he decided to immediately make his inspection of the talan the villagers sheltered in during battles. Doing it this early altered his normal routine slightly, but it was worth the risk of raising Manadhien's suspicions. That talan was about to be critically important and Manadhien naturally knew its function here in the village. It beggared belief that she would leave its defenses intact if she expected her orcs to win this battle.

Once he was well past Manadhien's talan, Galithil turned his attention from it to the southern forest. He saw no signs of orcs despite the fact that the reports said as many as a hundred of them were just outside the village's hunting and patrol range. His heart raced a little at that thought and his hand drifted unconsciously to rest on the hilt of his sword. Anticipating the upcoming battle over the last day and night had left him starting at every little noise and movement. He wondered if he should be ashamed that he would be glad when the attack finally came.

"My lord," Galuauth whispered, laying a hand on Galithil's shoulder firmly enough to draw him to a stop.

Galithil gripped the hilt of his sword, glanced over his shoulder at his guard and followed his gaze to the talan they were going to inspect.  There he saw a figure moving in the early morning shadows on its platform. Galithil instinctively stepped off the path and closer to a large tree.

"It has to be Mornil or Gwathron," he whispered, as Galuauth pressed against his back. "What do we do? Confront him? Wait for him to leave?"

"I recommend letting him leave," Galuauth said. "We can undo any damage he has done quickly and secretly enough. Letting him think he accomplished whatever he is doing might serve us if it means our enemy will think us weaker than we really are. Confronting him, on the other hand, would likely drive him to flee before Dolgailon returns and is in position to arrest him. That would certainly do much more harm than good."

Galithil nodded. Galuauth was right that they dared not make any of Manadhien's servants disappear, but he doubted their ability to quietly replenish any supplies that might be damaged. He wished Dolgailon would return. Or the King would make whatever move he intended to make. Hiding behind the tree and waiting for the figure to descend from the talan, Galithil kept half an eye on the forest, watching for orcs or for his brother and uncle.

The elf in the talan--it was Mornil--climbed down the rope ladder, put a heavy bundle on the ground, and raised the ladder. Then he picked up his burden and hurried south, out of the village and into the forest.

Galithil pressed closer against the tree, leaning around it and watching the disappearing shadow. If Mornil had just escaped.... If he left, never to be seen again, and did it while Galithil watched and did nothing....

Galuauth must have sensed his charge's tension and guessed at its cause. He tapped Galithil's shoulder for his attention and then, with his hand carefully concealed between both their bodies and the trunk, he pointed upward. Galithil moved only his eyes in the direction Galuauth pointed.

Tureden followed Mornil, almost directly over his head in the tree tops, bow in hand.

Galithil relaxed slightly. "Let us go see what Mornil took from the talan and whatever other damage he did," he said.

Rather than openly walking down the path, Galithil remained hidden amongst the trees. Once they reached the talan and let down the ladder, Galuauth held Galithil back and climbed up first himself after exchanging a nod with Lanthir in his tree. Galithil tried not to fidget as he studied the shadows surrounding him and waited. Once Galuauth signaled it was safe for him to come up, Galithil hurriedly did and he raised the ladder behind himself to conceal his presence.

"The water is drained," Galuauth said, gesturing towards the barrel closest to him.

"All of it?" Galithil asked, walking over to another of the barrels and looking into it. "Also empty," he answered his own question. "It seems we can expect the orcs to be using flaming arrows then, if they want us to be without water to fight the fires. That is going to be a bother to correct." Fetching and hauling up enough water to fill four barrels would not go unnoticed. Galithil pivoted on his heel and strode to the locked cabinet against the outside wall of the small shelter in the center of the talan. He ran a finger over fresh scratch marks on its lock. "This has been picked," he said, pulling keys from his tunic pocket. He opened the cabinet door and cocked a thumb towards the empty rack inside it. "The bundle Mornil was carrying must have contained the bows and spare arrows. They are gone too. Fortunately, we are not surprised by that. Not surprised and therefore prepared."

The moment they figured out that Manadhien planned to attack the village, Dolgailon anticipated the removal the defensive weapons from this talan. He ordered the Southern and Western Patrols to deliver some of their spares to him and he kept them stored in his talan. Galithil would only need to bring them here.

"It might have been better if Dolgailon had ordered a village guard to keep watch in this talan," Galuauth said quietly.

"He considered it," Galithil replied, heading toward the shelter door. "But he decided doing so would make Manadhien realize we were aware of her plans. Of course, she figured out we were aware of them anyway--apparently after discovering of the owl, according to Legolas's message--but Dolgailon also did not post a guard because he feared the risk was too great that the guard who drew that duty on the day of the battle would share Ferenil's fate," he said, referring to the guard that disappeared with Celonhael. "Better bows go missing than guards. Bows are much easier to replace."

"Undoubtedly true," Galuauth muttered in agreement.

"Let us check if he stole the medicines too," Galithil said, "and then we will start re-supplying the talan. We likely do not have very much time. At least, since we cannot possibly hide refilling the water, we can ask the village guards for help." As he spoke, Galithil opened the door to the shelter where the medicines were stored. Galuauth followed.

Just inside the shack were several small cots where the most seriously injured would be treated during a battle. On the back wall were several tall stacks of blankets that could be spread on the floor for other wounded and shelves lined with jars that should contain medicines. Galithil approached them.

As he extended his arm to retrieve a jar and check its contents, a stack of blankets next to the shelves began to tumble over. Galithil's tense nerves reacted on instinct to the unexpected movement. His hand jerked back from the jar and grabbed his sword. His focus narrowed to its hilt and the falling blankets. Before he could draw, a dark form filled his vision. Something closed around the wrist of his sword arm and he felt a prick under his chin.

"Do not move," Manadhien's voice ordered, cold and fell.

At the sound, Galithil froze, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword, his mind trying to process what was happening. Blankets landed around his feet, bumping against his legs. He glanced at them and then back in the direction of the shelves. Where the stack of blankets stood moments before, now Manadhien loomed, both her arms stretched towards him. It was her hand grasping his right wrist, he realized. And the prickling sensation was the point of a knife driving just into the flesh of his neck. His breath stopped.

"You think you tricked me with your little ruse, pretending to want my tutelage?" Manadhien asked, her hand tightening painfully around his wrist as her eyes bored into him. "You take me for some sort of fool? You are the fool. And I am going to make sure you pay for your stupidity dearly." Her voice shook with fury.

Galithil tried to open his mouth to make some sort of a response, though his mind was still struggling to produce one. No matter that it could not. He could not manage the breath to speak and even if he could, he could not move enough to do so without driving the knife further into his flesh.

"You have no hope of escaping this talan," Galuauth declared into the silence. His voice rang in Galithil's ear.

Unable to turn his head to look at his guard due to the pressure of the knife, Galithil shifted his gaze to his left. His eyes widened and darted back to Manadhien, following the length of Galuauth's blade.

Galuauth held his sword thrust in front of him, level with Manadhien's throat. The slightest lunge forward would take her head.

And a flick of her wrist would take Galithil's.

"Put that knife down and let him go," Galuauth commanded and Galithil had to admire his nerve. He sounded as if he were issuing any other order that he expected to be obeyed. "If you comply, I will let you live."

Manadhien laughed and the knife dug a little deeper. Something warm trickled down Galithil's throat to pool at his collar. Blood, he realized in an oddly detached way.

Galuauth's sword twitched.

"If you are lucky, I will allow you to live," Manadhien retorted. "Now strip."

Galithil frowned at that order, not understanding it at all.

Apparently Galuauth did. He shook his head. "It will take more than my clothes for you to pass as me and escape with him. Your hair is far too dark and your build does not match mine. Two other guards are watching this talan, along with several other warriors. All have orders not to allow you to leave this village, much less with Galithil."

"Lucky for me you are wearing a cloak. The hood and cape should conceal both problems. Strip. Now. Before I decide the Troop Commander's assistant," she jerked Galithil's wrist, "will not have enough value in Dol Guldur to make him a worthwhile hostage. Do as I say before I kill you both right now."

Galuauth remained perfectly still, unwavering, but, unless Manadhien moved the knife, this was a standoff the guard could not win.

Galithil's heart made an effort to beat its way through his ribs and out of his chest. Dol Guldur! He would rather she kill him. As that threat echoed in his ears, so did Uncle Thranduil's admonition not to hesitate to defend himself and Legolas's heartfelt agreement with that command. A dozen years of Master Langon's training rose above his fear.

In one smooth motion, Galithil lifted his chin and leaned away from Manadhien while drawing his sword. He bent backward sharply, nearly enough that his hair brushed the floor, to duck under the knife that she thrust at him while she tried to pull his sword arm down. He proved the stronger. Breaking her grip on his wrist, he swung the sword in a wide arc in front of himself when he finally yanked it from its scabbard. It was enough to force her to dance back against the wall to avoid his blade.

The moment Galithil was out of range of the knife, Galuauth lunged forward, pressing his sword fully against Manadhien's throat with enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood. He pinned her to the wall and closed in on her. With his left hand, he grasped the hilt of her knife, twisted it from her hand and threw it behind him. Then he seized her wrist, immobilizing it.

Her left hand flashed towards her waist.

Galithil drove it down and out to her side with the flat of his blade.

"If you so much as blink, I will slit your throat," Galuauth growled, nose-to-nose with her.

She stayed perfectly still, but her eyes remained defiant and full of hatred.

For a long moment, the only sound Galithil heard was his own blood pounding in his ears.

"My lord?" Galuauth said into the silence.

Galithil's eyes darted from the blade at Manadhien's throat to his guard's face.

Galuauth returned his gaze steadily, as if awaiting something.

It took Galithil several, still panting breaths to determine what his guard expected: his decision on Manadhien's life. That realization did nothing to help bring his breathing under control, unless stopping it all together counted. Galithil gave a quick shake of his head. He could not order Galuauth to kill an elf.

Even as he was thinking that, he suddenly became acutely aware of the weight of his own sword, still in his hand. He swallowed and looked at Manadhien.

She glared back at him with open contempt, as if daring him.

He shook his head again. He was not executing her himself either, not when she was subdued and could be arrested instead. Deciding her fate was the King's right--and duty--not theirs.

"Manadhien, by the command of the King of the Woodland Realm, you are under arrest for high treason," he finally said quietly. And so, at least Manadhien will be out of the way before the battle begins, he added to himself.

"Turn around. Slowly. Keep your hands out, away from your body," Galuauth ordered, stepping back and releasing a bit of the pressure against her neck--just enough that she might comply with his order without slicing herself against his blade.

She turned and faced the wall.

Galuauth ran his hands over the bodice of her gown and seized the hidden knife she had been reaching for. He tossed it aside and again placed the point of his sword on her neck, this time at the base of her skull. Then he looked at Galithil. "Take off your belt and use it to bind her hands behind her back," he said. Then he leaned forward slightly, his sword forcing her to turn her face to the side in order to press herself more firmly against the wall. "Make even the slightest move towards him and I will kill you. Put both your hands behind your back."

Galithil hesitated only a moment, trying to decide if he could bind her hands while still holding his sword. Obviously, he could not, though he wished he could. He sheathed his sword. He would not sacrifice his sword belt to bind her. He ran a finger over his quiver strap. No. That was far too valuable as well. Finally, he settled for removing the belt that held his knife. Thrusting the knife between his sword belt and body, he took a step toward Manadhien.

At the same moment, she stepped to the side, away from him, and flung herself back, almost sliding down the length of Galuauth's blade. She threw herself against his body and inside the range of his sword. Before he could shift it or move his arm to hold her in place, she drove her fist downward and into his groin.

Caught unprepared, Galuauth doubled over in pain.

Manadhien dove towards the small window in the back wall of the shelter and clambered, head first, through it before Galithil again drew his sword.

"Stop her!" he shouted and he pursued her straight through the window.

The hem of her skirt caught on the windowsill as she righted herself on the talan platform. Galithil grabbed a fistful of it as he passed through the window himself, but the delicate fabric easily tore when she continued to flee.

If she got away...if she made good her escape and commanded the upcoming battle, Galithil's decision to arrest her rather than execute her when they had the chance would mean that he was responsible for the damage she wrought on this village....

"Stop her at any cost," he yelled, knowing the spies and guards would understand that order.

Manadhien leapt heedlessly over the talan railing, caught a branch and rode it to the ground as it bent under her weight.

Rather than following her, and placing himself between her and any arrows that might fly her way, Galithil reached for his own bow and an arrow from his quiver. Quickly scanning the area to make sure he would not strike any unintended victims by accident if he missed his target, Galithil loosed an arrow, aiming for Manadhien's thigh through her skirts. At the same moment, he heard several other bows twang. Two silver and black fletched arrows flew at Manadhien. Those arrows belonged to his guards, Lanthir and Heledir, still in the trees. A moment later, another arrow originating from the direction of her talan whistled towards her.

Manadhien dodged right at the sound of Galithil's bow. His arrow sliced into her skirts. She stumbled enough that he thought it might have cut her, but it did not hit her directly. One of the silver fletched arrows missed her entirely, flying to her left. So did the one that the spy over her talan loosed. The second silver arrow, aimed to the right of her original path, drove through her shoulder, wrenching a pitiful scream from her. She staggered, falling against a tree, and clutched at her wound. Blood gush between her fingers. With effort, she leveraged herself away from the tree and dashed further into the forest to the south.

Galithil nocked a second arrow and drew, aiming again for her legs.

"What in Morgoth's name are you doing?" a horrified voice cried from north of the talan. Galithil recognized it as Lumil--one of the village guards. He was loyal to Manadhien, but Galithil and Dolgailon had agreed it was doubtful this particular guard knew the extent of her evil.

Galithil loosed his arrow at Manadhien's fleeing shadow. Where it struck, he never knew.

Lumil appeared below him, arrow nocked and aimed at him, though not on a drawn bow. "Stay this insanity," he ordered. His tone was more pleading than demanding.

Almost before Galithil registered an arrow was pointed at him, Galuauth's back filled his vision. The guard positioned himself between his charge and any threat from below. His bow was fully drawn. "Drop both bow and arrow to the ground. Now," he shouted. "Else face arrest for treason-- for threatening the king's foster son."

Lumil did as he was told, slinging his bow aside and reeling back a step as he did, closer to the small group of elves that had raced to the talan in response to the shouting. Some were village guards; others were elves that had been about their morning work. They all stared up at Galuauth, mouths agape, as the guard shifted his aim to the forest and searched for his fleeing target.

"What is going on here?" Lumil asked again, voice high pitched.

"Manadhien...Moralfien, as you know her, is guilty of treason. She escaped while we were arresting her," Galithil replied, but stopped short of offering any further explanation of her crimes. To do so would waste time. The villagers would not easily believe the outrageous charges against her until they heard the witnesses testify, and she would not stand trial unless they caught her again. Galithil looked over Galuauth's shoulder for any glimpse of her. Nothing. He turned to his guards in the trees. "Do you see her? Did we stop her?"

"I do not see her, my lord," Lanthir answered.

"Nor do I," Heledir called.

"We have to go after her," Galithil said. "I should have finished this myself...."

"I saw the spy go after her, my lord. He will catch her. That duty is his, not yours," Galuauth replied, using his most stern tone, though quietly enough that only Galithil, not the crowd below, could hear him. "And you made the same choice anyone would have made," he added in a softer voice. "Even the King would have tried to arrest her, so he could hold a trial. So the populace would understand his decision."

Galithil shook his head, refusing the absolution his guard was trying to offer. And his implied order not to follow Manadhien. There was no possibility he was going to face the king and admit he watched her escape. "I am going after her," he said loudly enough for all to hear, hoping to forestall a public argument. He took a step towards the talan ladder.

"I will help, my lord," Seregon called up to him.

That voice--the captain of the village guard's voice--reminded Galithil of his other problem: the missing supplies in the talan. He drew a breath to order Seregon to work with the rest of his guards to bring water and weapons to the talan.

Before he could speak, two horn blasts sounded to the south--the village guard's signal that orcs were approaching.

Galithil stared southward. Too late to make preparations. Too late to pursue Manadhien. The battle was here and she had fled to the protection of her dark servants. He squinted, trying to make out movement in the morning mist.

The guard's horn was answered by a sharp whistle.

At least the patrol is in place, Galithil thought. And Manadhien would have to cross its lines to escape. With luck, they and the spy would stop her. With even greater luck, perhaps she would be caught between the battle lines and die there.

Seregon lifted the horn from his belt and blew it, long and clear. Then, he began calling orders to his guards.

All around, the village erupted into action. A swell of shouting voices arose, punctuated by wood striking wood as talan and cottage doors flew open and elves poured through them. Some were still fastening or even pulling on tunics or gowns due to the early hour. Others were strapping on quivers and stringing bows. All were either calling for their families and friends or were yelling orders. The elves carrying bows or spears ran towards the various officers of the village guard and then scattered to the village borders. The rest ran straight towards the talan Galithil occupied.

Galithil darted to the talan ladder and let it down.

"Seregon," he yelled, sliding down the rope even as the first elves reached the talan.

Seregon turned towards him, hand up to signal the guard he had been speaking with to wait.

"Moralfien took the weapons from the talan and emptied the water. Tell as many people as you can to bring their own hunting bows and any water from their homes that they can carry to the talan. Galuauth and I will go get the bows Dolgailon held in reserve."

Seregon nodded, called a guard to him and sent him off through the village, shouting that news.

Galithil turned and raced towards his talan in the center of the village, fighting the crowds running in the opposite direction. Galuauth remained at his side. Lanthir and Heledir converged upon him as well. As they ran, Galithil could not help but worry over Manadhien's escape. And Mornil's. And he did not even know what happened to Gwathron.

"Is Gwathron in his talan? Do we know? If he is, we must arrest him immediately," Galithil said.

"Gwathron left the village last night. Presumably to command the battle," Heledir answered. "One of the spies followed him. Tureden was on Mornil this morning..."

"I saw that," Galithil interjected.

"And Geledhel went after Manadhien," Heledir concluded as they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to Galithil's talan and the weapons they sought. "He followed her when she fled."

"So Galuauth told me also," Galithil said, stopping on the bottom step. He turned to Heledir. "Go find Tureden and make sure he heard the warrior's signals and that he arrested Mornil. Then help Geledhel if you can. Make certain Manadhien does not escape, one way or another. We," he gestured between himself, Lanthir and Galuauth, "will help the village guard. They will be outmatched in this battle."

All three guards began to shake their heads. "Our duty is to you, my lord, not to chasing Manadhien," Heledir protested.

"And the Troop Commander ordered you to go to that talan when the battle began," Galuauth reminded him.

"Obviously that is where I intend to go with the bows we are fetching. You and Lanthir will be with me, satisfying the king's order that two guards stay with me. Heledir will be of more service to the entire realm if he ensures Manadhien and her servants are not left free to command orcs and target the king. He is going after her, we are fighting, and we are not arguing about any of this. We are out of time." With that, he jumped up the talan stairs by threes to retrieve the weapons. Galuauth and Lanthir followed.

Heledir leapt into the trees and headed south.

*~*~*

Legolas awoke to the unusual sounds of birds chirping. Even more strange: sun light streamed down on his face. As his eyes came into focus, he saw red oak leaves, rather than the stone ceiling of his room in the stronghold. His brows drew together as he tried and failed to remember agreeing to spend the night in one of his friends' cottages.

Even if he had, that would not explain the voices he heard. He recognized none of them. Nor did he recognize this tree.

He pushed himself up, looked around and finally remembered: he was in a camp of the Western Patrol--in its officer's talan along with Colloth, Berior and Anastor.

"Good morning, my lord," Colloth said quietly.

Legolas turned towards the sound of his voice. His guard was sitting on a cot on the opposite side of the talan, leaning back against the wall. "Good morning," Legolas replied, as he swung his legs off the cot and looked around for Anastor and Berior.

Anastor was lying on his side, face towards the wall, with his arm across his eyes. Berior's head was still pillowed on his balled up cloak, but he was watching Legolas and he resolutely pushed himself upright when Legolas sat up.

Legolas nodded and mouthed a 'good morning' to his cousin as he stood. "I want to speak to the couriers and officer before we head home to see if they have received any interesting news from the south overnight. At the very least, I want to confirm Dolgailon got the message I sent." As he spoke, he stepped quickly over to a stand with a pitcher of water and a shallow bowl. He splashed water on his face and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. Then he once again faced Berior. "Come find me once you have managed to roust our fine warrior friend here," he concluded, gesturing towards Anastor.

"Not a member of this patrol yet. Do not need to wake up on its captain's orders," Anastor muttered pulling his cloak over his head. "Or yours. My lord." That last was tacked on in a snide tone.

Legolas laughed. He was used to Anastor and Noruil applying that title to him with the expressed intent of implying the exact opposite of the courtesy it was supposed to signify. In his defense, Anastor did not seem nearly as mocking this morning as he often had in the past. In fact, he had largely stopped teasing Legolas altogether since their shared experience with the men.

"Respect," Colloth demanded. He leaned over, grabbed Anastor's cloak and snatched it off him entirely, tossing it on the floor at the foot of his cot.

Anastor groaned again, but he did sit up, if only to glare at Colloth. "I am not serving in a patrol with any of you. I refuse to do it," he said, stumbling to the pitcher to wash his face.

"None of us are serving in a patrol at this moment. Indeed, we need to return to the stronghold with all haste before our parents are worried enough to lock us in a cell until we come of age," Legolas replied and he started towards the talan ladder.

"About that," Colloth began, but Legolas's attention was drawn away by one of the unknown voices outside the talan.

"I will fetch Lord Legolas, sir," it said.

Legolas peered over the railing of the talan at the sound of his name. His eyes widened when he saw the elves sitting below, on a grouping of logs, along side the lieutenant of the Western Patrol that commanded this part of their territory. "Oh, that cannot be a coincidence. We are not even close to still being inside the Guard's territory," he exclaimed, irritation creeping into his tone despite his best efforts to stifle it. He stalked the remaining distance to the ladder to climb down from the talan.

"I was about to tell you," Colloth said, following him. "He arrived this morning, before dawn, looking for you."

"Who?" Berior asked, also trailing after Legolas.

Legolas did not reply. He simply hurried down the ladder, ignored the warrior approaching the talan and walked straight to where the lieutenant sat with one of his archers, a warrior from the Palace Guard and the Guard's captain, Dollion. Dollion stood when he saw Legolas, prompting the others to do so as well. That courtesy almost made Legolas laugh out loud. He stopped nearly toe-to-toe with him and spoke into his ear.

"I cannot believe Hallion diverted the Captain of the Guard from his duties--duties the king assigned and ones intended to keep the stronghold safe while we are moving against a serious threat--to fetch me home after a single night's absence," he said in a very low voice.

"He did not," Dollion replied in an equally quiet voice.

Legolas frowned. Then what was Dollion doing this far outside his assigned territory?

"The queen gave me that order," Dollion said.

Legolas clenched his jaw to remain silent. Hallion he might be able to manage. If nana was angry enough to send warriors after him, that was another problem all together.

Berior and Anastor, who had followed him from the talan, whispered amongst themselves in response to that declaration. Legolas could not make out their words, but they undoubtedly were saying something about the amount of trouble they were obviously in.

"It seems it is quite fortunate that she sent me," Dollion continued without acknowledging them. "Far too much is happening here. Rossoth," he gestured to the lieutenant, "has asked my advice on how to manage it and my suggestion was that we should speak to you."

Legolas's gaze darted between Dollion and the lieutenant.

Dollion stepped back and indicated the logs where he had been sitting. "Please join us, my lord. There are some patrol requests that I think you should look at. Any assistance I might be to you..." He left that offer open while holding out his hand for the tightly rolled papers Rossoth held--obviously reports delivered by bird.

Rossoth surrendered them, clearly relieved to do so, and Dollion gave them to Legolas with an level, dead-serious stare.

Legolas lowered himself onto the log while straightening the papers. Berior and Anastor blatantly stood behind him, one on each side of him, to read the reports over his shoulder.

The first was from Delethil, Dollion's eldest son and the captain of the Eastern Patrol. Orcs--most likely the ones Legolas had read about yesterday while summarizing patrol reports--attacked Maethorness's village in the middle of the night. Nearly one hundred of them. Legolas took a quiet, deep breath to keep himself from reacting visibly to that number and he read on. The village apparently was expecting the attack, because Delethil mentioned the full village guard, as well as half of his patrol, had met it. Even thusly prepared, at the time Delethil sent this dispatch, the orcs were on the verge of over-running the village.

Behind him, someone--either Berior or Anastor--gasped.

Legolas tensed and glanced at Dollion. He was watching Legolas read, stone-faced. Legolas returned his attention to the paper, pulling it a little more tautly between his fingers.

Delethil was requesting that any warriors that could be spared from Rossoth's patrol be sent into the central and northern territory along the eastern border. This was necessary because Delethil had ordered all warriors in the Eastern Patrol to go south to help protect Maethorness's village and stop the orcs before they pushed further north. In case their efforts failed, and some of the orcs punched through, Delethil wanted someone to be in position to stop them and protect the villages on the eastern border ahead of their advance.

That was only the first paper.

Dreading what he might read next, Legolas shuffled the second message forward and scanned it. It was from Morillion, the captain of the Western Patrol. He was ordering his lieutenant--Legolas looked up at Rossoth quickly--to spread his warriors further west to compensate for the fact that Morillion had pulled all the warriors on the western border south to Dolgailon's village, to aid the Southern Patrol against a massive orc attack there. Legolas's jaw clenched when he read 'over one hundred orcs' once again.

"My warriors cannot be in two places at once, my lord," the lieutenant said softly when Legolas stopped reading, but remained silent.

"Obviously not," Legolas replied, handing the papers back to Dollion.

This was a very bad situation. Legolas was no captain and he knew that very well, but he also knew enough about the defense of his father's realm to understand how important it was that the orcs be held south of the mountains. From these reports, it appeared likely that they would push past them in the east and possibly even in the west. And they would certainly take the lives of a good many villagers while attempting it.

And there were even bigger problems than that if the orcs were massing in the west.

"Legolas, what about..." Anastor began, his voice filled with worry.

Legolas waved him silent. "Did we receive any response from Dolgailon's village to the bird we sent there last night?" he asked the lieutenant.

Dollion raised a curious eyebrow.

The lieutenant handed Legolas another small paper, still rolled and sealed shut. "This arrived moments ago, my lord," he said. "I was just sending someone to tell you."

Legolas took it, pulled it open and read: "First matter: No communication. Second: already knew." That terse message was written in Galithil's hand and contained the coded symbol, so it had to be authentic.

"Oh!" Berior whispered behind him. He cut himself off from saying anything else and a glance showed Legolas that his cousin was trying his best to maintain a neutral expression. Anastor, on the other hand, looked at Legolas with open panic.

Legolas sympathized with that. Fear churned in his own gut.

What was happening in that village? What had Manadhien done to reveal she had discovered the spies--the 'second' matter Galithil referred to? Worse still was Galithil's response to the first matter--the fact that the King was in the south. The village had 'no communication' with him yet? What had happened to him? He was supposed to send word to Dolgailon that he was moving to arrest or execute Glilavan and Fuilin so that Dolgailon would know to arrest Manadhien. And why had Galithil, not Dolgailon, responded to the message? Where was the Troop Commander? If he was not in the village, who would arrest Manadhien and lead the battle in the west?

Legolas looked south, causing Colloth to shuffle anxiously.

"I could send an order to my Guard to go further east and south," Dollion said, interrupting Legolas's worries about Manadhien, the King and Troop Commander. "To help cover the Eastern Patrol's territory, so that the Western Patrol's warriors could manage their own territory per their captain's orders..."

Legolas automatically shook his head, despite the fact that he had no right to question a captain's orders to his warriors. "Weakening the stronghold's defenses at this moment makes me very nervous," he hastily explained. "Since Manadhien is certainly behind both these attacks, that might be precisely what she is trying to accomplish. We might be playing directly into her hands."

"My fears exactly, my lord," Dollion replied. "Another option--a better one--is to send the warriors of either the eastern Path Guard or eastern range of the Northern Patrol further south. The Path Guard could be in position the fastest. The problem with that idea is: I am not the captain of either group of warriors. I do not have the authority to order them any more than Delethil could order Rossoth. I can only explain this situation, suggest their warriors move and then, if need be, argue why mine should not. That process would waste time--a luxury we do not have."

"Indeed not," the lieutenant agreed. "I cannot wait for that argument to be won or for someone in the stronghold to make the suggestion into an order. But, if I obey my captain's orders--something there should not even be a hint of doubt that I will do--and I move west right now, without waiting, I will do so knowing that I am leaving the eastern border as far south as Nenon's village and as far west as our current position badly exposed."

"Six villages are in that territory," Legolas muttered to himself.

The lieutenant nodded. "Exactly. But if I disobey and wait to move my warriors while Delethil's request travels to the stronghold--and the suggestion to move the Path Guard is approved, delivered and executed--by then the battle in Dolgailon's village will already be decided. If the orcs prevail in the west, they will have spread well north before I am in a position to stop them. And there are seven villages threatened in that territory. Either decision I make has the potential to cost too many lives."

"There is no time to send this request to the stronghold. Decisions need to be made now, my lord," Dollion emphasized, looking at Legolas steadily. "By someone with the authority to make them."

Legolas's eyes widened and his gaze darted up meet Dollion's before he could stop himself. Surely Dollion was not suggesting....

Dollion leaned towards him, eyebrows rising almost imperceptibly.

Legolas drew a breath to respond that he had no authority to order any patrol anywhere. He should not even be in this camp. Dollion's presence, at the Queen's order, testified to that.

He blew out the breath without speaking.

The fact was, he was here and the orders did need to be sent immediately. More significantly, he had better information than anyone else that might make those orders--more than the patrol captains, Hallion in the stronghold, the Troop Commander in the village or even the King, where ever he might be. He knew the immediate status of all the patrols, Manadhien's knowledge of her impending arrest, the King's position and lack of communication with the village and Dolgailon's apparent absence from the village on the eve of battle.

In other words, he knew how far this situation had deteriorated and that it could not be allowed to grow worse.

It was his duty to see to the safety of these villages, a duty he was born to and had been raised expecting to shoulder at some point, though certainly not so soon.

Still, he hesitated. He was not of age. Not a warrior. His father had vigorously resisted every effort Legolas and his underage cousins had made to involve themselves in military matters. He could not imagine how his father would react to Legolas usurping authority--Hallion's, Dolgailon's and the captains'--to make this decision.

On the other hand, he could easily imagine how the King would respond to hearing multiple villages were overrun by orcs due to his inaction, and he had no more desire to see that response than he did the destruction of the villages.

Legolas's heart began to race in anticipation of what he was about to do.

"You both agree that the best course of action is for the Path Guard to move south?" he asked. He did not want to make the situation worse while trying to address it, and he was acutely aware that he had little knowledge of warfare, but he knew he could trust these officers' judgment.

The lieutenant nodded.

"Yes, my lord," Dollion answered and he seemed to relax slightly.

"You have served closely with them," Legolas said, addressing Dollion. "In your opinion, the warriors in the Path Guard have the skill to face those numbers of orcs, should Delethil's defense of Maethorness's village fail?"

"The more experienced ones, yes," Dollion replied.

"Very well," Legolas said. "I will write an order to the captain of the Path Guard asking him to send..." he hesitated, trying to remember the number of warriors specifically in the eastern Path Guard. This was simply not information he managed as regularly as Galithil did. "To send two dozen warriors as far south as Nenon's village. If Dollion's warriors can cover the Path closest to the stronghold, that should not spread the Path Guard too thin."

Dollion nodded.

Legolas turned back to Rossoth. "That should make it safe enough for your warriors to immediately obey Morillion's orders."

The lieutenant also nodded and called for writing materials and a bird.

Even as Legolas accepted the quill, ink and paper the warrior brought to him, while ignoring Anastor and even Berior's wide-eyed stares, he wondered if he would have to mark the message he sent to the Path Guard with the King's device instead of his own to ensure the order was obeyed. The thought made him laugh dourly as he wrote. That sort of forgery bordered too closely on Manadhien's deceptions. He instead wrote as thorough an explanation of the current situation as he could entrust to a bird, ended it with the order for two dozen warriors to take position between the Path and Nenon's village, carefully worked in the required coded symbol, and signed his own name.

When he was finished, he turned to Dollion and again spoke quietly into his ear. "I am not of age, nor am I a warrior. Do we honestly expect that the officers of the Path Guard are going to accept these orders from me? Would it not be best for you to sign them as well? Or at least note your agreement with them?"

Dollion pulled away to stare at Legolas a moment before answering. "I do not believe for a moment that Denoth or any of his officers would question your authority, my lord. Any more than I would."

Legolas pressed his lips together, still worried.

"Denoth knows you, my lord. So do his lieutenants. Perhaps not as well as I do, but they do. They have guarded your hunting trips and Denoth has first hand knowledge of how you handled...the incident during that training exercise and its aftermath. He knows these battles are related to that. And this would not be the first time his officers looked to you for guidance, after all."

Legolas loosed a short laugh. "Using me to dodge their captain's unpleasant orders regarding an insane old man hardly counts," he said, but he did begin to roll the paper. As he stuffed it into the bird's pouch, he turned a more serious look on Dollion. "In addition to repositioning your own warriors, you will take a report of these orders to the stronghold, along with the message that the King has not yet arrived in Dolgailon's village and Dolgailon is apparently absent from it as well. Report directly to Hallion, outside the Queen's presence. There is no need to worry her unnecessarily."

Dollion frowned. "I will be happy to confirm to Hallion that I agreed this is the best course of action when you speak to him, if you fear he might question you over it," he said. "Though I doubt he would do so even more than I doubt Denoth would. And surely you can speak to him about the King yourself. I did not even know he had left the stronghold."

"No one is supposed to know, for his own safety," Legolas said as he stood, raising Dollion and Rossoth to their feet. "But I am not going back to the stronghold. I am going to Dolgailon's village."

The lieutenant, who had already begun signaling his warriors to break camp, stopped and raised an eyebrow at Legolas.

Dollion shook his head. "But the queen..." he began.

Legolas cut him off. "One hundred orcs are going to attack the village Manadhien and two of her most dangerous servants are in. Both the Troop Commander and King's locations are unknown. We only know for certain they are not in that village, where they are both supposed to be. I trust Morillion and Ostarndor to manage the orcs, but someone has to make certain Manadhien and her servants do not escape. The King and Dolgailon were supposed to do that, but something has obviously disrupted their plans, so it falls to me. I am going to the village."

Dollion looked from Legolas to Colloth, obviously hoping for support.

Colloth's expression was the most grim Legolas had ever seen on the normally cheerful guard. But he remained silent.

"If you wish, my lord," Rossoth interjected, "you can accompany the warriors I am sending closest to that village. They will not be going nearly so far south, but you will have safer travel for as long as they can stay with you."

"Thank you. Colloth and I will travel with them for as long as it is practical," Legolas agreed. "See to it that Berior and Anastor get back to the stronghold safely," he said to Dollion. Then he started towards the path south.

Berior caught his arm. "I have every bit as much training as you, and as much cause to want to see Manadhien arrested. I am going with you."

"I want to come too," Anastor began.

"No," Legolas said flatly. "I have taken responsibility for enough. I am not taking responsibility for either of you." He pointed at Berior. "The King needs you doing your adar's duty. There is no one else that understands those accounts as he did, except you." He swung his finger towards Anastor. "And you have precisely half a year's training with a sword. I am walking into a battle the warriors of the Southern Patrol will be hard pressed to survive. I will not allow you to go and that is my final word on it." He glared at Anastor and prepared to order Dollion to bind him and carry him back to the stronghold, if necessary.

"Very well, my lord," Anastor said softly. "Only remember that you may have more training, but you have never served in a patrol and, like Berior, I would wager the King believes you also have value to this realm."

Legolas openly blinked at that easy victory. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Your word that you will return directly to the stronghold. Both of you."

"You have it," Anastor and Berior said in unison. "Do be careful, Legolas," Berior added.

"I will," Legolas promised. Then he turned once again to join the warriors Rossoth suggested he travel with.

After speaking swiftly to the warrior from the Guard that had accompanied him, Dollion jogged to catch up Legolas, taking up a position next to Colloth. "The Queen ordered me to bring you home safely and I intend to obey her, even if we must return by way of Dolgailon's village," he said in explanation. "I assure you that I have left my patrol, your message to the stronghold and your friends in good hands. If I was not certain of that, I would return to the stronghold. Since I am, I am coming with you, and I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but I will not be deterred."

Legolas only nodded. That was a battle he had little hope of winning, and given that he would almost certainly face more of those this day, an additional experienced warrior could not possibly go amiss.

*~*~*

Naneth/nana -- Mother/mum
Adar/ada -- Father/dad

The title of this chapter is a quote from Lord Byron.

Sorry to be so long in updating. I have been concentrating on real life the last month, and to good end: I have a new, full-time job in a library, meaning that for the first time in three years, I am no longer among the ranks of the under-employed. Hooray! :-)