Chapter 10: Those who are heartless

Hiding, crouched behind the cracked-open door to the guest quarters, he watched Belloth guarding the passage that led to the store rooms. He had spent many a night like this for the last month.

The maid that Belloth admitted to that passage, carrying a basket of linen and a bucket slung over one arm and balancing a tray of food on the other, had been gone for so long that his calves were cramping as he waited for her to return.

He was getting a little desperate—running out of excuses.

But what was he supposed to do? Legolas kept that cursed key in his pocket! And he had not agreed to allow anyone to sleep in his room since this whole mess began.

How was he supposed to get the key?

*~*~*

Finally alone after a long day of endless meetings, Legolas lounged, to the extent that one could, in a tall-backed wooden chair in the King’s office, staring at nothing. In front of him, the day’s work was arrayed in neat rows on the table—petitions answered, troop orders written, even a bit of foreign correspondence carefully composed. All of it signed, sealed, and sorted, ready for the couriers.

He ought to get up and go to the Green while he still had time—and so he would do, but only after one last matter was concluded for the day.

While he waited, he idly turned a pouch over and over in his hands—the pouch that Berior had fetched up from the treasury before going to the Green himself. The pouch that contained Manadhien’s ring.

Manadhien.

The insoluble dilemma.

When his father was finally conscious enough to be made to understand that she was his prisoner, his relief was palpable. As was his satisfaction. And anticipation. Eager anticipation.

That last, Legolas could not fathom. He did not believe for a moment that his father was anxious to execute her, but neither could he imagine he had magically invented some solution that would make coexistence with her safe.

Legolas shook his head. They could not confine her to a cell until the end of Arda, but no matter how he tried, he could not convince himself that she could be reformed enough to risk freeing her, even under guard. She exuded hatred itself the last time he saw her, in the Hall, brazenly climbing onto the dais to inspect the tapestry behind the throne. If she had a weapon that night, she would have killed every person present.

Even knowing that, he still pitied her. Helindilme’s description of her pleas for help after…after witnessing his father kill her father—it still haunted him. He closed his eyes. That pain—the loss of a father at the hands of an elf—was something he understood, in far too many ways.

And he could not forget the desperation she strove to conceal when he held that blue gem, her last connection to her lost family. Or the way she clutched it when he returned it to her.

Over and over during the previous month he found himself wondering: what was the elleth that received that gem like? How did she feel, three ages of this world ago, as she embarked on an unprecedented (and as yet unequaled) journey to abandon the only home she had ever known? Was she young, full of hope, and eager for new experiences? Was she mature enough to know the weight of the responsibilities she would soon face and strong enough to manage them? Both? Neither? Did the Doom of Mandos give her any pause before she stepped onto the ice?

Galithil said she was visibly, and apparently genuinely, grief-stricken while relating to him how she had not set foot in Middle Earth before she watched her mother meet a horrible fate on that journey.

Of course, Galadriel said Manadhien’s father had not even left the Blessed Realm without first willingly spilling elven blood.

Had Manadhien, her mother, sister and brother also taken part in the kinslaying at Alqualonde? Did her willingness to do evil go back that far? Was she and her family simply unbalanced somehow? Or had something twisted her father’s thinking and he, in turn, corrupted his children. Or had hardships—wicked deeds, maybe even ones she felt compelled by circumstances to commit—undone her mind?

That was a disturbing thought.

Behind him, the office door opened. Before Tureden could announce who it was, Galithil’s voice crashed through the silence in the office and reverberated off the walls. “Are you coming to the Green tonight or not?”

Even as he involuntarily jumped, Legolas was reminded of when they were children and his cousin, giggling madly, would burst into his room in the morning and roust him out of a deep slumber by leaping onto his bed. Like those long-ago days, Galithil laughed now at the response he had just provoked.

No. There were two distinct laughs, though one was quickly stifled.

Legolas turned in his chair to level his best glare on his cousin—cousins. The second laugh had been Dolgailon’s. Legolas’s glare froze, half-formed when he also saw Hallion. And Helindilme.

“We beg your pardon if we startled you, my lord,” she said as she approached the table.

“Oh, yes, we beg your pardon,” Galithil repeated, grinning as he flung himself into the chair next to Legolas and kicked another out for Helindilme. Then he raised an eyebrow. “You do a terribly good Thranduil impression Legolas, but you are not your adar, so stop frightening our guest and answer my question. Are you coming to the Green or have you gone daft? Reduced by overwork to staring at the walls?”

Dolgailon nearly strangled trying to stifle his reaction to that question. Hallion frowned, but remained silent. Both stood next to their usual chairs and waited for permission to sit.

Legolas gave it with a wave of his hand while narrowing his eyes at Galithil. “I am daft?” he began, intending to say quite a bit more until he saw the healer clasp her hands in front of herself. And wring them. She had made no move to sit. He glowered at Galithil a moment longer and then forced himself to focus, apologetically, on Helindilme. “Never mind my cousin, mistress. He can be counted upon to be rude, even in the presence of ladies. Please sit down. One can never predict how long Galithil will pursue trouble once he has given it chase and you might as well be comfortable while watching the spectacle he provides.”

Galithil’s grin evolved into a full-fledged smirk and he drew a breath to say something that would undoubtedly prove Legolas’s point.

“I met Lords Hallion, Dolgailon and Galithil on my way to help your lady mother prepare the king to go out to the Green,” Helindilme said quickly before Galithil could speak, in an obvious attempt to forestall any unseemly display. As she spoke, she cast her gaze about the room, trying to find something else to talk about, without realizing that her words had already earned Legolas’s full attention. She spotted the painting behind the king’s desk—the one of his first sight of Eryn Galen from the heights of the Misty Mountains. Her eyes widened and she took a step towards it. “Is that the painting you described to me? Of the mingling? It is stunning. I cannot believe how well he captured it.”

Legolas glanced reflexively at the painting, even though he had seen it a thousand times. He greatly admired it as well, but it simply did not matter at the moment. He nodded in answer to her question before asking his own. “The king is going to the Green? Tonight?”

“He is indeed,” she answered, still studying the painting.

“The king did all the murals in the family quarters,” Galithil chimed in. “Our uncle Celonhael and Dolgailon’s father-in-law did the decorations in the public parts of the stronghold.” He paused and threw a teasing look at Legolas. “And Legolas has done some family portraits. Would you like to see those?”

Legolas fought not to make a face. Helindilme would never understand that reaction and he did not care to take the time to explain it. So, he ignored his cousin’s question and cut off Helindilme’s response in favor of pursuing the topic that interested him more: “I did not think the king was well enough recovered to walk the distance from his own room to the dining room, much less to the Green.”

Helindilme looked a moment longer at the painting before focusing on Legolas’s implied question. “I do think he will find it…tiring. But he is determined. It is becoming increasingly difficult to prevent him from over-exerting himself.”

Galithil and Dolgailon could not help but laugh at that. Even Hallion smiled.

“And is Nestoreth as surprised by this as you appear to be?” Legolas asked with a resigned sigh. He could not stop his father from lengthening his recovery any more than the healers could.

Helindilme shook her head. “No, my lord. Quite the opposite, to be honest. She seems surprised he has remained confined to his bed as long as he has. She went so far as to ask me how I accomplished it, but I did not do anything.” She frowned. “She even asked if I was drugging him. I certainly am not.”

“Nor had you better,” Legolas said.

“You would regret that,” Galithil muttered. Then he leaned over and punched Legolas on the shoulder. “So is your adar’s return to the Green sufficient reason to drag you out of here and through the Gates?”

“Do bring your bow out,” Dolgailon agreed. “Dollion has accused me of cravenly avoiding a contest I owe him, despite the fact that I still cannot walk without a crutch. Perhaps you could stand in for me.”

Galithil turned a mock-insulted glare on him. “Legolas could stand in for you! What about me? Your own brother?”

Dolgailon shrugged. “Legolas is a better archer than you,” he replied in a dramatically off-hand tone.

Galithil made a huff. “Legolas is a better archer than you,” he shot back.

Dolgailon sat a little straighter in his chair, his brows drawing together.

“Children, we are not alone,” Hallion reminded them softly, looking between Legolas and Galithil before focusing a stern, disapproving glare on Dolgailon. That caused Legolas’s much older cousin, the realm’s Troop Commander, to appear both abashed and offended in earnest.

It was an odd enough expression to make Legolas laugh. “We will do whatever we must to make sure you hold on to that marvelous knife,” he said nodding at the intricately carved hilt sticking out from his cousin’s belt—the best, in Legolas’s opinion, of the items his cousins and Dollion bet amongst themselves.

Tureden, still standing guard at the office door, turned his head to hide a scowl.

“I was already planning on going out,” Legolas continued. “Briefly. But I doubt I will be able to stay out long and nor will the king.” He dumped the contents of the pouch still in his hand onto the table and laughed when Galithil recoiled from it the moment he realized what it was. “A messenger from the Path Guard came and spoke to Hallion and I as we were finishing this.” He tapped a stack of papers. “Our guest will be here soon. When adar spots him, that will put a swift end to any thought of merrymaking he might have had. Frankly, that suits me fine.” He nodded at the ring. “That is one item I do not have any right to make decisions about alone.”

“No arguing with that,” Galithil replied, reaching to take the pouch from Legolas. Once he seized it, he chased the gold band across the surface of the table with it, finally trapping it against an ink jar and forcing it back into its container.

He had no sooner captured it when, outside the office, in the corridor, the main door to the family quarters groaned open and closed. Soft, hurried footsteps sounded in the passageway, heading towards them.

“The maid you were waiting for, my lord,” Tureden announced, standing aside to allow an elleth to rush into the room.

She blinked at the sight of so many people around the table. “I beg your pardon for interrupting, my lord.” She held out a key. “Manadhien is settled for the evening.”

Legolas stood to take the key and resisted the urge to laugh when Hallion, Dolgailon and even Galithil stood as well. He dropped the key into the pocket of his court robe. “How is she?” he asked. He had not anticipated that his father’s recovery would take so long. He could not deny he worried that keeping Manadhien locked in a cell for an entire month demonstrated a lack of mercy. Even so, he did not dare let her out for any reason, for fear of allowing her to escape.

“Surly, as always,” the maid replied with a half smile.

Legolas returned it ruefully. “Then thank you, again, for seeing to her needs,” he said, nodding when she bobbed a quick curtsy before departing.

“We should go too,” Galithil said, scooping up the pouch from the table and crossing over to the king’s desk. He pulled open a drawer, dropped the pouch into it and signaled for Hallion to lock it.

Shaking his head, Hallion complied.

“No more excuses, Legolas. Let us go out while we still have time,” Galithil continued, holding his arms out wide as he walked back towards the meeting table, as if to herd the others from the room.

“You are impossible,” Legolas replied, but he did move off towards the office door, tugging at the clasp at his throat that fastened his formal robe as he went.

Everyone followed.

Walking into the corridor, Legolas shrugged off the robe and glanced down at the light, silk shirt he had worn under it. It was also not appropriate for archery contests. “I will change into something more suitable for the Green, retrieve my weapons and join you in a few moments,” he said, a hand resting on his doorknob. “Will you join us, uncle Hallion?” he added before going into his room. He spoke out of courtesy more than anything else. Hallion joined the games on the Green as infrequently as the king, so Legolas was surprised when his uncle nodded.

“I believe I would enjoy watching you compete,” Hallion replied. “I only saw that one contest between you and your adar. I would very much like to see another.” He governed his expression. “If you would not mind, of course,” he added more formally.

“I invited you! Of course I would be delighted for you to come,” Legolas exclaimed. Then he allowed a hint of a mischief to light his face. “If you think the populace will survive the sight of the King’s steward at the Oak. Better still, bring your own weapons. I confess, I know very little about your skill with either bow or blade.”

Hallion smirked at that. He smirked! “Should I be persuaded to compete, I believe you would be satisfied with my skill, my lord.”

Legolas broke into a wide smile. “Oh, that sounds far too much like a challenge! You cannot have been a member of this household for as long as you have without understanding the dangers of challenging a descendant of Oropher.”

Now a snort escaped Hallion before he mastered himself. “I believe you issued the initial challenge. You ‘know nothing about my skill with bow or blade?’ That sounded distinctly like a challenge in itself.”

“A contest between Legolas and Hallion! I am getting some coins!” Galithil declared, spinning around and reaching for his own doorknob.

Legolas shook his head and ducked into his room before Hallion could scold his cousin. He did not even want to think about how Galithil was in possession of any coins.

A door latch clicked, but it was not the one across the hall from Legolas’s. It was the door next to his.

“You will not gamble,” a stern voice said. “Though, I confess, that is a contest I would not mind seeing myself.”

Legolas turned back towards the corridor to see his father come into view, walking slowly, still with a distinct limp, openly leaning on Lindomiel.

“Fair evening, my lord. My lady,” Hallion said, his voice slightly higher pitched than normal.

“Fair evening to you, Hallion,” Lindomiel answered, sounding like an elfling allowed to stay up for her first festival.

Legolas tossed his robe onto the back of the nearest chair and stepped fully back into the hallway. For the last month, his father was always in bed, often asleep, by the time Legolas returned to the family quarters for the evening. It was amazingly good to see him dressed and ready to go to the Green. Apparently his mother thought the same. She looked happier than Legolas had seen her since the battles in the south.

Thranduil, unfortunately, was looking over his shoulder at the stacks of papers visible through the open office door. His expression had grown serious. “Perhaps I should at least peruse the reports and petitions before going to the Green,” he said and, as he spoke, he pulled from Lindomiel’s grasp.

Determination replaced Lindomiel’s care-free smile and she held onto Thranduil’s arm.

Helindilme interposed herself between him and the office door. “My lord king,” she whispered, “going to the Green will be challenging enough. Reading might be…too difficult. It might be wiser….”

“I will be the judge of what is wise in my own realm, mistress,” Thranduil interrupted, sidestepping her.

Lindomiel wilted and looked pleadingly at Legolas, Galithil and Dolgailon. Galithil and Dolgailon, in turn, looked at Legolas.

He bit back a groan. How was he supposed to argue with his father? Well, disappointing his mother was even harder. "Adar, Hallion and I have the affairs of this realm well in hand,” he began.

“I will be the judge of that, as well,” Thranduil muttered, not slowing his march towards his office.

“And truthfully, adar,” Legolas forged on, undaunted. “Your return to the Green will mean more to the populace at this moment than anything you might contribute to troop deployments or petitions.”

That caused Thranduil to half-turn and look at Legolas.

“Everyone is anxious to see for themselves that you will… that you have recovered.”

Thranduil slumped slightly and reached again to lean on Lindomiel’s arm. “Your first choice of phrasing was the most correct,” he said. “Will recover. Much more slowly than I like, it seems.” His brows drew together as he studied Legolas. “I regret how long you have been obliged to help Hallion. You should be free to dance with your cousins.”

Legolas shook his head and forced a smile, trying not to allow his gaze to drift to the hair that barely brushed Thranduil’s left shoulder. “Adar, I am more happy to see you up and about than I can express. A few weeks or months of work? I can manage that quite cheerfully, thank you.”

Thranduil nodded somberly. “Much more cheerfully than the alternative. I know that very well.”

Legolas returned his gaze equally somberly.

Behind them, the door to the family quarters opened again.

“My lord,” Lanthir called. “Lords,” he hastily amended with obvious surprise and pleasure when he saw the king.

Legolas turned to find the guard looking between him and his father before finally deciding to address Legolas. That choice made Legolas tense.

“The Gate Guards send word that Mithrandir and his escort have arrived at the stronghold. They ask permission to admit them.”

“Mithrandir?” Thranduil asked, directing himself to his steward, his tone demanding an explanation.

“Tell the guards to let them in, of course,” Legolas said to Lanthir.

Thranduil shifted his gaze to Legolas and raised an eyebrow.

“And bring Mithrandir to the king’s office,” Legolas added. There would be no persuading the king to go to the Green now.

“Why has Mithrandir traveled to my realm?” Thranduil asked, as Lanthir bowed and slipped back out the door. “Did you summon him here? For what purpose?” He looked from Hallion, who shook his head, to Dolgailon, who turned to Legolas. That caused Thranduil’s eyes to widen as he faced his son.

“I did not summon him,” Legolas replied. “The Path Guard reported that he crossed the Forest Gate last week, on horseback, traveling with with two elves. They did not question them because Mithrandir is known here and elves are no threat.”

Thranduil loosed a scoffing laugh. “Elves are no threat?” he repeated.

Legolas began to make a face in response to that comment and only just stopped himself in time. This was his father, not one of his cousins. “The only elf remaining in Middle Earth that is any threat to fellow elves is locked in a cell somewhere below us, adar,” he answered with as even a tone as he could muster.

Thranduil nodded. “Conceded. Still, why has Mithrandir come? Do we have any idea?”

“I have my suspicions, but since the Guard did not question them, I cannot be certain,” Legolas answered.

Thranduil was now facing him squarely. “What suspicions then?

Legolas held out an arm, gesturing for Thranduil to precede him into the office.  “I took a ring from Manadhien,” he began, intending to supply more detail than that, but his father was immediately on guard.

“From Manadhien? And Mithrandir has heard of it? How?” he asked without taking a single step towards the office.

“From Radagast, would be my guess. He was present…well, to be honest, it was he that discovered the ring she wore,” Legolas replied.

“Why would Radagast send Mithrandir a message about a ring our prisoner was wearing?” Thranduil interrupted again.

Legolas ground his molars to stop himself from answering, ‘if you would only let me speak.’ Before he could say anything else, the door to the family quarters opened again to admit Lanthir, leading Mithrandir and two elves.

Despite the tension between he and his father, Legolas smiled automatically at the sight of the disheveled, old wizard leaning on his staff and shuffling towards them with an infectious twinkle in his eyes.

“Mithrandir!” Lindomiel exclaimed, extending her hand.

Mithrandir swept off his hat and bowed over it.

“You are always welcome!” she said.

“Which is fortunate because I am always a surprise,” Mithrandir replied, bowing to Thranduil.

Fortunately, the wizard’s warmth managed to sway Thranduil’s mood. He inclined his head in greeting.

So did Legolas. Then his gaze passed to the elven escort and his eyes widened before he could stop himself. He looked quickly from one elf to the other. They were identical!

“Lords Elrohir and Elladan, unless I am much mistaken!” Lindomiel was saying. “Welcome to Eryn Galen! You are the true surprise. No one told us you were accompanying Mithrandir.”

‘Elrond’s sons?’ Legolas thought. ‘What message, precisely, did Radagast send to Mithrandir that would prompt Elrond to send his sons on such a long journey?’ He glanced worriedly at his father, who was no doubt even more confused by their arrival.

Thranduil’s expression made him blink.

It was one Legolas had not seen in many years. One reserved for elflings that had been particularly naughty. And he was aiming it at Elrond’s sons.

“Young lords Elrohir and Elladan,” Thranduil repeated, taking a step towards them. “The same young lords who, while sitting on my lap, put a spider in my pocket and mice in my lunch basket when last we met, I believe?”

Mithrandir’s eyes brightened and he looked delightedly between the elves flanking him and the Elvenking.

Only years of experience in court prevented Legolas from staring or laughing out loud himself. Spiders and mice! That must be an interesting story! Next to him, he heard a feminine giggle—Lindomiel’s or Helindilme’s, he could not tell—quickly stifled.

Elrohir and Elladan’s eyes lit briefly with amusement before they adopted a much more formal air. Elrohir made a half bow. “Our adar did remind us of that incident before sending us here. He also reminded us that we still owe you an apology for those misdeeds. We apologize, my lord.”

Thranduil maintained his overly dignified glare a moment longer—long enough to elicit the slightest frown from Elladan—before allowing a sincere smile to light his face. “Accepted, of course. I see you have grown quite a bit since that council, so I trust any meals you share with my family during your stay will be much less eventful.” His smile broadened. “It is an honor to host not only Mithrandir, but Lord Elrond’s sons. You are all very welcome. I would invite you to refresh yourselves in the sitting room, but Legolas and Hallion seem to believe that you would prefer to address whatever business brought you here, since they asked for you to be escorted to my office. The choice is yours: business first or rest from your travels?”

“I will rest better after we see to our business,” Mithrandir responded, suddenly very serious. “That is still your office there?” He pointed at the door behind Thranduil with his staff and started towards it without waiting for an answer.

“It is,” Thranduil replied, stepping aside for his guests to precede him through the door that Hallion held open.

*~*~*

Standing next to his normal place at the table, waiting for his father to seat himself, Legolas had no expectation that this meeting would go smoothly. He knew perfectly well how much the king would dislike being thrust into any conversation, much less one with foreigners, without any real idea what the conversation would be about.

Thranduil, in turn, waited for Lindomiel to sit, while watching Mithrandir and Elrond’s sons.

Lindomiel escorted Mithrandir to the table and sat down with him, making idle conversation as she did. She appeared for all the world to be blissfully unaware of any tension in the room.

Legolas doubted that.

Thranduil sat and gestured for everyone else to do the same.

Legolas, Dolgailon and Galithil silently took their seats.

Elrohir and Elladan drew Helindilme back into the office, much against her will, and pulled her to sit in a chair between them at the far end of the table. There, huddled together, they questioned her at length regarding Thranduil’s treatment and prognosis. Their questions, especially those detailing the exact location of his father’s head wound and the surgery Helindilme had performed, made Legolas wonder if they were also healers. He supposed that would make sense. Their father was a renown healer, after all.

Still, Thranduil would not like his own people to know the particulars of his current incapacity. Foreigners, even allied lords, he would never grant the level of detail Helindilme was revealing. Thranduil’s posture grew increasingly rigid as she spoke.

Hallion, in the meantime, went over to Thranduil’s desk, unlocked the drawer he had locked only moments before, and withdrew the pouch. He placed it on the table in front of Legolas.

That earned Thranduil’s intense scrutiny.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from not only Mithrandir, but Elrond’s sons?” the king asked, interrupting the chatter once Hallion had been seated. His tone was tinged with impatience.

Everyone faced him.

“For our part,” Elrohir answered, “my brother and I came at our adar’s request. Radagast’s message mentioned, amongst other topics, that you had suffered a very serious blow to the head in battle. Adar assured us that your healer—Nestoreth, I believe he said was her name—is very capable. And we thought it was possible that Helindilme was still here. None-the-less, such a wound is very difficult to treat. Adar wanted to be certain we could be of no further assistance.” He smiled and inclined his head. “We are quite pleased to see that we are not needed.”

“And I was perfectly happy to have their company over the mountains,” Mithrandir added. “One sees more orcs there now than before the dwarves left Hadhodrond.”

“Dwarves serve some purpose then,” Thranduil said. “Or at least they did once.”

Mithrandir laughed. “As to why I have come: I am here because Radagast’s message said that Legolas found a magic ring.”

Thranduil’s gaze snapped to his left, causing Legolas to draw himself up straighter. That was not how he would have chosen to reveal that detail.

“My good cousin knows my interest in magic rings, so he sent me a bird.” He paused and turned his smile on Legolas. “Is it in that pouch? May I see it?”

“Of course,” Legolas answered, still feeling the full weight of his father’s eyes. He inverted the pouch over the table, spilling the gold band onto its surface.

Thranduil gasped at sight of it. Mithrandir’s eyes widened. So did Elrohir and Elladan’s. Their reactions seemed overly dramatic.

“Where did you find that?” Thranduil demanded.

“As I mentioned earlier, I took it from Manadhien,” Legolas responded. “It was Radagast that saw it first and recognized it is magic, but, while holding it, I could sense that myself.”

“You could sense it yourself? While holding it?” Thranduil repeated. As he spoke, he pulled his hands off the table, where they had been resting, and away from the ring.

Legolas frowned at his father’s obvious distress, but he did not understand it. They had long speculated that Manadhien had a magic ring. The evidence that they were correct should not be so shocking.

Mithrandir’s bushy eyebrows were drawn close together now, as he bent over the ring. He passed his hand tentatively over it. “What did you sense? And who is this Manadhien?” he asked, never taking his eyes from the ring.

“I believe it has the power to make its bearer more persuasive,” Legolas answered. “While Manadhien wore it, she was able to make people—myself and my cousin Dolgailon included—believe words that we consciously knew to be false. And she could make outrageous actions seem perfectly acceptable.”

Dolgailon nodded in agreement.

“Mmm,” Mithrandir mumbled. He brushed the ring with the back of his fingers, as if testing a hot kettle. Then he grasped it, holding it perfectly still for a moment, before bringing it closer to his face to study it. “And Manadhien?”

Legolas began to answer that she was the mistress of the elf Mithrandir had seen his father almost execute, but it would certainly not do to say that in front of Elrond’s sons or Helindilme, so he remained silent and glanced at his father.

“Manadhien has committed numerous crimes in this realm, including murder and treason,” Thranduil finally said.

“She is a servant of Sauron,” Dolgailon added.

That assertion drove Mithrandir, Elrohir and Elladan to all stare at him. Impossible as it should have been, they seemed even more tense.

“Surely that…” Elladan began before biting off his words.

“That is a very serious accusation. How can you be certain of it?” Elrohir asked.

“We know that on numerous occasions she allied with orcs,” Lindomiel interjected quickly. As she spoke, she aimed a warning glance at Legolas. ‘Your adar knows nothing of your involvement in the battles,’ she mouthed while Thranduil focused on Elladan’s incredulous reaction.

“You have evidence of that?” Elladan exclaimed.

“All of us have seen it,” Thranduil confirmed, but when Elladan and Elrohir appeared to expect more, he pressed his lips together.

“She used orcs several years ago to ambush our family on the border of the forest,” Lindomiel said into the silence. “When my adar was returning to Lorien. Legolas saw her kill my parents. And try to kill me.”

“And she was the one that led the orcs that recently attacked the villages in the southern part of this realm,” Legolas added.

“I saw her commanding them,” Thranduil said, with a barely restrained tone.

Legolas drew a breath to say that he had also, but Lindomiel shook her head. Legolas looked down, frowning. His role in the recent battles would come out eventually. If he remained silent now, his father might see that as a lie of omission later, and that would not make matters better. “As did I,” he said softly, without meeting his mother’s gaze again. “Most significantly, Radagast and I saw her taking orders from one of the Nazgul,” he concluded quietly.

“You what!” Thranduil demanded.

Legolas returned his father’s shocked gaze with an impassive one of his own. Now was not the time for this argument and his father would realize that. Eventually.

“You saw one of the Nazgul!” Elrohir cried. He sounded more horrified than Thranduil.

Helindilme was staring at him, hands over her mouth.

“That is good news, truth be told,” Mithrandir said, ignoring both outbursts, though his brow was deeply furrowed. “If this had been the ring we feared it was, the Nazgul would have taken it from this elleth long before Legolas and Radagast ever saw it.” He placed the gold band on the table. “I am curious how she got it, but it does not really matter.”

Now it was Legolas’s turn to stare at the wizard. He finally understood what Mithrandir, and his father, apparently, had feared when they saw the ring. “She made it,” he answered. “She was one of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.” He glanced at his father. He had managed to rein in his temper, or at least any outward display of it. “Adar saw her amongst them once.”

The wizard’s gaze darted to Thranduil, who nodded once.

“Mithrandir,” Legolas continued when no one said anything else, “may I ask precisely what Radagast said to you in his message? From your words and reactions here, you clearly feared this was the One Ring. Radagast had to know that was not the case. I am surprised he led you to believe that.”

Mithrandir and Elrond’s sons all looked at him with widening eyes.

“What does one so young know of the One Ring?” Mithrandir asked.

“What anyone should probably know,” Legolas answered. “That Sauron, in fair guise, subverted the arts of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, tricking them into making Rings of Power, which he gave to Men and Dwarves. That the Nazgul are the bearers of the Nine. That Sauron reclaimed most of the Seven. And that he made the One Ring to control the Nine and Seven. And Three.”

Elladan sat back in his chair. “He is well versed in Ring Lore. That much he has proven,” he said softly.

“The first step towards defeating an enemy is to understand him,” Thranduil replied in the same tone of voice.

Mithrandir studied Legolas silently, with much the same expression he had worn the first time they met, years ago, in the family sitting room. And Thranduil looked even less pleased now than he had then. “Radagast told me only that you found a magic ring,” the wizard said, in answer to Legolas’s original question. “In the southern part of this realm, near Rhosgobel. Do you know where it is believed that the One Ring was lost?”

“In the Gladden River, near Rhosgobel,” Legolas answered promptly. “If the One Ring is a gold band…”

“It is,” Thranduil said.

“Then I understand your concern,” Legolas concluded. “Radagast should have been more clear in his message to you.”

Mithrandir shrugged. “I would have wished to study this ring, even if I had been certain beyond doubt it was nothing more than a lesser ring. Even those are dangerous and not to be trifled with.” He paused, looking from Legolas to Thranduil. “What will you do with it?”

“Destroy it,” they both said at once.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. “Would you not prefer to keep it?” he asked. “It might prove useful—.”

“Such devices are not welcome in this realm,” Thranduil snapped, not bothering to conceal his anger. “Not by my adar and not by me. I do not need magic to persuade anyone of anything. If I cannot win an argument with words, I will win it with my sword, if it is worth the fight. But I will not, ever, employ the power of the Enemy.” He paused and fixed Elrohir with a look Legolas did not entirely understand. “And yes, I know precisely to whom I speak.”

Elrohir and Elladan’s expressions remained exactly as they had been. Neither elf showed even the slightest reaction to Thranduil’s words. Elrohir only inclined his head. “This is your realm, my lord, to rule as you deem best. No one questions that.”

Thranduil glared at him a moment longer before turning on Legolas with a force that drove him against the back of his chair. “Why did you keep that? Why is it still here?”

Legolas drew a deep breath in order to speak calmly. “We discussed destroying it the night I returned to the stronghold, my lord, but none of us know enough to determine how to safely do so. Moreover, we thought its fate should be your decision and not ours. Better that you should have an opportunity to judge for yourself the manipulations Manadhien used against the people of your realm. So, I ordered it locked in the treasury. We only retrieved it tonight because we thought Mithrandir had come to inspect it.”

That response seemed to satisfy his father. He visibly relaxed.

Mithrandir, in contrast, studied Legolas even more intently.

“Well, I have seen it,” Thranduil said. “Now I want it destroyed.” He turned to Mithrandir. “How can I do that safely?”

Mithrandir forced his attention from Legolas and back to the ring. He slowly spun it around with his finger on the table’s surface. “This is not an especially powerful ring. And I imagine it was made in a typical forge, if not by typical means. You should be able to unmake it in a similar forge.”

“Good,” Thranduil said. He looked at the quill on the table, hesitated for an odd moment before picking it up with his left hand, and then used it to scoop up the ring. Dangling it from the tip of the quill, he dropped it into the pouch and handed it to Hallion. “See it destroyed. Tonight. And bring the ingot to me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hallion replied promptly.

“I should say that I am sorry you made a pointless journey,” Thranduil continued, directing himself to Mithrandir, “and I suppose in truth, I should be disappointed this was not the ring you seek. Sooner rather than later that ring must be found, and by an ally, not the Enemy. Still, I am not sorry. The idea that such a thing should be in my realm…. That my son might be the one to find it…. I am glad that did not happen. But I do appreciate your help determining what this ring is and how to destroy it.”

Mithrandir bowed, smiling at Thranduil. “I am happy to serve in any small way I can. And now,” he paused, once again adopting the light, cheerful expression he had worn while greeting them. “Were you, by any chance, going outside to partake in a bit of merry-making?”

Thranduil laughed, shaking his head at the sudden change in mood. “And wine? I know you enjoy my wine.”

Mithrandir nodded.

“I am certain there is wine and merry-making on the Green,” Thranduil replied. He turned to Lindomiel, Dolgailon and Galithil. “Could you take our guests outside. I am going to speak to Hallion and Legolas.” He picked up one the papers on the table and waved it idly. “About the details of some of these matters and then, if it is not too late, I will join you.”

Legolas purposefully did not look at his mother during that pronouncement. There was no possibility he could contradict his father in front of Elrond’s sons and the wizard. If the king wanted to stay in his office and review the events since the battle, that argument was lost.

Dolgailon and Galithil pushed their chairs back from the table. “By your leave, my lord,” Dolgailon said, making to stand.

Thranduil nodded.

From the corner of his eyes, Legolas saw his mother shift uncomfortably, but she did not rise.

Neither did Helindilme, Elrohir or Elladan.

“My lord,” Helindilme said softly.

Thranduil visibly tensed and turned a forbidding glare on her.

She looked at Elrohir with apprehension.

Legolas frowned as Elrohir met Thranduil’s glare unflinchingly. “My lord, might I simply ask you to read out loud that paper in your hand before you make any decisions about your activities tonight?”

If that request was not odd enough, Lindomiel finally stood, interposing herself between Elrohir and Thranduil. She faced Helindilme. “There are better times and circumstances to address this potentiality,” she whispered so low that she clearly hoped only the healers would hear her.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Thranduil said. As he always did when speaking to Lindomiel, he kept his tone light, but he was obviously annoyed both by her cryptic words and by Elrohir’s request. While responding to Lindomiel, he had glanced at the paper in his hand—the quantities of goods Legolas had decided could be sent to Dolgailon and Maethorness’s villages. It was a list of figures that still made Legolas very uncomfortable. He would much prefer to explain it—and the reasoning behind it—before the king fell too deep into anger over it.

Legolas winced when Thranduil frowned at the paper.

“Try to remain calm, my lord.”

Legolas looked up sharply. He might have expected Hallion to make that request, since he also knew the contents of that paper, but it was not Hallion that had spoken. It was Helindilme. She was holding both hands in front of her in a placating gesture that Thranduil did not see.

He dropped the paper to the desk as if it were on fire and stood quickly enough that he was forced to grasp Legolas and Hallion’s arms for support when they leapt up after him. He had visibly paled.

“Tell me what you saw, my lord,” Elrohir said, walking the length of the table quickly.

Elladan and Helindilme were rushing down its opposite side.

“Meleth, this is not unexpected,” Lindomiel said with an overly calm voice.

Thranduil looked at her, eyes wide. “Is that so?” he asked, using a tone he normally aimed at those, typically dwarves or men, that had angered him beyond the point of self-control.

Hurt and worry flooded Lindomiel’s eyes.

“Mind to whom you speak,” Legolas said before thinking to whom he, himself, spoke. He bit his lip as Thranduil turned on him, but by then, Helindilme on one side and Elrohir on the other were pulling Thranduil back into his seat.

He mounted a token resistance before collapsing into the chair and staring once again at the paper on the table. “What is the meaning of this, if it is ‘not unexpected?’” he asked, voice rough.

Legolas exchanged an utterly confused look with Hallion, Dolgailon and Galithil.

“Did you have trouble with the words or just the numbers?” Helindilme asked after a glance at the paper.

Hallion automatically reached to turn it face down.

Legolas was too focused on the healer’s question to care if she saw the list of trade goods. What could she mean by ’trouble with the words or numbers?’

Thranduil shook his head and thought for a moment about that question. Then he leaned forward and snatched the paper off the desk again. Brow deeply furrowed, he looked at it. “The numbers only,” he responded after a moment.

“My lord, what is two plus two?” Elladan immediately asked.

Thranduil turned a glare on him that should have turned him to a puff of ash. “Four.”

“Four plus four?” Elladan continued without the slightest hesitation.

“Eight,” Thranduil growled.

Legolas thought his father might snap in half from irritation.

“Eight plus eight?” Elladan asked.

Thranduil opened his mouth to answer. Then he closed it again with the same panicked expression he had worn while looking at the paper.

“Is eight a larger or smaller number than four?”

Thranduil remained silent.

Legolas gaped at him. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, repeating his father’s original question.

The healers ignored him as they had Thranduil.

Elrohir picked up a quill. “What hand do you prefer to write with, my lord? Your right, I expect?”

Thranduil nodded. “You are trying my patience,” he said, looking apprehensively at the quill. “And if your lord father sent you here as healers to treat me, he must have warned you how foolish it is to do that.”

“We cannot give you complete information if we do not have it ourselves, my lord,” Helindilme replied, sounding apologetic.

“Could you take the quill with your right hand?” Elrohir asked, holding it out. “Be sure to take it with your right hand.”

Legolas watched as his father hesitated over that request before finally taking the quill with the proper hand. But the way he looked to Elrohir, as if for confirmation that he had done as asked, left Legolas wondering if he had guessed which hand was his right.

After a quick inspection of the papers on the table, Elladan slid a petition summary in front of Thranduil and turned it over, presenting him with its blank side. “Would you please write your name, my lord?” he asked.

Thranduil dipped the quill into the ink and complied. After managing the first few runes, he looked far too pleased, especially given that his writing looked much like that on the papers he kept in his desk containing Legolas’s first attempts at writing.

“And Legolas’s age?” Helindilme added once he had finished. “Along with the year he was born.”

Thranduil moved the quill to an empty space and then…did nothing. After a moment, he looked from the tip of the pen to Legolas. “You are forty-six years old. You were born in 1941,” he said. But he wrote nothing.

“If Legolas is forty-six now, how old will he be in the spring, my lord?” Elladan asked.

Legolas raised an eyebrow, surprised that Elladan knew he was born in the spring—of course, most children were born in the spring. He was forced to take a calming breath when his father struggled and failed to answer that question.

Dolgailon and Galithil sank back into their seats, staring at the king. Legolas did the same, his heart pounding. This was obviously a result of his father’s head injury. But it was…horrible! He could not imagine….

Helindilme knelt next to Thranduil’s chair. “This is an expected consequence of the injury you suffered, my lord,” she said gently. “A very common result of a blow to that part of the head. The important thing…what you must remember,” she said, patting his arm, “is that this is temporary. Just as there are exercises you must do to regain strength in your injured leg, there are exercises that will help with this. That will fix it.”

Thranduil leveled his sternest glare on her. “That,” he said, “is something Nestoreth would have had the good sense to say straight away.” He looked at Elrohir and Elladan before finally turning to Lindomiel. Legolas expected the fact that his mother had tears in her eyes would be enough to soften his father’s expression. It was not. “Along with warning me that this might happen, since you clearly knew yourselves.”

“Meleth,” Lindomiel whispered. His continued anger checked whatever else she might have said.

Silence hung over the room for several moments.

“Mithrandir,” Legolas finally said. “If you would not mind…”

“Of course,” the wizard said, immediately making for the door. “I was on my way to find some wine.”

“I will send word to Galion to make sure you are properly accommodated,” Legolas continued. “All of you,” he added, looking at Elrond’s sons. “I am sure you are anxious to rest from your journey,” he said when they did not move.

“Perhaps we should…”

“No, you should not,” Legolas intervened. “That is enough for tonight.”

He was aware of his father frowning next to him, but Lindomiel stepped forward and took Elrohir’s arm, whispering something to him as she led him to the office door. His brother and Helindilme silently followed. With a bow, so did Tureden. He closed the door behind himself once all their visitors had exited the office.

“I am sorry we did not tell you, meleth,” Lindomiel said, the moment they were alone. She looked at Legolas, his cousins and uncle. “That we did not tell anyone. It was my decision. I did not see the point in worrying you over something that might not happen and that would be no more permanent than any other scar. I did not realize how alarming…”

“The inability to read,” Thranduil interrupted, nearly growling, “To count, to write numbers, my own son’s age—that is predictably alarming, Lindomiel.”

“With respect, adar, govern your tone,” Legolas whispered.

Thranduil’s glare flashed to him.

Legolas managed not to flinch. “Nana is every bit as upset as you are. This is not permanent. I have managed these figures for the last month and I can continue to do so until you are fully recovered. I had planned to do so. It is a frightening impairment. I cannot deny that. But you will conquer it like every other injury you have ever suffered and no enduring harm will come of it. Therefore, there is no justification for taking your fears out on naneth.”

“Legolas,” Hallion whispered, gesturing for him to be silent.

Thranduil held Legolas’s gaze for a long moment before taking a deep breath and looking down. “He is right,” he said through clenched teeth. Then he forced himself to relax. “I apologize, Lindomiel. Sincerely.” He held out a hand to her and she rushed to take it.

“I am so sorry, meleth,” she whispered, kneeling next to his chair and throwing her arms around him.

He gathered her in his arms. “I was in the wrong. Do not think on it.” He pressed his face against her hair. “Since you seem to know something about this, do you happen to know how long it will take to…put an end to it?” he asked, voice muffled against her neck.

She shook her head. “I imagine it depends on how hard you work, just like your leg injury.”

“Well, you will be cured within a few days then,” Hallion said, and he smiled nervously when Thranduil looked up at him.

With a short, bitter laugh, Thranduil released Lindomiel and collapsed against the back of the chair. “Let us hope you are right,” he agreed. Then he closed his eyes. “I am not going to the Green. I am sorry to disappoint you, Lindomiel, but I am exhausted. I am listening to a brief summary of these reports,” he gestured to the table without opening his eyes, “because if I do not feel that I have some grasp of what is happening in the realm I rule, I will lose what is left of my mind. After hearing that summary, I am going to bed. I will go to the Green with you tomorrow night. I promise. For tonight, go entertain our guests and make sure Mithrandir does not set fire to my forest.”

“He will not set fire to it without me, adar,” Legolas said softly. “It is me that he sends the fireworks to.”

Thranduil looked at him and made an effort to smile. “Then stay here and help Hallion tell me what all this is,” he said, reaching for Legolas’s arm, as if to pull him down into his seat

“I will, my lord. But first let me send someone to tell Galion that we have guests.”

“Fair enough,” Thranduil replied. Then he placed a kiss on Lindomiel’s cheek before she stood.

“I will not stay out late, meleth,” she murmured into his ear. “And I will drag you to bed when I return, finished or not, if you are still in this office.”

Thranduil only nodded as Lindomiel took Legolas’s arm, allowing him to escort her from the office. Dolgailon and Galithil followed.

Not only Tureden, but also Mithrandir, Elrohir, Elladan and Helindilme awaited them in the corridor.

“How is he?” Helindilme asked as Legolas pulled the office door closed.

“Better,” Lindomiel replied. “Calmer. I would have preferred to manage that differently, but, at least it is done.”

“One thing is certain,” Elrohir said.

Everyone turned to him.

“The Elvenking is every bit as intimidating as adar said he would be,” Elrohir finished.

Legolas maintained a neutral expression, not sure what to make of that comment, while Lindomiel and Mithrandir smiled.

“That was nothing,” Lindomiel replied. Then she let go of Legolas’s arm and took Mithrandir’s. “Let us make sure Lord Elrond’s sons see some of the more pleasant sights in Eryn Galen, shall we?”

Mithrandir bowed and began to lead her down the corridor. Elrohir and Elladan followed, along with Dolgailon and Galithil.

“Will you join us?” Elladan asked, looking back at Legolas.

“I fear I cannot,” Legolas replied. “The king requires my assistance at the moment. Still,” he paused to make sure he had Elladan and Elrohir’s full attention, “I would like to hear that story about spiders, mice and my adar’s pocket before you leave,” he said, now unable to suppress a grin.

“And was there also the mention of a picnic basket?” Galithil added.

Try as he might to hide it, Dolgailon was also watching this exchange with undeniable interest.

The twins broke into identical broad smiles. Elrohir took several long steps until he stood between Legolas and Galithil. “We will be happy to share it with you,” he whispered. “Perhaps in return, you can persuade either your adar or naneth to tell you how it all ended. We were unfortunately caught and imprisoned in a library before enjoying the fruits of our labors.”

Legolas’s grin widened. “I will try, but I can promise nothing.”

Lindomiel openly rolled her eyes as she gestured for Mithrandir to open the door to exit the family quarters. “Oh, I will tell you,” she said, passing through the door. “At least about the spider. I might be more reticent discussing my own discovery of the mice.” She paused. “Shall I also tell you the names Lord Thranduil and I applied to you?”

“We deserved them, what ever they might have been, my lady,” Elladan replied, following her.

Elrohir nodded to Legolas and pursued his brother.

After they all disappeared, Legolas laughed and shook his head. “Dolgailon, could you please find Galion and tell him to prepare accommodations for Mithrandir and Lords Elrohir and Elladan?” he asked.

Still smiling, Dolgailon nodded. “Of course.”

“And I will go make sure we get all the details of the mice and spiders,” Galithil said, hurrying towards the door.

“Which you will share with me before you retire for the evening,” Legolas said.

“Naturally,” Galithil replied, bowing and sweeping through the door.

Alone, save for Tureden, Legolas allowed himself the luxury of laughing out loud. “Go with them,” he said to his guard as he turned back to the office door.

Tureden scowled and did not move. “That would leave no one with you or the king,” he protested.

“Neither adar nor I will be leaving the family quarters again tonight and we are perfectly safe here,” Legolas replied. “Better to have more guards outside with the family and our guests.”

Tureden hesitated long enough that Legolas’s back stiffened. The guard must have noticed. “Of course, my lord,” he responded, with a bow. Then he turned and marched through the door at the end of the corridor.

With a sigh, Legolas walked back to the office. Passing the door to his own room, he saw that it stood wide open. He scowled at it. “I must have left it that way when I heard adar in the hallway,” he said to himself, reaching for the handle to pull it closed. When he leaned into the room, he froze.

“Noruil,” he called.

Noruil was standing next to the table where Legolas did his studies as a child. Despite the fact that he was looking straight at Legolas when he said his name, Noruil jumped sharply.

“Can I help you?” Legolas asked, making certain he sounded every bit as annoyed as he felt to find anyone, much less Noruil, uninvited in his room.

“I was looking for you,” Noruil said, even before Legolas finished his question. “Are you coming to the Green now?”

“No,” Legolas snapped. “I have more work to do and the king is waiting for me. How did you get in here?”

Noruil shrugged. “I walked in. No one is at the doors, else I would have asked someone to tell you we…I…everyone…was hoping you would come out tonight.”

Legolas made an effort to rein in his temper. “I will come out tomorrow night,” he replied, remembering his father’s promise to do the same. He could work quickly, or even postpone some work, in order to be free to join his family for the king’s return the Green. Indeed, Hallion would undoubtedly be equally anxious to do that.

“Very well,” Noruil said, sidling past Legolas and uncharacteristically passing up the opportunity to make some jibe. Once he reached the door, he waved a quick goodbye and rushed out of the family quarters.

“Tomorrow, I am going to have to speak to Tureden about the Guard,” Legolas muttered as he pulled his door shut. “Either he must expand it or he has to find some better way to deploy the guards we have, else next I will be finding spiders in my room.”

*~*~*

Noruil jogged through the dark corridors, his heart beating far harder than it would simply from exertion. Finally reaching his destination, he pressed one hand over his tunic pocket and used the other to push open the kitchen door. As he flew through it, someone on its other side squealed. Then there was a loud crash.

“What the…!” an elleth shouted.

Dodging the door as it swung closed, Noruil saw the maid that delivered Manadhien’s food and other necessities sprawled against a work table, where she had leapt to avoid the door. The pitcher that had apparently been in her hand was in pieces on the floor.

“Watch it!” she cried, scowling up at him as she knelt to pick up the broken crockery.

She would not have looked at anyone in Legolas’s family that way. She certainly would not have spoken so sharply to him or any of his cousins.

“Well, what do you want?” she asked when Noruil kept staring at her.

“I…” he stammered. “I thought…” He could not get enough breath to speak.

She stood, tossed the pitcher into a bin and put her hands on her hips. “You thought everyone had gone to the Green for the night, so you reckoned now would be an opportune time to pilfer the pantry.”

“Ummm,” Noruil replied, not faring any better on his second attempt to explain himself.

She smiled at him. “Well be about it, you little rat. Rats in the pantry, that is what you and your friends are. The king’s sons, included.” She pointed at a rack full of seed cakes. “There are the ones Legolas likes, so take some back for him too. And blow out the candles before you leave. You would not want the kitchen to burn down overnight. You would starve then.” She winked at him and passed through the door, tugging at her apron strings as she left.

Noruil loosed a long breath and watched her go. He waited until he could no longer hear her heels on the stone floor and then he waited some more. When he could not avoid it any longer, he walked over to the lift at the back of the kitchen and opened its door. Then he climbed in and began the difficult task of turning the pulley to lower the lift. Slowly the kitchen disappeared and he was surround by stone. After far too long, he once again felt air on his face. That was the only way he could be certain he had arrived in the store rooms. The guards left no light on and it was black in the room as it was in the lift.

He remained perfectly still, listening.

He immediately heard pacing and rustling skirts. He willed it to stop. That was not the sound he needed to hear.

Finally he heard feet shuffle softly outside the main door of the storage area. The guard was out there, not in here. That was what he wanted to know.

He lowered himself carefully from the lift and crept over to the middle door in the series of cells along the back wall of the room.

“It is me,” he whispered into the key hole.

“Tell me you have it,” Manadhien whispered back. She sounded wretched.

A month in a tiny, dark storeroom would have made him wretched too. He answered by fitting the key he had stolen from Legolas’s pocket into the key hole and easing open the door.

“Thank the Valar!” she said in an almost normal voice as she rushed from the room.

Noruil frantically waved his hands to silence her.

She scowled at him. “He knows I am in here,” she whispered, cocking a thumb towards the outer door and the guard standing on its other side. “And he will know I am free in a moment.” She started towards the door.

Noruil caught her skirt. “No! You cannot go that way. He will stop you.”

She grasped his wrist roughly with one hand and pulled her dress free. With the other, she drew his knife from his belt. “Not if I stop him first.”

Noruil stood, petrified. She might take Belloth by surprise and overpower him. Even if she did, she would never get by the Gate Guards with only a knife. They had bows. He pressed his lips together. He would not warn her and then this would be over. But Belloth might be killed. That guard was a pain in the arse, but he did not deserve that. And Noruil did not want to be responsible for it.

“The Gate Guards have bows,” he whispered, just as she was reaching for the door, knife at the ready.

She froze and looked over her shoulder at him.

“There is no way out of that corridor without going by them,” he added.

She lowered the knife. “How have you been getting in here then?”

He pointed to the opposite side of the room. “In the lift. Get in and I will haul you up. It goes to the kitchen.”

She walked over to him, holding out her hand. “Give me that key. Then you first.”

Noruil put the key into her hand. What he would do with her once she was in the kitchen, he had no idea.

*~*~*

Taking long strides, Legolas pushed open the door to the family quarters and started down its main corridor while examining his parents’ bedroom door. No light shone from underneath it. His father must already be asleep. That was no surprise. He had difficulty staying alert through the briefing he insisted upon hearing. Legolas never really expected him to be awake now. Still, he did not use that as an excuse to put off following the king’s command: rather than joining his cousins, mother and guests on the Green, he instead summoned Criston away from the merrymaking and waited while the metalsmith reduced Manadhien’s ring to an ingot of gold.

Legolas traced its shape—now a little square rather than a circle—through the pouch in his hand as he walked towards the king’s office. It was a relief to be rid of one problem. But, despite the king’s expressed wish to see evidence of its destruction tonight, Legolas did not intend to interrupt his father’s rest to comply. That could wait until the morning.

He hesitated as he approached the door to his own room on his way to the end of the corridor. Then, at the last minute, he swerved left into it. “Its power is destroyed. It no longer matters if I lock this in adar’s desk or mine,” he said to himself as he entered his sitting room. “And mine is closer, meaning more time on the Green for me.” That brought a smile to his face as he tossed the pouch onto the table.

Everyone, even Hallion, was outside singing, dancing and enjoying a barrel of Dorwinion, rolled out in Mithrandir’s honor. It was only proper for him to join them now that his duties for the day were complete. Even if doing so was going to make doing his duties tomorrow much more difficult. He shrugged. No one in the capital was going to be in top form in the morning after tonight’s festivities.

“Where is my bow?” he said out loud to no one, squinting at the table. It was dark in his room. Much darker than normal. The only light still burning was a lamp on the table that should not even be lit. All the other lamps and even the fire in the fireplace had burned out. Or had never been set. It was late, but certainly not late enough that the oil and wood should be spent. He frowned. Perhaps the maids that normally lit his lamps were caught up in the merrymaking. It was certainly boisterous.

He looked at the cold fireplace and sighed. It would be unpleasant to sleep in the room if the fire were allowed to be out for too long, so he crossed over the the hearth, tossed kindling on the wood in the fireplace and frowned again as he pulled out a faggot to light in the lamp.

The wood in the fireplace was partially burnt. It had been scattered—the fire intentionally left to dwindle out. Who would do that? And why? He could not imagine the answer to either question as he used the poker to push the wood back into a suitable pile. Then he stepped over to the lamp on the table and pushed aside a chair so that he could light the faggot. His frown deepened and he stopped with his free hand still on the back of the chair.

His share of the bow strings he and Galithil had been twisting before dinner were lying on the table’s surface.

“I would have sworn I left my bow leaning here with the strings. Surely I did not bring them and leave the bow in Galithil’s room,” he said to himself. That made no sense at all.

“No, you did not,” a feminine voice responded.

Legolas gasped involuntarily at the sound and not only because he thought himself alone. His head snapped towards the opposite side of the room, near the door.

Manadhien stood there. In her left hand, she held his bow, unstrung. She leaned on it, almost casually, as if it were a staff. But her posture was stiff. Prepared for an attack.

His heart lurched in his chest and he tensed, checking, only barely, his first instinct to rush her. His gaze flitted to a place behind her, next to the door, where his sword should be hanging.

In response, she removed her right hand from the folds of her skirts. It held the sword.

Legolas drew the knife at his belt.

“No, Legolas,” a frightened voice pleaded. “You cannot fight her with only your knife if she has a sword.”

‘Yes, I can,’ Legolas immediately thought. But he was so surprised by the source of the argument that he could not manage to speak the words out loud. He focused on the shadows behind Manadhien and stared at the person pressed against the wall.

Noruil!

What was he doing? Legolas’s jaw fell open as realization hit him. Noruil was not looking for him earlier, when he was skulking about in the family quarters. He was looking for that key. Legolas glanced at his court robe, lying on the chair across from him, where Noruil had been standing when Legolas found him. Then he turned back to stare at his friend, anger warring against fear in his heart now.

“I am so sorry,” Noruil mouthed. Tears glistened in his eyes.

Legolas loosed a stunned breath, the best he could muster at the moment. He could not believe Noruil would do this!

“I tend to agree that attacking me with a knife when I am armed with your sword would be a foolish choice,” Manadhien said into the silence.

Legolas made no reply. Instead, he turned his attention from Noruil back to her and tried to think.

His eyebrows rose slightly when he noticed how she held the sword. Her grip on the hilt showed she knew how to wield it, which was no surprise, but it was tight, her knuckles almost white. He looked at her face and she lifted her chin and glared at him. But…behind her apparent boldness…was that a flicker of fear?

His teeth ground together. If she was afraid—desperate—that was definitely not a good thing.

What could he possibly do?

He could not attack her. Not because he stood little chance against her wielding only a knife. Master Langon had taught him how to defend himself against a sword with a knife. He had never been tried in such a fight, but he was not as defenseless as she seemed to think and that might be an advantage. Still, it was one he dared not press. She might threaten Noruil. He did not appear at all to be a completely willing participant in this. Much more importantly, any hint of a fight would awaken his father and draw him into the room. There was no possibility he could allow Manadhien anywhere near the king, even when he was fully capable of defending himself. And he was certainly not that at the moment.

Even as he contemplated the disaster it might be if she were to attack his father, his mind roiled with images of an even worse eventuality: what would happen should his mother return from the Green?

“Drop that knife, Legolas. Right now,” Manadhien ordered and she swung the sword she held until it was level with Noruil’s throat.

He yelped in fear and tried to dodge away from her, but she cornered him between the blade and the door.

Legolas had no desire to watch Noruil die, no matter his involvement in their current predicament. Besides, he had another knife hidden in his boot. He opened his hand and spun the knife so that it rested on his palm. “You win,” he said, Holding out his left hand in a pacifying gesture, he lowered himself to the ground, never taking his eyes off her. Then he placed the knife on the floor and gave it a shove. It skittered over to her.  

Letting his unstrung bow clatter to the floor, she took a step toward him and planted her heel on the blade of the knife. The sword—his own sword—tracked his movements as he stood.

“Now throw me that pouch,” she demanded, nodding at the table. Her eyes were a little brighter. More triumphant.

That would soon change. “Very well,” he replied, picking up the leather pouch and tossing it, gently, to her.

She picked it out of the air easily with one hand, while still holding the sword to ward off Legolas. Then she pinned it against her hip. “I told you that you would not keep this ring for long,” she gloated as she fumbled to open the pouch. Finally her fingers slid inside. Satisfaction flashed in her eyes to be instantly replaced by confusion as the pouch slid to the ground. The sword drooped slightly as she looked away from Legolas and at the object she pulled from the pouch—the little ingot of gold. She held it in her open hand and looked back at Legolas, brows drawing together severely. “What is this?” she cried, thrusting her hand forward for emphasis. She kicked the pouch. “That is the pouch you put my….” She froze and her eyes widened. “This is not…. You did not dare….” She could not even force herself to complete the question.

Legolas did not reply. He kept his expression completely neutral, but he readied himself for an attack, shifting his weight onto his left leg so that he could lift his right enough to draw the knife from his boot.

Her hand closed into a fist around the gold ingot and she lifted the sword to the same height as his head.

Fool. Too small a target. He could easily void such an attack and close inside the useful range of that sword while doing so.

But she did not advance on him. Instead, she flung the ingot at him, striking him in the chest. It bounced away onto the floor. “Can your family do anything…anything at all beyond destroy things?” she asked, brandishing the sword, but not moving otherwise. Her voice sounded rough.

Legolas dared to take his focus off the sword long enough to glance at her face. There were tears in her eyes!

“Answer me!” she yelled, thrusting the sword towards him.

He took a step back and again held his hands out, as if to hold her back. “It was a magic ring. One that you used to manipulate the people in this realm to do your will against their own. We could not allow any possibility that you could use it for that purpose again.”

“It was the ring I would have worn as my wedding ring, had my betrothed not died in Gwathlo, and you destroyed it!”

Legolas blinked at that. She was betrothed? And she needed a magic ring for a wedding band? For what? To coerce some poor ellon into marrying her?

He did not have much time to contemplate those questions.

Her eyes narrowed and her grip on the sword steadied. “Where are Thranduil and Lindomiel? And dear little Galithil, the honest?” she asked. Her voice was low and full of hatred. The same hatred he heard in the Hall when he first brought her into the stronghold.

“Outside,” Legolas lied without hesitation. “On the Green. With all my uncles and cousins. Mithrandir is here. I was the only one inside, working.”

Her expression soured. She obviously recognized the impossibility of approaching them there. “No matter,” she said. “Time is now absolutely all I have left. I will use it to my advantage.” She paused and waved the sword at the door. “Go. Out into the corridor. Now”

“Why?” Legolas asked without moving.

Her brow knit and she grasped the sword with both hands before swinging its flat side at his shoulders, as if to shoo him from the room.

He leapt out of range.

“Because I told you to,” she answered, pursuing him. “Move! You are going to show me that passage Fuilin saw you use to leave the stronghold.”

Legolas’s breath caught. She would escape! And then be free to do any damage she wanted to the unsuspecting revelers on the Green.

As soon as he thought that, a worse realization immobilized him.

No she would not escape. Because he could no longer open the door to that passage. The same foolish choice that exposed its existence to Fuilin had seen to that, but she would never believe it if Fuilin had told her he saw him use it. His heart began to race even harder. She would threaten Noruil to try to force him to open the door and there would be nothing he could do to save him.

He took a long breath. Think!

She did not know where the passage came into the stronghold. Where could he lead her that would do him any good? She would never follow him into the antechamber in front of the Hall and that was the only place where there were guards. His heart stopped again. Assuming there were guards there. Had she already killed the Gate Guards and whichever member of the King’s Guard that was assigned to watch the storerooms tonight? Who had they been? Belloth. He knew that for certain. He could not remember who the Gate Guards were. Was Lanthir one of them? Was that why he announced Mithrandir’s arrival? Whoever they were, he could not imagine how she got by them without murdering them. His eyes closed in grief.

“Move! Now!” she demanded.

He flinched sharply and jumped aside when the flat of the blade struck his shoulder. If he did not want to follow Belloth and Lanthir to Mandos, he needed to think! He slowly walked towards the open door to the corridor. Behind him, he heard Noruil whimper and his feet shuffle on the floor. She must be dragging him along with them.

Where could he take her? An idea sprung into his head even as she jabbed the point of the sword into his back to hurry him along. The door to the Queen’s Garden still opened for him! If he could get her through it and close it behind her, she would be trapped. The ledge that garden was planted on was a straight drop from a height as tall as the tops of the trees growing below it. And it would never occur to her, as it had to daring young wood elves, to try to make the jump into the trees and climb down.

He walked a little more steadily into the corridor.

“Do not even think of trying to trick me. I know where all the guards are,” she said, poking him again and leaving the point of the sword pressed against his back.

“Are they alive then?” he could not stop himself from asking.

“More alive than you will be if you are not silent,” she replied.

He crossed the corridor into the family sitting room. If she was telling the truth, that was a relief. He led her to the side of the room where the stone wall was carved with an arching bough of leaves and flowers.

“That door does not look particularly secret,” she said. The bite of the blade in his back lessened when she stopped following him.

He half turned back to face her. “It is secret enough. No one comes into the family’s private sitting room but the people allowed to know about the door,” he replied with an even voice. He did not dare look at Noruil, so he could only pray his expression would not give that lie away.
 
Just as she opened her mouth to respond, the latch on the door to the family quarters clicked.

Legolas and Manadhien both looked towards the sound. Panic pinched her face.

And likely his own. Any hope he had of trapping her was gone. He had to act before whoever had just come through that door became a victim of Manadhien’s desperation.

His hand flew downward, to his boot, as he sucked in a breath to yell a warning.

Manadhien lunged forward, pushing him off balance before he managed to yank the hidden knife free. He stumbled back and his shoulder struck hard against the stone door to the garden.

“Legolas! We are here to take you to the Green. No more excuses,” his mother called out cheerfully.

Steel bit into the side of his neck.

He ignored it. “Nana, get out of here! Now!”

Manadhien’s fingers tangled in his hair and pulled down sharply, in an attempt to keep him unsteady. She held the blade of his sword under his chin, but, to his surprise, did not drive it home.

“What in all of Arda is wrong?” Lindomiel’s now plainly worried voice asked. Her footsteps hurried closer.

Legolas reached again for the knife in his boot with his right hand. With his left, he grasped Manadhien’s sword arm.

In his peripheral vision, he saw his mother, Galithil and someone else, still out of view behind them, walk through the wide doors of the sitting room and freeze.

He could not spare time to worry over them if he was to subdue Manadhien before she turned on them.  He succeeded in dragging down the sword, but too late he realized that her other arm was swinging across her body. She struck him, full force, in the temple with her elbow. His head swam from the blow and she took advantage of his momentary incapacity to push him into the table that held drinks and treats for the family. Goblets, wine bottles, a platter of cakes crashed to the floor as she slammed his wrist into its edge. “Drop it!” she snarled.

He slashed at her, forcing her to release him in order to dance back, out of range.

He staggered back against the table and pressed his free hand to his head to steady himself.

“Elbereth!” his mother whispered.

As his vision slowly cleared, he glimpsed her in the doorway, trying to force her way into the room. Galithil blocked her path, arms wide, shielding her, knife in his hand. And someone else was racing toward Manadhien, ignoring Galithil’s order to stop.

“Leave him alone!” an elleth’s voice demanded.

“No!” Noruil called over it.

The sword blade flashed in an arc.

Lindomiel screamed.

Something hot splattered across Legolas’s neck and hand.

“Elbereth, forgive me!” Noruil cried, collapsing to his knees.

Manadhien made the strangest face. She appeared resolute, certainly. But also shocked and dismayed. And…surely not regretful.

A tangle of hair and bright cloth crumpled to the floor, landing in an unmoving heap.

Legolas stared at it. He could not be seeing this. He refused to believe it. It was not possible.

Something grabbed his wrist. Manadhien. She raised the sword she wielded above his arm and swung it down. She meant to cut off his hand to force him to drop the knife! He wrenched from her grip.

With a growl, she leapt away from him again, back-peddling, this time fulling extending her arm behind herself, sword leveled at Lindomiel’s throat. She stopped just out of Galithil’s range, her hand shaking so hard the sword wavered. “Drop your knives. Right now. Both of you. Or Lindomiel suffers the same fate as your little princess there. Even if I have to go straight through Galithil to do it.”

Legolas gasped for breath. It was Aewen on the floor, in a spreading pool of blood. This could not be happening. He was too stunned to even respond to Manadhien’s demand.

She made a threatening hop towards Galithil and Lindomiel.

His cousin crouched, preparing to dodge inside any attack. With his left hand, he groped behind himself. “Run,” he whispered, giving Lindomiel a shove when his hand finally found her hip.

She did not move. Instead, she reached to the bust line of her gown, where she normally concealed a small dagger.

“Do not even dream of moving,” Manadhien snapped. “Last chance to drop the knives.” She gathered herself to lunge.

“Please, Manadhien,” Legolas begged without shame. “Let them go. Allow them to walk back out of the family quarters and I will open the door. But if you harm them, you will never escape this stronghold. Surely your own life is more valuable to you than theirs.”

Lindomiel’s gaze met his and she gave her head the slightest shake.

Manadhien did not move.

“I will be your hostage,” Legolas continued, taking a step forward in an effort to draw attention away from his mother and cousin. “I deserve it. More than nana. Or Galithil. I killed Demil and Mauril. Let them go and I will go with you.”

“No!” Lindomiel exclaimed. She did not sound frightened. She sounded like the king.

Galithil loosed a scoffing noise and looked at Legolas defiantly. “The only problem with that offer is that the doors in this stronghold will not open for him,” he said. “They will open for me.”

“Silence,” Legolas hissed.

“True,” Lindomiel agreed. “And they will yield to me. I will escort you out, Manadhien, but only if you allow everyone else here to leave. Right now.”

“No!” Legolas and Galithil said in unison.

Manadhien made a bitter laugh. “You are all so noble.” Without further warning, she leapt past Galithil at Lindomiel, grabbing her by the throat. Lindomiel grasped Manadhien’s wrist with both her hands, trying to pull her arm down.

Reach for your dagger, Legolas willed, rushing forward himself.

Galithil also moved to defend Lindomiel, striking out with his knife, but Manadhien had anticipated his attack and closed too quickly. The hilt of her sword cracked against his head. He grunted, dropped to his knees and then sprawled on the ground. Manadhien’s follow through left the blade of Legolas’s sword lying against his mother’s neck.

Lindomiel remained perfectly still.

Legolas slid to a stop and all the blood in his body froze in his veins.

“Go,” Manadhien said, pulling Lindomiel further into the room. “Open the door.” She gave Lindomiel a shove and fell in behind her, burying the tip of the sword in her hair at the base of her neck.

Making no effort to resist, Lindomiel walked calmly—as calmly as she would to lead the family to dinner—towards a cabinet on the back wall of the room. Then she slipped behind it.

Manadhien followed closely. She appeared confused, at first, until Lindomiel laid a hand on the wall behind the cabinet. A seam appeared and then a crack. Manadhien took her eyes off Lindomiel long enough to glare at Legolas.

“Go on then,” Legolas said, taking a step towards them, but stopping when Manadhien prodded his mother with the sword hard enough to make her wince. “Go,” he repeated, “but let her go now.”

Manadhien’s glare grew scornful. “I know there is another door at the other end of this passage.” She pushed Lindomiel into the darkness.

Legolas ran towards them, but Manadhien hurried through the door and leaned against it, closing it before he could reach it. Legolas did not stop until solid stone arrested his movement. He slapped it with his hand. “No!” he yelled. But no one answered.

*~*~*

Adar/ada — Father/dad
Naneth/nana — Mother mum
Elleth — female elf

The title of this chapter comes from the unattributed (as far as I can determine) quote: “Those who are heartless, once cared too much.”

As for Thranduil’s injury, he is suffering from what is called in our world “Gerstmann's Syndrome,” which is a result of damage to the left parietal lobe, in the region of the angular gyrus (a friend of mine has this as a result of a car accident). It causes right-left confusion, difficulty with writing (agraphia), especially numbers or symbols, difficulty with mathematics (acalculia), and inability to distinguish the fingers on the hand (finger agnosia). In mere mortals, there is little hope of much improvement. Thranduil, mercifully, is an elf. I imagine he would recover from this eventually, just as any other wound on his body that he survived would heal.