AN: This is a continuation of a series of stories titled Interrupted Journeys. Parts 1-10 have already been posted. It is probably not necessary to have read the previous parts, but you would understand the OCs and their motivations better if you did. This part of the story is set in Legolas's childhood, two weeks after Part 10. Legolas is near adulthood, at the age of 46. This will be a short story to have some fun with Legolas's first journey outside the Woodland Realm.

Chapter 1: Well met

If Legolas had not been so distracted by all the outrageous sights in the town square, the din of yelling voices and dissonant music pressing in around him might have been somewhat overwhelming. The smell of unwashed bodies certainly would have been. But he barely noticed either.

A man in a tight fitting, bright yellow tunic with green leggings jumped up, pitched himself forward, and flipped entirely over, landing neatly on his feet. Next him him, another man in a green tunic and yellow leggings did the same, only he flipped backward. Once the crowd around them began applauding, they repeated the trick, jumping over and over on their little wooden platform until Legolas found himself reaching with both hands for the solid shoulders of his horse to steady himself. He had no idea men could be so agile. The spectators clapped in rhythm with the performers' feet returning to the ground after each flip.

"Look over there!" Galithil exclaimed, riding next to him.

Legolas reluctantly tore his gaze away from the acrobats and turned in the direction his cousin was pointing. Looking over Berior's head, he saw a man touching a torch to the blades of four short swords. They burst into flame. Legolas's eyes widened when the fool picked them up and began to juggle them. The crowd around him stepped back hurriedly, giving him more room.

"Knives are one thing," Berior whispered after they had all watched the man for a moment. He was careful to keep his voice low enough that Lindomiel, riding in the front of their party, should not be able to hear him over the excited crowd. "Swords are entirely another."

"I would venture to say that anything on fire, what ever it might be, but certainly swords, is a little too much," Legolas replied.

"I might try the swords, if they were not on fire," Galithil replied, clapping with delight as the juggler caught three swords with his left hand and the fourth with his right

"If adar caught wind that you had so much as suggested that," Legolas began with a laugh, watching the juggler to see what he would do next with the flaming swords, "you would spend the next yen...." He cut himself off, gasping.

The single sword--the one in the juggler's right hand--he extinguished by.... No, that could not be.

Legolas stopped his horse and leaned towards the juggler. He could not possibly be seeing that. It had to be a trick.

"Surely he did not truly swallow it!" Berior choked out.

But the juggler was turning around in a circle so all could see every side of him. The sword was not hidden behind his back or shoulders. It could only be that he swallowed it.

"Are you going to try that with your sword, Galithil?" Berior asked, as the juggler pulled that sword from his mouth and extinguished a second in the same manner.

"I do not think so," Galithil replied quickly.

"Oh, a puppet show! I love those!" Lindomiel exclaimed, claiming their attention.

Legolas glanced towards his mother. It looked as if she might be about to slide off her horse. That would suit Legolas fine. He wanted to stay a while in this little square to watch the performers. But her guard, Galuauth, quickly brought his horse along side hers and spoke into her ear. She frowned while looking longingly at a box with a curtain across the top of it. Four men were climbing behind the box.

"What in all of Arda are four men going to do in that little box, nana?" Legolas asked. After everything else he had seen, he was almost afraid to find out what 'puppet show' meant. Even if the little box was mostly surrounded by children, anything might happen, it seemed.

"They tell stories and use puppets--they are sort of like dolls--to act out the stories. They are always very funny," she said, smiling as the curtain opened, revealing a childishly painted scene of trees. A puppet of a man on horseback began to ride across the little stage in front of the painted scene.

"We need to reach the palace before nightfall, my lady," Tureden said firmly.

Lindomiel nodded and gave her horse the slightest of nudges with her foot. The grey mare ambled forward, carefully picking its way through the noisy crowd, over the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Under Tureden's gaze, Legolas urged his horse forward also, still watching the puppet show. The men around them stared at them with almost as much curiosity as they did the acrobats, jugglers and minstrels--but they gave the elves a much wider berth, splitting apart to allow them to pass.

Children's screams brought Legolas's gaze back to the puppet show.

"Is that...what did you call them, nana? Puppets? Is that puppet supposed to be a spider?"

From the top of the puppet theater, a black, bulbous puppet with eight pieces of yarn for legs dropped in front of the mannish puppet on horseback. The children watching the show squealed with fear as the puppets fought.

Galithil giggled. "It is not really a very smart thing to teach children that they could get that close to a spider and still have a hope of fighting it off," he said as the mannish puppet swung a wooden sword at the spider puppet.

Just as the elves were about to pass by the puppet theater, another puppet--one with long yellow yarn for hair and long, pointy ears--popped up and began to fight the spider. The children cheered.

Berior burst out laughing. "Dare we ask who that character is supposed to be?"

"Can you understand their language, Aunt Lindomiel?" Galithil asked. "What are the people with the puppets saying?"

"They are called puppeteers and yes, I do know enough of their language to understand that is, indeed, supposed to be our king." Her eyes were bright with mirth. "Never fear. I have seen this one before. The Elvenking defeats the spider, but the man does not fare particularly well either for traveling without leave through the forest. Perhaps we should move along as Tureden suggested."

Legolas and his cousins looked back over their shoulders, watching the puppet show for as long as they could before the twisting street took it out of view.

"Maybe, one day, when you are a great warrior, there will be a little yellow-yarn-haired puppet of you, Legolas," Berior whispered, barely able to finish his sentence through his laughter.

Legolas stifled a snort and cast his best imitation of his father's glare at his cousin.

That only made both Berior and Galithil laugh harder.

Legolas shook his head. "Was all that part of a festival, nana?" he asked as they traveled further away from the square along the main road in Dale.

"Those were likely the performers that Fengel invited for Dale's Fall Festival. The festival itself should have been over for several days by now. I never travel here during festivals..."

"Valar forbid," Galuauth said under his breath. Tureden nodded solemnly in agreement.

Legolas and Galithil smirked at them. The difficulties of keeping Lindomiel safe amongst the crowds in a festival were obvious.

"...but whenever I come soon after one, I always get a glimpse of at least some of the performers. They like to stay in town as long as they are still earning coin. Especially Dale and Esgaroth, where there is coin. I cannot imagine they earn much traveling to the smaller villages. And Gondor is weeks of dangerous travel away, so it cannot possibly do these performers much good. Even the mannish towns in between the forest and the Anduin are a long journey for them."

"Perhaps we should invite them to perform in the Woodland Realm," Galithil suggested. "I am certain Uncle Thranduil would love that little play."

Berior laughed.

"And as much as adar appreciates Mithrandir's fireworks, he ought to truly enjoy juggling and then swallowing flaming swords as well," Legolas added.

"A worthwhile suggestion," Tureden muttered to Galuauth. "The king might finally order the Oak cut down if those sorts of things started happening there." Then he turned to Legolas. "And if it was men juggling, and especially swallowing, flaming swords then, yes, the king might enjoy the sight of that."

Legolas only shook his head in response to that comment.

Lindomiel laughed out loud. "There is a reason why the king never travels outside of his realm," she said. "There is no need for him to know these sorts of activities even exist in the world."

"Lest we never leave the realm again," Legolas whispered, making all his cousins giggle. Lindomiel turned on her horse to wink at him.

They rode for several minutes in silence. Legolas and his cousins made little pretense of hiding that fact that they were studying any man or woman that ventured into view. And those that did, made no effort at all to hide the fact that they stared at the elves, especially Lindomiel. Legolas could not deny that made him a little uncomfortable. In truth, however, the men seemed harmless enough. Much like small creatures in the forest, they seemed far more frightened of the elves than was warranted.

Finally, the road ended at a short, wide staircase that led to a long, brick-paved courtyard with a stone fountain in its center. The courtyard was surrounded by buildings on three sides. To the left and right were identical structures, two stories tall. Their upper floors were lined with balconies that overlooked the courtyard. Both floors had many doors and large windows. Dwellings and offices, Legolas guessed. Most doors, both upper and lower, had flower boxes, chairs and little tables just outside them.

At the far side of the courtyard, stood a much taller, elaborately carved stone building. Pillars supported a domed roof and sheltered arched, gilded doors. Obviously, this was the Lord of Dale's palace. A path lined with stunted trees led from the stairs, where the elves had stopped, around the fountain and to the main doors of the palace.

"This is reasonably impressive," Galithil observed, sliding off his horse when grooms came hurrying towards them. "Quite pretty."

The guards spoke to the grooms while Lindomiel turned to Legolas and his cousins. "Westron from now on, unless you are certain you are alone," she reminded them quietly as the grooms led their horses away. She led them up the stairs and into the courtyard. It was late enough in the evening that it was devoid of people, save the mannish guards standing at the palace doors, so Legolas openly studied the unusual architecture.

"Imagine the effort--not to mention skill--it must have taken to haul, cut and fit the stones for these buildings," Galithil said with a tone of awe. "Did dwarves do it?"

Lindomiel shook her head. "No, men built it. The current palace is constructed of stone cut from the mountain. They started it about the same time we moved into the stronghold and it took them nearly the entire lifetime of Lord Viduladia, who ordered it built, to finish it." She dipped her hand in the fountain, allowing her fingers to trail through the water as they passed it.

One of the guards standing at the doors slipped inside the palace at their approach.

"His father's palace stood here as well, but it was constructed of wood, and destroyed by a fire. Like this one, it was beautiful, but it was even more intricately carved. The arches between the pillars looked like lace, they were so delicately formed. And it was painted red! I cannot imagine where they got that much red dye. It honestly was not from the southern forest. They could never have cut enough trees for it, not even out of the entire Bight. It must have come from Gondor."

They had reached the far side of the courtyard and they mounted the stairs to the doors.

"I was truly upset to see that palace destroyed. It was lovely and I miss it. Of course, not just the palace was lost. Much of the city was destroyed in that fire and there was a great loss of life that was particularly devastating because it came so soon after great losses in battles against men from the east. It was after that fire that Lord Viduladia commanded that all buildings in Dale must be made of stone, brick or at least wattle and daub, like the houses we saw at the edge of the city. So that they would be less susceptible to fire. I remember the first time I visited after this palace was built. I was very impressed. I lived in the mountain with the dwarves and our artisans while the stronghold was constructed. I understand how much work a structure like this represents. I thought they did a wonderful job. It is a dwelling truly fitting for their lords."

"Definitely," Legolas and his cousins agreed.

The guard remaining at the doors was staring at Lindomiel. "I beg your pardon," he said as he hauled open the doors and led them into the antechamber inside the palace. "I did not intend to eavesdrop. I could not help but hear."

Lindomiel nodded, smiling at him to assure him that she was not offended.

He looked down under her gaze. "But, did you say that you remember when this palace was built? You remember the old one? The one depicted in the tapestry in the current Hall?" He gestured with his thumb towards the gold plated doors they had stopped in front of.

Lindomiel's smile broadened. "I do remember that palace. Do you like the tapestry?"

"Indeed, my lady. It is a very rich decoration and everyone cherishes it as a reminder of the history of our city." He partially turned towards the doors, hand on a handle. "I will announce you in the Hall." He gaze flashed briefly over Legolas, Galithil and Berior.

Tureden stepped forward to supply their names and as he did, Lindomiel leaned towards them. "I made that tapestry for Viduladia as a gift," she whispered. "He lost his father in that fire. He was very young. Barely twenty. I pitied him and thought he needed something to connect him to his past."

"He was twenty?" Berior exclaimed in a loud whisper. "When he became king?" He glanced at Legolas.

Legolas knew his eyes were wide in response to that.

Lindomiel nodded. "In most mannish cultures, a child is of age at twenty," she reminded them.

Legolas did remember learning that. He just never really thought about it. Never really believed men might take on any real responsibilities at such an age. Much less the responsibilities of an entire realm.

Lindomiel faced them fully, stepping closer to speak quietly. And she spoke in Sindarin. "Fengel is...well, he must be eighty and that is an ancient age for his people. He will not be how you remember him," she warned. She seemed about to say more, but the doors of the Hall opened.

Lindomiel straightened and turned back towards the Hall as the guard announced them.

Legolas peered around her. Fengel's hall did not look so very different from Thranduil's, with a double row of carved pillars, polished stone floors and painted murals. But Fengel's throne, like the doors of the hall, was gilded in gold. The decorations were more angular than the organic ones in the stronghold and the paintings were mostly battle scenes or portraits.

Legolas looked towards the front of the hall. At the foot of the dais, was a table. Several men were rising from it. One looked a bit like Legolas remembered Fengel, but with white beginning to streak his hair. He was standing, straightening papers as he did.

"My lady it is an honor and a pleasure to again host you in my realm," called a voice that Legolas immediately recognized.

As his mother stepped forward, smiling, Legolas saw another man approaching them. His hair was purely white. He was thin, stooped and frail-looking. Legolas drew a long, quiet breath in an effort to stifle his reaction. Next to him, Galithil was doing the same.

This was certainly Fengel.

He looked older than Mithrandir! Legolas had to make an effort not to gape at him as he tried to reconcile his memory of Fengel, young and strong, carrying him and Galithil to safety on his horse, with the man before him now, who appeared to be having difficulty walking.

Lindomiel met him nearly half way down the aisle and Fengel bowed over her hand as she said how much she enjoyed visiting Dale and assured him that their journey had been uneventful.

"Come on," Berior whispered. "We should greet him too."

Legolas and Galithil followed him up the center aisle of the Hall, drawing Fengel's attention.

He turned to them with a warm smile, arms opened wide, looking them up and down. "These cannot be the little children I sang songs with all those years ago! Oh my you are all grown now!"

Legolas could not help but grin as all young people do when confronted with a doting elder.

Fengel reached them, placing one hand on Legolas's shoulder--it shook in a way that seemed beyond his control--and another on Galithil's. He leaned slightly against them for support. "I had so hoped to have the opportunity to see you again before I die." He looked over his shoulder at Lindomiel, for which Legolas was thankful. He was not certain how well he had controlled his reaction to Fengel's easy reference to his mortality. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you brought them with you," he said.

"Of course we have long looked forward to visiting you and your realm, my lord," Legolas replied.

Fengel's smile widened as he turned back to him. "You have certainly learned Westron," he said, reminding Legolas of his childhood fascination with that language when he first heard his parents and Fengel speak it. "Even with so much Sindarin around me--since my son, daughter-in-law and her brothers speak it--I still have not managed to learn much more of it than I knew before, I am ashamed to say." He gestured to the men and woman stepping around the table. "Please allow me to introduce my son, Forwed. And his wife, Nuneth. I understand that you already know Nuneth's brothers. Barad and Bardil are here now. Her other brothers may join us for breakfast. They had duties tonight."

Forwed was the man Legolas had initially thought might be Fengel. He definitely took after his father. In response to his father's introduction, he stepped forward and greeted Lindomiel first, bending over her hand, but only after studying her closely. Closely enough to make Legolas frown.

"Alatulya i Dalenna," Forwen said, his tone formal.

Lindomiel looked at him with a completely neutral expression. Since Legolas had been watching Forwed with his mother, he only saw Barad, Bardil and Nuneth in his peripheral vision. When her husband spoke, Nuneth immediately looked at the floor and bit her lip. Bardil reached to take her hand, while Barad blatantly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

The room remained silent.

Lindomiel glanced at Legolas.

Legolas was honestly not certain what his mother expected. He had understood Forwed's Quenyan greeting, while she and his cousins likely only grasped the meaning of his words from the context of the situation. Legolas was certainly the only person amongst them that knew any appropriate response, but surely she did not want him to make one to that language.

Lindomiel nodded at him almost imperceptibly.

"Vandë omentaina," he finally said softly.

It was enough to raise several eyebrows, including his cousins' and Bardil's.

"I confess I am surprised--shocked, even--to hear a Sindarin elf of Thingol's line speak Quenya," Bardil said. He spoke Sindarin with the flat accent Legolas remembered his brother had.

"I think I may be the only person in my family to have learned it," Legolas replied in kind, making an effort to smile at Forwed, who was now the one who looked surprised. "But, as Lord Fengel said," he added in Westron so that Fengel could understand what was being said about him, "I have always enjoyed languages and my tutors would not pass on an opportunity when it presented itself. Naturally, Sindarin is the language of the court in the Woodland Realm. Most of our people speak it, though a few speak only Silvan. I imagine my cousins, mother and I are the only ones to speak that language here. You must have studied or lived in Gondor or even Rivendell to have learned Quenya," he concluded lightly, in an effort to put Forwed at ease.

"I brought tutors from Gondor for my son, daughter and grandchildren," Fengel answered for his son, looking at Forwed with undisguised pride. He clearly, and mercifully, had not realized anything might be amiss. "And my daughter is married in Gondor now."

"Where most people, and certainly all noblemen, but obviously not Forwed's tutors, know the difference between Sindarin and Noldorin elves," Barad said under his breath in Sindarin. Fengel did not give any indication he had heard him, but Forwed's back stiffened.

"My grandson, Beodor," Fengel continued without pause, "is simply too young to have stayed up so late to greet you, but you will certainly see him in the morning and I hope you will indulge him. He is very excited to meet elves. My granddaughter, Halig, is older, but she is a little shy. She is probably peeking around a curtain at us."

Lindomiel smiled at him. "We are looking forward to meeting them," she said.

Legolas and his cousins nodded in agreement. None of them had ever met anyone younger than themselves.

"Where is lord Celonhael?" Fengel asked. "Was he not able to travel with you?"

A guarded expression claimed all the elves.

"I fear that lord Celonhael was killed only a few weeks ago," Lindomiel replied quietly.

Fengel gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. His gaze darted to Berior. "Oh I... I cannot... I am so very sorry. Celonhael was a great elf. He will be dearly missed in this realm." He paused and continued in a very gentle voice. "You are assuming your father's duties then?" he asked Berior.

Berior nodded, clearly fearing to speak, lest his voice betray his grief.

"You must all be tired from your journey," Fengel hurried to say, steering them towards a side door in the Hall. "I will call someone to show you to your rooms. Would you like some refreshments? I could have the kitchen bring you anything you would like if you did not have time to stop for dinner during your travels."

"Something simple, perhaps bread and cheese, would be very welcome," Lindomiel replied.

Fengel gestured towards a servant, who ran off through another set of doors.

"I can call for the wool merchants to wait on you at your convenience, my lady," Fengel said as they walked away. "Would you like them to come tomorrow? In the morning? Or afternoon?"

"Tomorrow morning would be best," Lindomiel said. "I would like to spend some time looking over their samples. And I will want to visit the farms of the ones I like the most."

"I have warned them to bring their best patience along with their samples," Fengel said, smiling at her. "And they expect you will want to inspect the sheep."

She nodded her thanks.

"I hoped, while you are here, that we could discuss the purchase of some timber from your realm," Forwed interjected, pursuing them.

Fengel scowled at him as Lindomiel stopped and raised her eyebrows. "The king did not make me aware that you wanted to purchase timber."

"Forgive me, my lady," Fengel said. "Forwed only recently brought this need to my attention. I have not yet had time to raise the issue with lord Thranduil."

"I fear I am not prepared to discuss it," Lindomiel replied.

"It is very..." Forwed began, but Fengel cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I will prepare a letter on the subject to send to lord Thranduil. Perhaps you could carry that back to him?"

"I can certainly do that."

"Could you not, at least, look at our mill while you are here?" Forwed asked, before Fengel could silence him again. "We need oak to repair its wheel and if you saw it yourselves, you would better understand our request."

"Oak for the main axle?" Lindomiel guessed. "That is what you need? One tree?" She would feel free to handle such a minor request herself.

"That is our immediate need, my lady," Forwed replied. "But I would prefer to negotiate a steady supply of timber to maintain the wheel. It would be easiest to show you, so you understood the need."

"We have mills in the Woodland Realm, lord Forwed. I am familiar with their construction and management. Maintaining ours is one of my duties."

"Then you can surely understand the difficulties presented by only having access to pine, my lady," Forwed pressed, ignoring his father's glare. "We must replace almost the entire wheel every year."

That statement caught Lindomiel's attention. "The entire wheel every year?"

"And its gears," Forwed replied. "Pine is far too soft. We need oak. A store of trees seasoning so that when we must replace the shaft, we are ready. Surely you agree that cutting a few oaks to last us almost a hundred years is better than cutting over one hundred pines for that same period. Even pines do not grow so quickly that they reach the size needed for a main axle when we cut so many."

Lindomiel held Forwed's gaze, scowling. That argument was well made. Cutting fewer trees would appeal to any elf that had lived so long in the Woodland Realm.

To his credit, Forwed did not flinch away from her as she considered her reply.

"Legolas, will you, Galithil and Berior please go with lord Forwed to look at their mill?" she finally requested.

"Of course, my lady," Legolas replied automatically. Then he glanced behind himself at Tureden. He doubted his guard was overly pleased with that suggestion. Thankfully, Tureden managed to hide whatever reaction he wanted to make.

"I would very much prefer that they do that in the morning, when I am meeting with the wool merchants," she continued. "I want them to be free to come to the farms I choose to visit."

"I will certainly arrange my schedule so that we can go in the morning. Thank you, my lady," Forwed said with a bow.

"We thank you, indeed, for accommodating this request," Fengel agreed, sounding tired as he led Lindomiel out of the Hall.

*~*~*

Dolgailon could see hints of talain through the leaves in the distance, a sign that he had arrived at the outskirts of his village. He steeled himself to enter it. Even after almost a dozen years, even though the village had moved north of the mountains since he had last dwelt in it, he still had trouble accepting that his father and mother would not come out to greet him when he rode into the courtyard.

Focused on grim thoughts, he was caught at unawares when an elf leapt from a tree above the path he was following to land directly in front of his horse. The animal startled and reared slightly before Dolgailon brought it back under control. Galudiron raised an eyebrow at him, no doubt making certain that Dolgailon knew that he had noticed his charge's lack of attention. A potentially fatal lapse this far south, even when not nearing a village inhabited by known murderers.

"What is this?" the elf demanded, looking past Dolgailon and his guards to Golwon's assistant riding behind them. He led two horses--mannish horses that snorted and pranced uneasily at the slightest provocation.

"Lord Dolgailon, delivering horses sent by the king," Galudiron responded.

The elf, a village guard--Solchion--eyed the horses. "Horses sent by the king? So, that rumor is true. Why would the king be sending us horses now? Just when Moralfien negotiated to buy some?"

Galudiron silently looked at Dolgailon. They both, of course, were fully aware Moralfien had been planning to buy horses. That was what they were all here to forestall. But they were supposed to play ignorant of it.

Dolgailon urged his horse forward step, bringing him to stand so that he towered over the guard. When Dolgailon was not even yet an officer, Solchion had been dismissed from the ranks of the realm's warriors. Dolgailon never had much respect for him. He had even less now that Tulus had named him one of Manadhien's allies. And he was displeased to hear news of his travels had reached this village despite his best efforts to prevent that. So he would enjoy taking a bit of frustration out on this elf.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied. "Neither I nor the king have authorized Moralfien to buy horses." He looked over his shoulder at Golwon's aid. "Has Lord Golwon authorized her to trade with another village for horses?"

"Not to my knowledge, my lord prince," the aid answered.

Dolgailon had to clench his jaw to avoid laughing at the very formal manner in which he had just been addressed. It was clearly intended to rankle the guard and it had the desired effect. Solchion was openly making a face.

"I will have to speak to Moralfien, once I am settled in my talan," Dolgailon said. "Make way," he ordered the guard and without waiting for any further argument, he tapped his horse's flanks with his heels. The war stallion continued its way down the path, oblivious to the existence of the guard, who had to back away swiftly to avoid being trod upon.

Dolgailon did not so much a glance back at him, though, in his peripheral vision, he saw Solchion climb back into the trees and travel swiftly through them west of the path and then straight south. He was heading to warn Manadhien of their approach, no doubt. And of his slip of tongue. Galudiron openly tracked the guard's movements, and his hand tightened around his bow as he did. Dolgailon simply contemplated how lucky he had been to 'find out' about Manadhien's illegal trading so easily. Not another single village leader had mentioned that plan to him, if they knew about it, as he traveled south and west, distributing the ten mannish horses. That despite his best efforts to draw them out. So, he had wondered how he would lead her into confessing it, certain she would not let onto it herself. Now he could blame Solchion. Convenient.

As Dolgailon approached the village, the sound of excited voices cut through the normal sounds of chirping birds and insects. Peering through the trees, he saw a large group of elves gathered around the steps of the village hall. His brows drew together. Manadhien stood at the top of the stairs leading up to the hall. She appeared to be addressing the elves around her and her expression was very grave. Dolgailon urged his horse forward at a fast pace.

"Apparently, the king has executed Demil and Mauril, who once lived in this village, along with two other elves by the names of Lagril and Pelin," Manadhien was saying as Dolgailon rode into the village center. His arrival went entirely unnoticed. Manadhien's announcement commanded everyone's full attention. "He has also ordered the patrols and villages to arrest Fuilin, if he is seen, presumably with the intent to execute him as well."

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the elves around her burst into shouts.

"Executed!" a good many people shouted in obvious horror.

"What could their crime have possibly been?" others asked.

"Whatever it was, how could he do such a thing?" one elf that Dolgailon did not recognize yelled.

"Exiling the elves of this forest was not terrible enough," another called. "Now he is killing them." That elf was standing on the stairs of the hall with Manadhien.

Dolgailon listened to this commentary while watching the elves in the village that he considered his closest friends. Elves that once had served his parents when they led this village. Those elves were all gathered at the back of the crowd, a few here, a few there. In response to Manadhien's words and the resulting questions from the other villagers, they said nothing. In fact, they made no reaction what-so-ever. Dolgailon's eyebrows went up involuntarily.

"In truth," Moralfien interrupted the rising uproar, "it was not the king that killed Demil and Mauril. It was Legolas. Thranduil killed one of the other elves and someone else in his household killed the other."

That elicited a collective gasp from the crowd.

"There has to be an explanation," someone said.

"What possible explanation could there be for killing four elves?" the elf on the stairs said with a disdainful tone.

"It simply could not be true," an elleth said, hand over her mouth. "Legolas is only a child."

"It is true," Dolgailon called as Solchion mounted the stairs of the hall, just a little too late, to warn Manadhien of his arrival.

Every head in the courtyard turned to Dolgailon, though a steady murmuring continued amongst the crowd.

Some people--ones that had long lived in the village, though had never been particularly close to him or his parents--called out greetings to him. Others, including elves he knew not at all, began demanding an explanation of what they had just heard. Dolgailon's closest friends remained silent. Many slipped quietly into the trees and disappeared.

Dolgailon had to make an effort not to openly frown in response to that. He faced the crowd to address their questions. "Legolas did kill Demil," he stated bluntly. "He did so after Demil, Fuilin, Mauril, Lagril and Pelin abducted him and another child, Anastor Dannenion, during a training exercise on the eastern border. Demil and his associates killed two Sixth Years in the Training Program, held a knife to Anastor's throat to force Legolas to surrender himself, sent a note with a bloodied lock of Legolas's hair to the king, carried Legolas and Anastor two days east onto the plain and sold them to men as slaves. Then, when Dannenion arrived to try to rescue Legolas and his own son, Demil took his arm in a sword fight. So, yes, in order to escape and defend himself, Legolas killed Demil. The king judged that action justified."

That explanation silenced everyone.

"The king also judged Fuilin, Mauril, Lagril and Pelin guilty of treason, for their part in this abduction. He arrested Fuilin and Mauril, but they killed lord Celonhael and two other guards as they were escorting them back to the stronghold."

Another gasp arose and people began whispering heatedly.

Dolgailon did not pause. "I had already left the stronghold when Mauril, Lagril and Pelin were killed, so I do not know exactly what happened, but from the report I received, I gather that Lagril was killed while aiming an arrow at Legolas on the Green. Mauril and Pelin were killed when the king, Legolas and the Guard were trying to arrest them." He stopped speaking and allowed his gaze to sweep over the crowd. "So, I am not certain that what happened could rightly be called an execution. Whatever you call it, those elves tried to kill the king, the warriors in the Guard and Legolas, who is still a child. If they died in the process, they only have themselves to blame."

Most of the elves around him nodded in response to that. Only the few elves that Dolgailon did not know remained silent, staring at him steadily.

"Even so," one of them said. "Is it truly necessary to kill them? Could he not simply arrest and exile them?"

"As I said, I was not there," Dolgailon replied. "But from what I read in the report I received, he could not arrest them because they resisted with deadly force. Moreover, the first time Demil was arrested--that time for participating in the murder of the queen's parents--the king did exile him. His reward for that mercy was that Demil returned to this forest to abduct Legolas."

"They murdered the queen's parents, two warriors, Lord Celonhael and two guards!" an elleth nearby Dolgailon exclaimed. "And tried to sell two children as slaves to men! I cannot believe we all lived so closely with someone who would do such horrible things."

"Indeed, it is difficult to believe," Manadhien replied. Then she turned a forced smile on Dolgailon. "How fortunate that lord Dolgailon was here to explain what happened." She swept down the wooden stairs of the hall and strode directly towards him, the crowds parting for her as walked. "Mae govannen, my lord," she called and when she spoke everyone else fell quiet.

Dolgailon tensed involuntarily at her approach, almost as he would when charged by an orc. He restrained the impulse to reach for his sword with difficulty. Instead, he dismounted and stepped around his horse to return her greeting. Galudiron jumped off his horse and stood literally shoulder-to-shoulder with him. "Lady Moralfien," he said, but he found he could not force himself to offer her the polite bow he might give to any elleth or certainly any village leader. Instead, he barely managed to incline his head to her.

Her smile grew noticeably cooler as she came to stand before him. "I had heard you were in the south, delivering horses to the villages, but I had little more information than that. None of the warriors I have spoken to seem to have seen you," she said.

Dolgailon smiled coldly. This village was the last he had to visit, since it was the furthest south and west, but he had made every effort to keep his mission for the king as quiet as possible in the interest of not driving Manadhien away and of catching her off-guard. He had ordered any patrols he met to keep his travels strictly secret. Apparently, they, at least, were loyal to the king and not to Manadhien. It must have been someone in another village that mentioned his presence and the horses.

"You heard correctly. Our lord king sent me to deliver two horses to each of the villages in the southern realm," Dolgailon said, speaking clearly enough that everyone in the now silent crowd could hear. "Most villages, including this one, will receive a mare and a stallion and he will make sure that your winter stores, which Lord Golwon will deliver soon, include feed and bedding sufficient for their care. The king acquired these horses from the men Legolas fought on the eastern plain and he immediately thought of the needs of the southern villages. He expects they will help increase security and ease travel in this part of the realm."

The people around him cheered and shouted out praise for the king exactly as Dolgailon had expected. And from all but the smallest number of people, he judged it to be genuine. He carefully noted the faces of those who were less enthusiastic. They were the elves he did not know. The same elves that had most openly criticized the news of Demil and his associates' deaths.

Moralfien, on the other hand, appeared to be taking note of those who were the most pleased.

"This is excellent news indeed," she said once the crowd quieted again. "Of course you will return our thanks to the king."

"I will," Dolgailon replied.

"I will find someone to take charge of the horses while you and your party rest before the evening meal, my lord," Moralfien offered.

"I would greatly appreciate that," he said, but he signaled Golwon's assistant to remain with the horses and approve their accommodations just the same. He would not allow any misfortune to fall upon them. "Perhaps you will do me the honor of joining me for dinner, my lady?"

She froze in place, hesitating, but could hardly refuse an invitation issued in the presence of the entire populace, just as Dolgailon intended. She would now be forced to speak to him before she could disappear. "The honor will be mine, my lord," she replied.

"I will see you in the Hall, then," he said, now finding the forbearance to bow to her. He had the distinct impression that her answering curtsey might cause her to snap in half it was so stiff.

*~*~*

Alatulya (Q.) -- Welcome
Vandë omentaina (Q.) -- Well met
adar -- father
naneth -- mother
talan/telain -- flet/flets (elves' houses in the trees)
Mae govannen (S.) -- Well met/welcome

AN: Fengel and Legolas first met in Journeys Begin (part 3 of this series), when he helped rescue Legolas from men, sent by Manadhien/Moralfien to abduct him and his mother.

Barad and his brothers are men that helped Legolas and his cousins when they ventured too far away from the stronghold in Journeys in Mirkwood (part 5 of this series).

The elleth that Dolgailon is speaking to in the village has gone by many names in this story. Moralfien is how she is known to the people in this village and how she was originally known to Dolgailon. He now knows her to be Manadhien (a.k.a. Marti and Manarinde), an elleth who has made numerous attempts to overthrow or injure Thranduil. A little of her reasoning for hating Thranduil is explained in Finding the Sun (part 10 of this series). The events that she and Dolgailon are referring to (the deaths of those elves) are shown in that story and in Bitter Paths (part 9 of this series).

Also, in case any one is remotely interested, the performers that Legolas sees in Dale (minstrels, acrobats, jugglers, sword swallowers and puppeteers) are the same performers described by a traveler's account of a festival to celebrate the visit of a prince in Coimbra in 1330.

Chapter 2: Unpleasant negotiations

Dolgailon let his gaze wander out the open curtains of his talan, through the leaves of the tree that housed it, and to the stars gleaming in the night sky.

"It was a large order, my lord," Moralfien said between mouthfuls of food. "Very elaborate work. The bride gift, the groom gift. Even the bride's head dress for the wedding day. All for the children of one of my father's oldest friends. Of course, it was very difficult for me to find the time to do the work amongst my duties to this village." Another bite of food. "It was even more difficult to find the appropriate tools. It has been years since I have done gemwork and I salvaged so little from my workshop." A sip of wine. "I made it plain how much they were imposing upon me when they asked me for this favor. I truly did not want to agree to the task. But they pleaded and said they would give me anything I wished for in exchange, since they admired my work so much." She put down her wine glass. "Well, just that day I had heard both the guards and a villager complain about the lack of horses. It just popped into my head to ask for horses for all the villages. I thought it was such an outrageous request that they would surely refuse it and give up on me, but they agreed readily, so I felt obligated to accept the commission. And that is exactly how it all came about, my lord. I do apologize if I overstepped my bounds again. I will tell the bride and groom to forget about the horses and ask them to simply send me..." She paused and made a dramatically overwhelmed shrug. "Well, I cannot imagine what I will ask them for. Perhaps they can suggest something." She looked at Dolgailon's untouched plate. "Is the venison not prepared to your taste, my lord?"

Dolgailon forced himself to look at her, sorely tempted to ask her the name of these supposed dear friends, or, better yet, for an introduction to them. He knew she was lying. He knew precisely how she had obtained the gold to buy those horses. Even with that knowledge, even looking directly into her eyes, he had no hint that she was lying. If he was not already certain of it, he would have never suspected her. How could that be?

"I am concerned with this village and not with food at the moment, Moralfien," he said, speaking as gravely as he could. "I told you when you bought the swords for the guards that you may not make such far reaching decisions without consulting either me or the king. How could you think that providing horses to every village, not even just this one, would be acceptable?"

She looked at him with wide eyes. "I did not think at all, my lord. It simply happened, as I told you. I do promise that it will not happen again. I will think more carefully in the future."

He took his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. No doubt her schemes would be even more conniving in the future, he thought. "That is the same promise you made me after buying the swords. I confess myself very disappointed to be having this conversation with you a second time."

That was the sort of statement that Dolgailon had learned through long years of commanding warriors would make people who truly valued their honor cringe. He expected it to have little, if any, effect on Manadhien, so he was taken aback when she turned a deep shade of red.

"I apologize, my lord. I will do what ever you require to make amends. If you are not comfortable allowing me to lead this village, I will be even more regretful than I already am, but I will understand. I will yield to whomever you choose to replace me."

Dolgailon stifled a snort. There was no one else in this village with the skill to lead it. There was no one willing to try to manage such a large village. She knew it. And she knew that he knew it. This was idle talk. "I would not care to lose your leadership," he replied. As much as he hated to say that, it was true. The king wanted Manadhien to stay in place, where he could discover all her servants. And from what he saw when he entered this village, she definitely had servants, or at least loyal followers, they did not know. He strove to appear sincere. "When you are not overstepping your authority, you do an excellent job managing this village."

She ducked her head in a show of humility. "I am honored by your confidence, my lord. It is certainly my preference to continue serving this village if you will allow it."

He stifled a sigh. "Then you may do so, but let me make myself perfectly clear: you may make the decisions necessary for the immediate defense of this village, to comply with obligations the village has to the stronghold and to resolve disputes amongst the villagers. But you may not take any actions beyond those I just specified without consulting me. Do you understand?"

Normally, when speaking to a warrior, he would conclude that sort of statement with a description of what the consequences would be for a failure to obey. In this instance, Dolgailon knew there would be no consequences. Not until she was arrested once and for all.

"Yes, my lord, I do understand. Thank you," she replied, placing her silverware to one side of her plate.

"One other issue," he said, staying her move to arise from the table. "I am concerned about the manner in which you presented the news of the attack on Lord Legolas and its consequences to the people of this village. You did not mention Demil, Mauril, Lagril and Pelin's crimes at all. Only the manner of their deaths. If I did not know better, I would think that you were trying to portray Lord Legolas's actions as evil, when, in fact, they were perfectly justified. If I did not know better, I would think that you were trying to cast Lord Thranduil as tyrannical for his decisions regarding the murderers that attacked his son, our prince. You did not speak up to defend either of their actions when the villagers asked for an explanation. That shocks me. Especially so since, the last time we spoke, I also told you that I expected you to give unfailing support to our king and you assured me that you would."

Dolgailon watched Manadhien closely, scrutinizing her reaction to that statement and expecting to see false repentance. Repentance that he would again have to accept.

She straightened in her chair and returned his gaze steadily. "Lord Legolas may have been justified to kill Demil and Mauril. Lagril and Pelin may have brought their deaths upon themselves by resisting the king's guards. None of that makes any difference to me. I saw the kinslaying in Sirion. I saw my father killed by elves. He fell not a hundred paces from me. Elves slaying elves. It is abhorrent, no matter the reason. I will always have difficulty discussing it. If my tone when reporting that news that seemed harsh, that is why. And I do not ask forgiveness."

Dolgailon stared, slack-jawed at Manadhien. She had seen...? That would mean that she took part.... And Galathil had whispered to him that Thranduil was responsible for.... So, Manadhien actually saw that!

Most importantly, Manadhien managed to look him in the eye and appear sincere while saying she was offended by kinslaying! How could she do that?

"I cannot even imagine how to respond, Moralfien," he said after a long pause. "I.... Honestly, I do not know what to say."

She looked down at her lap. "Those who are fortunate enough to have never seen such horrors cannot be expected to know how to respond them, my lord," she said softly.

Dolgailon studied her a minute longer. Then, he stood. He had had more than enough dealings with Manadhien for one day. "Thank you for joining me for dinner, my lady. If you will excuse me, it has been a long day and I am anxious to retire."

"Of course, my lord," she replied, standing herself and making an effort to smile. "You must let me return the favor before you depart. I am certain the populace would enjoy using your visit as an excuse for a feast. I will arrange one. Maybe even for tomorrow. I doubt you will be staying long."

Dolgailon shook his head swiftly. "I will leave as soon as I am rested," he said, "but a feast is not necessary at all."

"Nonsense! The people would never forgive me if I missed this opportunity. You know how everyone loves any reason to make merry. I will see you in the morning, I hope," she concluded as she swept from the room.

Dolgailon scowled at her back as she closed the talan door. He had not even finished reprimanding her for her disrespectful attitude towards the king, he realized with a sigh. No matter. It was a meaningless argument anyway. She suffered from much more than a disrespectful attitude and nothing--certainly not lectures from him--would alter that.

Giving himself a shake in an effort to cast off the cold sensation that enveloped him, he quickly piled his untouched plate on top of her empty one and gathered the silverware onto the plates. Feeling a pang of guilt over the wasted food, he covered the tableware with his napkin. Somehow he had not felt safe eating, even though she had served herself from the same platter.

He turned his back on the table to go to his room, exhausted and ready to sleep. His bed was thankfully already dressed with a fresh mattress and bedclothes and an empty tub, soap and towels stood in a corner of the room behind a screen, in case he wanted a bath. He did not. He had no desire to wait the time it would take to draw and heat water. 

He stripped off his sword belt and tunic, tossed them onto his pack and was about to sit down on the bed to take off his boots when he heard an unmistakable rustling in the branches just off the bedroom balcony. He stopped himself in mid-descent to the bed, stood, and reached for the sword he had discarded moments before.

Six elves jumped from the branches onto his balcony.

Dolgailon drew his sword from its sheath.

"I am one of your adar's oldest friends," one of the elves on the balcony exclaimed, obviously shocked to find himself facing a blade. "I am one of your oldest friends."

"Seregon, my friends normally knock on the door and ask admittance," Dolgailon replied. He did not lower his sword. Seregon was the head of the village guard and was indeed a good friend. Still... "My friends normally greet me when I enter this village. You and everyone else I know avoided even looking at me when I arrived."

"We will greet in you in the future if this is how you show offense, my lord," Seregon said. "But if you stay long enough in this village, even you may come to fear making too great a public display of loyalty to the king and his family."

Dolgailon's eyebrows shot up.

"That is what we came here to speak to you about," Seregon continued. "But we do not want to be seen coming and going from your talan, certainly not in a group."

"We do not want to appear to be a traitorous mob, my lord," one of Seregon's companions said. He was a younger elf. Galasserch? Yes, that is the name, Dolgailon thought.

"That is why we climbed onto your balcony," Seregon concluded.

"You fear to speak to me openly? Truly?"

All the elves nodded.

Dolgailon studied them silently for a long moment. Then, shaking his head, he thrust his sword back into its sheath. "I think you had better tell me what is going on in this village," he said softly, indicating for the elves to sit. There were not enough chairs in his bedroom for a meeting, so he seated himself on rug in front of the hearth.

Seregon sat directly in front of him while everyone else settled around him. He leaned forward, speaking in a very low voice. "I think it is time for the king to establish a permanent presence in this village once again," he began.

*~*~*

Sitting on his stallion, surrounded by his cousins and guards, Legolas narrowed his eyes against the mid-day sun to watch as Forwed held the reins of his daughter's mare and Barad lifted her onto its back. The girl looked perfectly capable of mounting the animal unaided, if only she was allowed to ride it properly, rather than in the absurd manner she currently perched upon it, both legs on one side of the odd saddle. Once Halig was primly seated and the skirts of her gown were properly arranged, Forwed swept up his little son, lifting the squealing child above his head before depositing him on the saddle of his tall stallion. He quickly jumped up behind him. Fortunately, the horse seemed to be accustomed to young riders. It completely ignored little Beodor when he clutched the long hair of its mane and kicked its withers--his short legs reached no further down the horse's sides.

"Let's go," Beodor exclaimed, now slapping his hands on his thighs and rocking back and forth to urge the horse forward.

With a nod to his guards, Forwed flicked the horse's reins. It calmly turned towards the city.

Legolas grinned in response to the little boy's enthusiasm, glad Forwed had allowed his children to join them on their visit to the mill. Beodor was as eager as a puppy, twice as active and every bit as amusing. He had been in a hurry all morning, rushing through breakfast, their preparations to leave, their ride to the river and finally their tour of the mill. Now he was anxious for the adventure of another ride through the farmers' fields and back to Dale.

Legolas would never have admitted it, but he could not deny to himself that he was enjoying the morning every bit as much as that little boy. As they rode through Dale, it was all he could do not to stare at the men and women in the streets or stop and investigate their wares and shops. He had never seen so many people of any race, much less men, in one place in his life. Not even during festivals on the Green. They all seemed to be in as much of a rush as Beodor, scurrying about their business, going from one building to the next.

And those buildings! They were strange, hodgepodge structures, with random additions built over the years and with odd signs hanging above their doors. Legolas had recognized the meaning of some of them--a barrel on the cooper's sign, an anvil on the farrier's, a boot hanging outside the shoemaker's shop-- but the rusty shovel hanging outside one elaborate building prompted Legolas and his cousins to exchange a confused glance.

Barad quietly explained that was the gravedigger's house.

That was not a profession that Legolas had ever thought of! As if that was not dismaying enough, almost as soon as Barad finished speaking, they passed another sign--this one with picture of a rat drawn on it. Neither Legolas nor any of his cousins gave the slightest hint of being curious. Legolas could not imagine what trade involved rats and he did not want to know. It must be profitable, whatever it was. The rat population in Dale nearly equaled the mannish one, it seemed.

The ride outside the city, through the farm lands, was equally interesting and certainly more pleasant--quieter and filled with a living presence that seemed far more normal than the bustling city. At least there were green things here, even if they were also foreign. The most familiar fields--simple, grassy ones--were fenced in. They contained cattle or sometimes barns surrounded by a pen of fowl or pigs or goats. Forwed and his guards openly raised their eyebrows when Legolas and his cousins all dismounted and leaned over a fence to coax a nearby cow to come closer. They had never seen such animals and they studied its horns and petted its solid flanks until Tureden and Colloth told them to get back on their horses.

Neither had they ever seen such large expanses of cultivated land. Fields of furrowed earth stretched as far as Legolas could see. At least two men, and often more, worked in each field they passed, most with plows, turning the drying vegetation under for the winter. It seemed a terrible amount of work to force the land to grow these odd plants. Forwed named the crops that grew in each field as they passed them--corn, potatoes, carrots, lettuce, and many more names Legolas did not even recognize. They had taken the long way to the mill--much to Legolas's delight and Tureden's disgust--in order to see the only field still in the height of its growing season: the winter grain crop.

Turning his horse onto the road, Legolas looked over his shoulder at the moss and lichen covered mill wheel behind him. It was very pretty, really, if you could forget the fact that hundreds, maybe thousands, of people depended on it to function in order to turn those fields of wheat into flour for bread. Unfortunately, the pretty moss and lichens had weakened the wood and already caused several of the paddles on the wheel to decay and fall off. Of course, the missing paddles would be completely irrelevant shortly. As soon as the turning wheel wore away at the main shaft just a little more, the wheel would no longer stay fit in its gears, so it would not matter if there were no more paddles to make it turn. On the other hand, the shaft would probably split before it wore through. And that was if the mill house did not collapse around the whole apparatus. This mill was practically derelict.

Legolas directed his gaze past the mill to the barren lands across the river, closer to the mountain. The men of Dale had already cut so many pines from there, the forest--and only a man would still call it that--was so thin that Legolas could see straight through it to the arms of the mountain on its far side. They had decimated it so completely that the only animals that could possibly live there were squirrels, birds and voles. No deer, or even rabbits, would try to live in such meager cover. And the river! It was positively appalling from sewers running waste into it. The men of Dale went a long way for fish. That was certain. Or at least Legolas hoped they did, but he determined to refuse any fish dishes offered to him during their stay as politely as he could.

"So you will speak to your king in favor of selling us the timber?" Forwed asked.

Legolas felt more than saw his cousin glance at him before answering the man. At his father's request, Legolas had remained carefully in the background throughout their dealings thus far, allowing Berior to lead the conversation. If Berior was to assume his father's duties, he needed to accustom himself to speaking with men.

"I will definitely report to him the very serious need you have shown us," Berior began. "You do understand, however, that if you expect to replace your current main shaft with oak, you cannot do that this year. You cannot use freshly cut wood. The trunk must be fully seasoned before you can install it."

"Of course," Forwed answered. "But surely you have trunks already fully seasoned that you can sell us."

Berior shook his head. "When we replace the main shaft on our mill, we cut two trees that same year to begin to season them for the next time it needs replaced--one replacement and a spare in case the replacement develops a fault and splits. We replaced our shaft recently, the summer after Khazad-dum fell."

Legolas raised an eyebrow, impressed by his cousin's knowledge. Last night, after hearing Forwed's request for timber, Berior had poured over his father's ledger, which he carried with him on this trip at Lindomiel's suggestion. Apparently, he had gleaned a good deal of information, despite having very little research time.

"How long ago was that?" Berior continued. "How many years? Three? Four?" He looked from the men to Legolas.

Legolas shook his head. He had no idea exactly how many years ago Khazad-dum had fallen. A fair few, certainly.

"Khazad-dum fell in 1981," Forwed answered, taken aback by the question.

Berior kept his face expressionless as he struggled to remember what year this was. Legolas was doing the same.

"This is 1987," Barad added quietly. "So if you last cut trees in 1982, they have been seasoning for a little over five years."

"Thank you," Berior replied, ignoring Forwed's now openly incredulous look. "Five years is really not enough time for the trunk to cure. For full trunks, we normally leave them to season for seven years, at least. Even if the trunks are deemed adequately seasoned, you would be asking the king to sell you one of them, which would leave us without a spare. It might be difficult to convince him to do that."

Forwed's horse danced, likely in response to its master's tension. "What about the spare that you did not use the last time you replaced your shaft?"

"Once the replacement proves itself strong, we plank the spare and use it to repair paddles or any other wooden structure in need. The last planks were used over a year ago, according to the inventory records."

"Well then," Forwed said, his words clipped, "I will indeed be asking you to sell me your spare trunk. And more than that: I need two fresh ones, so that we might have spares of our own in the process of seasoning. And I would prefer to purchase another tree or two, depending on their size, that we could plank and season to reconstruct the millhouse, paddles and gears. So, four or five trees in total immediately. And I would like to make an agreement to regularly harvest trees to continue to maintain to mill."

Berior kept his gaze on his horse's mane throughout that speech.

Legolas and Galithil were riding well behind Berior and Forwed. "Maybe he should just ask Uncle Thranduil cede him a few square acres of the eastern forest. It seems simpler and just as likely to happen," Galithil whispered.

Legolas bit his lip to avoid laughing out right at that suggestion.

Their guards made no such effort. Tureden and Colloth snorted and nodded at Galithil.

"Exactly so," Lanthir whispered.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at them and they schooled their expressions to more respectful ones.

"You should prepare a letter for the king, detailing precisely what you need," Berior answered Forwed, his voice a little louder than necessary to drown out the mutterings behind him. "I will give it to him and speak to him as soon as we arrive home. Of course, I will emphasize how dire your need is. I am certain he will return a response promptly."

Forwed turned fully around in his saddle and stared at Berior. "You cannot negotiate this?"

Berior shook his head and drew a breath to speak, but Forwed did not allow him to. He looked back at Legolas. "Surely you can?"

"Certainly not," Legolas replied, automatically. He also intended to say more, but again Forwed forestalled him.

"I know you elves have odd ideas about the roles of women, but you cannot expect me to negotiate such important issues with your queen? She could not have more authority than the Elvenking's sons?"

Berior only stared at Legolas in response to that question.

"Our queen," Legolas answered coolly, "has a great deal of authority in the Woodland Realm. Far more than any of us." That earned him the full attention of Forwed's daughter. "And here in Dale, the queen, not my cousins and I, is our king's representative. I would never dream of making any decision or arrangement here without consulting her, nor would I gainsay any decision she makes. She might have been willing to negotiate the sale of one tree to you, as she indicated last night. But an ongoing agreement to cut live wood? Oaks, no less? White oaks? Only our king can authorize that."

Forwed's jaw dropped. "You cannot be saying that we will have to wait for a response until you return to Mirkwood?"

"Yes, I am afraid you will have to wait," Berior replied and his tone sounded just like Thranduil's when he wanted to make it clear that he would hear no argument.

Legolas was quite pleased with that. Forwed was purposefully ignoring what Lindomiel had already told him the night before. Besides that, Legolas did not like hearing his home referred to with the name Forwed had just used.

Forwed loosed a disgusted noise. "You elves place far too much value on trees and far too little on what should be profitable alliances that could make both our realms much greater, if you only respected them more," he declared. Then he kicked his horse soundly, sending it to a full gallop, much to little Beodor's delight. His guards followed after him, but Forwed did not leave them behind entirely. He only went far enough to make his point before slowing again to a trot.

Berior looked at Legolas, a slightly panicked expression on his face.

"And that is your first lesson in the arrogance of men," Tureden said in Sindarin, not bothering to lower his voice.

Not the first, Legolas thought, but he still glared at his guard. Forwed had already made it clear that he spoke Sindarin. "Silence," he said sharply. Then he shrugged at Berior.

Berior's eyes widened. "This is serious, Legolas. The king trusts us...me...to do adar's job here. Adar would not shrug if Fengel got that angry," he whispered.

"True enough on all points, Berior," Legolas replied, also in a quiet voice. "But you said nothing wrong. Only the truth. If Forwed does not like what he heard, it does not really matter. He is not yet the Lord of Dale and the king's answer to this request for timber will, in all likelihood, largely satisfy Dale's needs in the long run, assuming Forwed can manage to avoid insulting him during the negotiations."

Colloth snorted, interrupting him. "Thranduil would have been fairly insulted by many parts of this conversation, not the least of which being the slight of his lady wife."

Legolas did not doubt that. "That is why none of us will repeat any part of this conversation to him," he said with a forbidding glare at Colloth and the other guards.

"At least not until the negotiations are complete," Galithil added, winking at his guard. "No need to let the people of Dale starve due to the arrogance of their lords. But afterwards, it might be entertaining to see Uncle Thranduil react to hearing that he cared more for trees than for alliances with men."

"He might. I do," Tureden whispered.

"But I doubt he would believe any alliance with men might make the Woodland Realm more powerful," Colloth added.

Tureden nodded in response.

"Enough!" Legolas replied. "We will all keep in mind that trade between our two realms is too important to endanger. Surely we, at least, are wise enough to recognize that. So, we will practice discretion and not provoke either the king of this realm or the king of ours."

The guards nodded and Galithil made an almost successful effort to appear contrite.

Legolas rolled his eyes. He had seen that expression often enough.

"Forwed did not intend to be provoking either," Barad called.

Legolas made an effort not to wince. He had forgotten about Barad. He was riding right behind them. Worse, Forwed's daughter was next to her uncle. "Of course not," Legolas agreed quickly. "Lord Forwed is only concerned about feeding his people, as any good ruler would be. We understand that. Unfortunately, we will have to ask him to be patient and await our king's decision on this matter."

Barad kicked his horse, bringing it alongside Legolas. "It is certainly not my place to make excuses for Lord Forwed," he said very softly, "but I will say this much: he is not accustomed to negotiations or to patience. He has spent all but the last few years as a captain--one who expected his orders to be obeyed immediately and without question. It has only been since Lord Fengel...slowed down...that Forwed began attending court."

Legolas made no outward reaction to that, but he silently thanked his own father for allowing him to take part in court duties. He also silently laughed at the contrast between Barad's courtesy towards his lord now and his openly mocking statements the night before. Apparently, Barad also recognized the importance of the alliance between their two realms.

"Forwed did not intend to be insulting last night either," Barad added, making Legolas wonder if he was hiding his thoughts as well as he should be. "His tutors taught him that Quenya is the high language of the elves. He thought he was being courteous to use it. Nuneth explained to him the impression he might have given and why. He will undoubtedly speak Westron with you from now on."

"So long as he does not greet our king using Quenya," Legolas replied. "He is from Menegroth and would react much differently than we did."

Barad nodded. "No doubt." They rode a few moments in silence. "May I ask how much experience you have dealing with men, my lord?" Barad finally ventured to ask.

Legolas smiled and looked at him sidelong. "Beyond our experience with you and your brothers, my cousins and I have spoken with men on one other occasion, when we delivered payment for some goods to the eastern border, near Laketown," he answered.

Galithil and Berior raised an eyebrow at him, apparently surprised he did not mention his most recent experience with men. Legolas did not count that. Balchthor was not the sort of man Barad was referring to.

"I have some experience with elves," Barad replied in a very neutral voice. "When I lived in Arthedain, guarding Firiel, I encountered elves with some regularity. I even met with Master Elrond several times."

"I remember you mentioning that," Legolas said. Barad had traveled to the Woodland realm bearing a message from Elrond.

"When speaking with elves, I was always struck by how differently they viewed many issues," Barad observed.

Legolas smiled again in response to the very subtle manner in which Barad had chosen to offer them advice. Unlike Forwed, he was obviously perfectly accustomed to court machinations. "Which issues, for example?" Legolas obligingly asked.

"Patience, for one. Master Elrond occasionally took so long to reply to certain requests that we came to believe he might be attempting to avoid replying to them altogether, until the person making the request died."

Legolas clenched his jaw for a moment and looked straight forward. He knew his father did wait out responding to unreasonable or undesirable requests with exactly that expectation and not just occasionally. "Rest assured that we will make certain to communicate the urgency of this request to our king," was his only reply.

Barad nodded. "I am certain you will," he said. "And receiving a prompt response will serve to sooth Forwed's concerns. Another matter that often seemed to frustrate negotiations between Rivendell and Arthedain was that we did not understand what might be of value to Master Elrond. He was utterly indifferent to expanding his power, so offering him gold or access to Arthedain's resources did not stir him. He seemed concerned only with preserving Rivendell just as it was, without changing it at all, and he seemed quite certain that he had everything he needed to do that. Lord Arvedui never quite knew what to offer Master Elrond when he needed to negotiate some new arrangement."

Now Legolas regarded Barad cautiously. "I truly have no idea what the King of the Woodland Realm might value in exchange for this timber," he replied. He did not add that he would not be foolish enough to simply name what he suspected his father would want. Thranduil might be able to negotiate an even more profitable arrangement the less the men knew and Legolas would never betray his realm by undermining that possibility.

But Barad only shrugged. "Very well. I cannot imagine either. I would wager that just as Master Elrond wants to preserve his valley, the king of the Woodelves values the preservation of his forest--the health of his trees--over most anything else. Cutting perfectly healthy trees--and the mill must be constructed from healthy, strong trees--must be something he is loath to do." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I doubt very much that Forwed understands that at all. It might help you to understand that a hesitance to cut trees is a very foreign perspective to men. We see trees as raw materials--as nothing more than something to be cut and used for better purposes that will make our realm greater in some way." He looked at Legolas sidelong. "Our attitude must seem very odd to you. Barbaric, possibly."

Legolas did not doubt that his eyes were wide in response to that statement and there was not a thing he could do to hide it. Raw materials to be cut down to make better things! Things like all those lifeless buildings? No, he did not understand that attitude at all, nor did he care to.

Barad nodded matter-of-factly. "I imagine the only trees men value for themselves would be ones like those apple trees over there." He gestured with his chin to Legolas's far side. "And then only for as long as they produce fruit."

Legolas and his cousin's spun around, diverting their attention from Barad to the fields. "Apple trees!" Legolas exclaimed. "Those are apple trees?"

Barad was silent long enough to drive Legolas to face him again. When he did, the man was looking at him with open amusement. "Do not tell me that I recognize a tree that a Woodelf does not!" he replied. "Yes, those are apple trees."

Legolas smirked as he turned back to study the stand of what appeared to be around one hundred trees, all in neat rows, on the far side of the field they were currently passing. "We do not have apple trees in the forest. Nana says they do not grow tall enough to raise branches through the canopy of oaks and beeches to get enough sun and I can understand that now, having seen them. They are small, little trees. Is that as big as they get?"

"I have never seen any bigger," Barad answered.

"Hmm," was Legolas's only response. He was completely focused on the apple trees. "Lord Forwed," he called, "would you mind terribly if we stopped briefly to inspect these apple trees?"

Forwed reined in his horse at brought it around, frowning. "Did you find this year's delivery of apples lacking in some way?"

Legolas shook his head. "No," he replied. Then his brows drew together as he grasped Forwed's implication. "Is this the orchard we buy from?" he asked.

"Yes, it is," Forwed answered.

At the same time, Galithil waved a hand, low beside his horse, drawing Legolas's attention, pointing at one of the men in the field near the trees. That man had stopped his work and was staring at them, his hand held above his eyes, shading them from the sun so that he might better see. Almost as soon as Legolas glanced towards him, the man began to cross the field with long strides.

Tureden's hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

"Legolas, is that the man that...interrupted our hunting trip?" Galithil asked.

Legolas's brows knit as he squinted into the sun to study the quickly approaching man. A half dozen or so children ran alongside him. In his peripheral vision, Legolas saw Beodor squirming to escape his father's grasp so he could jump down and run to greet them.

"One of our farmers somehow interfered with hunting in the Woodland Realm?" Forwed asked, voice rising doubtfully, as he struggled to restrain his son.

"It is!" Legolas exclaimed, speaking over Forwed to respond to Galithil's question. "That is Sadron!"

Forwed cantered a little closer. "Indeed that farmer is named Sadron. His father owns this farm and recently purchased that orchard. Sadron is his father's oldest son and overseer. You know him somehow?"

Legolas nodded, sliding down from his horse, ignoring Tureden's low growl, and walking closer to the fence that divided the orchard from the road. "Sadron was...well, it is a long story, but I met him and his wife in the forest. They were trying to escape his wife's father, who did not approve of their marriage. My father sent them all, the wife's father included, to Lord Fengel for his judgment on the matter." Legolas raised a hand and waved a greeting to Sadron.

A broad smile lit Sadron's face and he broke into a run towards the fence.

"It seems Lord Fengel ruled as you hoped he would," Galithil said.

Forwed looked narrowly at Legolas.

"The wife's father wanted us to take them for judgment to the Master in Laketown,” Legolas explained, “but I asked my father to send them to Lord Fengel instead. I felt, and everyone but the wife's father agreed, that Fengel's judgment would be fairer--that he would take more care to hear all sides of the incident. The wife's father was certain the Master would execute Sadron outright for murder and abduction, and that was what he wanted. It seems our faith in Lord Fengel was well placed and I am very glad for that. I truly pitied Sadron and his wife. Her father was...unbalanced."

By the time Legolas had finished speaking, Forwed did not have time to ask for any further information. Sadron was drawing near.

"Lord Legolas," he called. "That is you. I cannot believe my eyes."

Before Legolas could greet him in return, the children that had come with Sadron swarmed over the pasture fence's top boards or under its lower ones, surrounding the elves and in particular Legolas, who was the only member of their party that had dismounted.

"Elves! They are elves!" they all shouted in high pitched voices, some so delighted that they clapped their hands and jumped up and down in their excitement. "Do magic! Do magic!" they demanded.

"Magic?" Legolas repeated, utterly confused. He tried not to laugh looking down at the children, hanging on the sleeves and hem of his tunic, and then at Sadron, Forwed and Barad for any explanation they might be able to provide.

"Elves are magic," the tallest of the boys said. "Show us!"

"Here! Let him go!" Sadron ordered, finally climbing over the fence himself. He seized the shoulders of two of the boys and pulled them back.

The others continued clamoring for the elves to do magic and avoided Sadron's grasp like cats evading capture. Legolas found it impossible not to laugh, but he had no idea how to respond to the idea that elves could do magic.

"All of you just be quiet!" Sadron demanded. "Not another word." He pointed at Forwed. "Everyone one of you knows who that is. How should you behave? And that," he gestured to Legolas, "is the son of the Elvenking. You are grabbing at him like he was your pet goat."

"They are fine, Sadron," Legolas said softly, gaze still on the children around him. They had fallen silent and bowed half-heartedly at Forwed when reminded to do so, but they never took their eyes off Legolas. They still stared up at him, even more awe-struck than before. "It is a pleasure to meet you again," Legolas continued. "I am very pleased to see things seem to have gone well for you."

"Far better than I had any right to hope when we were facing each other with drawn weapons, that is certain," Sadron answered. "I owe my life and my prosperity to your mercy, lord. If not for the way you spoke for me to your king, I…well…I do thank you."

"Drawn weapons!" Forwed exclaimed, interrupting any response Legolas might make. "You did not mention that," he said, his expression demanding an explanation.

"We surprised each other in the forest. Nothing more," Legolas replied.

"Hmmph," Barad interjected, shaking his head and smiling. "Lord Legolas and his cousins seem to have a propensity for greeting men in the forest with drawn weapons."

"Mayhap, men ought to stay on the Path," Legolas replied, grinning back at him. "And thus avoid such dangers."

Barad bowed in response. "Of course, you are correct. That is your law. But, if we obeyed it, wayward little girls might run awry of spiders and orcs," he said with a joking tone. "I hope the young lady managed to stay out of further trouble without our help."

"She got into far more than anyone could save her from," Legolas said. "She betrothed herself to Galithil."

Barad's gaze shifted to Galithil. "Congratulations, my lord!" he said.

"Thank you," Galithil replied.

Throughout that interchange, Forwed continued to stare at Sadron.

Sadron, in turn, reached for one of the children surrounding Legolas and pulled him to stand directly in front of him. "This is the child you helped save, Lord Legolas," he said, clearly hoping to distract Forwed. "The one Almiel was carrying. My son. My first born. Nador." He gave the little boy a nudge.

After a moment more of staring, the child bowed.

Legolas grinned down at him and then dropped to one knee to speak to him on his own level. "I am very pleased to meet you, Nador. Now can you, or one of your friends, tell me why you think elves are magic?"

Nador looked confused by that question. The tallest boy in the group rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows elves are magic. They can disappear, for example," he said.

"Yes! Do that!" the children cried.

"And we all know the stories of flowers blooming where elf maidens walk," little Nador added.

"Maybe he cannot do that because only maidens can do it," another child said. “Flowers! You know.” He wrinkled his nose.

"But the Elvenking talks to animals and they do his bidding. If he is his son, then he can do that too. And all Woodelves can talk to trees," another said. "So, make one of those birds do something," he added, pointing at some little sparrows picking through the plowed earth for seeds.

"Yes! Or make the apple trees talk to us!"

"Show us just one trick? Please?"

"Please!" the other children repeated.

"Enough," Sadron said, waving his hands to try to make them disperse.

Legolas was laughing again and looking at his cousins and guards. "I am very sorry, but elves cannot do magic," he began.

"Uncle Sadron told us the elf warriors in the forest appear and disappear in the trees. Just like magic," the tall boy said, crossing his arms and looking challengingly at Sadron. "He said that he saw it. With his own eyes."

Legolas settled cross-legged on the ground. "Elves cannot disappear," he said. "And flowers are not going to spring up around my feet." He reached to turn Nador's face back to him with a finger under his chin when the child looked accusingly at his father. "But there are good reasons why people might think these things. For example, elves in the forest can climb high into the trees and the branches are thick. Look at how I am dressed--all greens and browns. Do you think you could see me, far up in a tree, amongst the leaves, when you are all the way on the ground. Remember, the trees in the Woodland Realm are tall. Ten times taller than the biggest apple trees you have there. Could you see me in the top of one?"

All the heads shook.

"Quite right. As for elf maidens making flowers bloom, I admit I have heard those stories too, but I think they are only stories. I have never seen one flower bloom just because an elf walked near it."

The children's faces seemed to wilt.

"But, elves can hear and talk to animals and trees," Legolas said.

All the little faces turned back to him.

"You can see that we do not have a saddle or reins on our horses. That is because we do not need them. Our horses chose to let us ride them and they do as we ask without need of such things. And you are correct that the Elvenking has many animals, especially birds, that serve him because he is the king of the forest and he protects them in return." He paused. "That is not really magic. That is only understanding the creatures in one's own realm and having a strong connection to them. But if you want elf magic, I suppose I can tell you about one example of it. The doors of the Elvenking's stronghold are sealed by magic. They cannot be opened, save by the king's will, and that was a spell he put on them himself."

That elicited a murmuring a soft 'Oh's!' from all the children and even Sadron. Forwed appeared skeptical. Barad was surprised, but obviously believed Legolas.

"As for trees," Legolas continued, "have you heard of Ents?"

The children nodded. "But they are only legend, not real," the tall boy said.

"They are real. My greatuncle spoke to Ents. Regularly. Elves awoke the Ents, before the sun and moon rose. And taught them to talk. There are no Ents, unfortunately, in the Woodland Realm, but all the trees in the forest sing to us."

"Can you make a tree talk to us now?" one of the children asked.

Legolas grinned at him and then looked up at Barad, Forwed and Sadron. "Can men not hear the trees? Not even their own trees? The trees in your own orchard?"

"To be fair, Legolas," Galithil said softly as Sadron shook his head and Forwed only stared at Legolas, "I do not even hear these apple trees. Do you?"

Legolas sat quietly for a moment, listening, fully aware of the children hanging on his answer. "Not really," he finally admitted. "Perhaps these nearer ones are too young and the others have already gone to sleep for the winter," he said, though he did not believe that. More likely these poor, young trees were dumb, having never been exposed to anyone but men. That made Legolas a little sad. He arose gracefully from the ground and turned to Forwed. "I am certain you have duties to return to in your court, but my cousins and I would appreciate it greatly if you could indulge us for just a moment to look at these trees. With your permission, of course, Sadron," he added.

"I would be honored to show you our orchard, my lord," Sadron replied. "My father and I had only a few trees before Almiel and I married. It was her knack for managing money that enabled us to purchase our neighbor's land when he was ready to sell it. And I would not have her if you had not helped me. You have every right to see what your mercy earned."

"As I understand it, I am well rewarded already," Legolas said. "My king buys apples from your orchard and my cousins and I look forward to them all year. They have been particularly delicious the last few years. That must be when you took over this land. If we may?" he asked, gesturing to the fence.

Sadron nodded, but before he could speak, Nador seized Legolas's hand. "Come on! I will show you my trees. The ones planted for when I am older. I gave them names. I will introduce you." The little boy tugged Legolas towards the fence.

*~*~*

Legolas sat in the slender, almost fragile arms of a round, little apple tree. Though its fruit had long been harvested and its leaves were turning brown for the winter, it still had a sweet fragrance about it. Legolas breathed it deeply, humming quietly and mourning the tree's existence. It was in a row of older specimen's that the workers were cutting and using horses and ropes to pull their stumps from the ground. No wonder the trees did not sing, Legolas thought.

Nador and Beodor had climbed into the tree with him and were watching him and imitating the song he hummed.

Below him, Berior watched the men work. He stood between them and the tree Legolas was in, as if to protect it.

"Why are the men pulling out these trees?" Galithil asked.

Legolas was impressed by how neutral his cousin had managed to keep his tone. He doubted he would have been equal to it.

"They are old," Sadron answered. "Well over forty. Almost fifty."

"Forty is not old!" Berior exclaimed. "Certainly not for a tree!"

Legolas stopped humming. Forty was not old. Neither was fifty. He was the same age as these trees and he was still considered a child.

Sadron shook his head. "In the life of an apple tree--this kind, at least--forty is old. They stop producing fruit around that age. It is best to clear them so that more trees, like the ones Nador named, can be planted. A wise arborist makes good use of his land. He plants today the seeds of trees that will produce the fruit his son will harvest. And his son will be responsible for planting the seeds for his own son's future. That is the way of things."

Berior studied Sadron for a moment and then nodded to him, accepting his greater experience, at least in managing this sort of tree.

"Thank the Valar that these men have the good sense to know how to manage their orchard," Forwed said, his tone bitter enough to draw the attention of everyone within hearing distance. "They are not afraid to cut a tree down when it is warranted, not allowing sentiment to stand in the way of survival. That is the sort of determination that makes an orchard--or a realm--great."

From his position in the height of the tree, Legolas was able to see Sadron look at Forwed with obvious confusion, while Barad turned away from his lord. Legolas was sincerely glad to be tucked safely away in the tree branches where his own, equally inappropriate reaction was well concealed.

"Sadron is quite willing to cut down trees that are no longer any use to him," Berior said softly. "Ones that are at the end of their productive lives, however short those might be. I wonder if he would behave differently if someone were to suggest that he cut down one of those trees." He pointed towards the middle of the orchard where other men were carefully pruning some younger trees and wrapping the base of their trunks in wool cloth.

Sadron snorted. "Those trees are my best producers," he replied. "I'd kill to defend them--orc, man, dwarf or even elf. No one is touching those trees, unless it is over my own dead body. My family's lives depend on them."

Berior nodded gravely and looked at Forwed.

"If the survival of everyone in Dale hinged upon cutting every single tree in this orchard, down to the last one, Sadron would do even that," Forwed countered. “He understands priorities.”

He had directed that statement at Berior, but Sadron frowned and cast an obviously deeply aggrieved look over his land. "Under those circumstances, I suppose I would have no choice," he conceded. "Still," he added, speaking more firmly, "I would want to understand very well how doing such a thing would benefit everyone. I would not do it, for example, just because some of the city dwellers want more land to build on. If that is what you are wanting, my lord, go take the farm of someone who only grows vegetables or grain. Those crops can be re-established anywhere and by next growing season. Of these trees, only a dozen or so could be moved, and those are so small, they are ten years away from producing fruit, at least. It would take fifty years--until the end of my son's life--to re-establish my orchard. If you need more land to make Dale greater, do it at someone else's expense, my lord. Someone who can better afford it. Not me."

That last statement was made in a tone that Legolas had never heard anyone take with his father. He had never seen anyone face off with Thranduil, hands on their hips either.

Forwed was shaking his head. "No, no, Sadron. No one wants to cut this orchard. It is too far from the city for building, anyway. We...the elves and I...are speaking hypothetically about cutting trees when it is necessary."

"And Sadron made my point for me quite well," Berior interrupted. "Every aspect of it. The trees that you are asking us to cut in our forest to sell to you do not take fifty years--one generation of men--to re-grow. They will take 500 years--ten generations of men. Tell me, my lord, who was the King of Dale 500 years ago, when the trees you want me to cut were saplings?"

Forwed frowned, looking down and thinking, as if being quizzed by his tutors. "Let me see, that would have been... um..." he was counting on his fingers through the generations of his ancestors.

"It was Malenari," Berior supplied after a pause.

"That far back?" Forwed exclaimed before thinking how such a statement proved Berior's argument. He scowled. "It matters not at all how long those oaks take to grow," he continued angrily. "There are thousands of trees in the forest and I am only asking for five of them. And for basic survival. To ensure my people continue to have grain and do not starve this winter."

"There are thousands of trees in the forest. That is true," Berior answered him. "But there are only around two dozen white oaks near the stronghold. You are asking me to cut a fifth of those. And as we already agreed, they will not grow back quickly, not even from the view point of an elf. Indeed, many of the elves that have built homes in those oaks have probably known them since they were saplings and are every bit as fond of them as Nador is of his apple trees. The ones he named."

Forwed froze when Berior mentioned 'homes' in the trees.

Berior nodded. "Oh yes, every one of the trees you are asking me to cut has a flet in it and that flet is occupied by an entire family of elves. Oaks are the best type of trees to build in, since they live so long. If we cut these trees for your mill, we will be asking elves to remove their home--the place where they have lived for hundreds of years, to do so. Moreover, if we cut five white oaks for your mill, we will be cutting our production of acorns by one fifth. Acorns from the white oak are the best acorns for food, since they do not have to be processed in any way before they are edible. All other acorns are very bitter until processed. And acorn meal is a staple food in the Woodland Realm. I eat at the king's table and I have had porridge made of white oak acorns for breakfast every day of my life. When food is plentiful, there might also be sausage at breakfast, but it is acorn porridge that we can always count upon, even in famine years. So, perhaps you understand now that what you are asking us to do is no small thing."

"I suppose," Forwed said quietly.

Berior scowled at that reluctant admission. "Well, while you are supposing, suppose that you asked Sadron to cut down his orchard, not for the benefit of his fellow citizens in Dale, but rather so that foreign men might benefit. Would he be at all willing then? Suppose further you had to ask him to cut it down not for men at all, but for elves. Would you like to deliver that order to him? Or would you at least like to take some time to consider how you would provide for the family and other workers here that you would be displacing? I assure you that my king will do that. He will care for all his people. Without fail. It is the duty that we expect of him and we are right to do so."

Forwed heaved a loud sigh. "Very well. You made your point. I will write your king and await his negotiations for the wood."

"Thank you," Berior replied, and he even managed to sound grateful.

From his place in the tree, Legolas silently watched Forwed walk away. Nador had ignored the entire conversation and was now humming a tune of his own while playing idly with a twig. As Legolas focused on the child, he heard an answering song, softly, uncertainly whispering along with Nador. The apple tree stirred under Nador's touch.

"Come down from there Nador," a man, axe in hand, called as he approached. The man spotted Legolas. "You too...sir," he said, eyeing Legolas. "It is time to bring this one down."

Legolas drew a sharp breath, torn between concern for the tree and the knowledge that he had no right to interfere in the workings of this orchard.

"Leave this one, Hathol," Sadron ordered. "It feels like it has a few more good years in it," he said in response to the other man's inquisitive look.

"I think so too, da," Nador agreed solemnly.

Hathol only shrugged and moved on to the next tree.

*~*~*

AN: Sorry for the long wait for an update. I hope to be back to regular updates now.

Sadron appears in Part 7 of this series.

Legolas and Berior appear to have trouble with the dates because elves, given their long lives, do not really focus on year-by-year passage of time. They count time by yeni.

If anyone is curious, the sign with the rat on it in Dale would signify the town exterminator. Like gravedigger, this was a common and profitable early profession.

Chapter Three: Disturbing discoveries

Sitting at the High Table in his host's Hall, Legolas felt conscious of the eyes of Dale upon him in a way that he never did in his own father's realm. Of course, no one stared at him at home during feasts or festivals and, even if they did for some reason, they certainly did not whisper amongst themselves while doing it. He surreptitiously poked at the meat on his plate, pushing it around in its heavy sauce and finally taking another bite of it in a vain effort to shake off the strange feeling of being watched.

He had been pleasantly surprised by the food served at Fengel's table--especially so during this feast--though he could not identify most of it. The vegetables, which were quite shockingly colorful, were always the most exotic parts of each meal. He found them very agreeable, generally speaking. The sauces were equally unfamiliar, but rich and absolutely delicious. Lindomiel explained that they were all made with cream or butter, from cow's milk, along with spices from as far away as Gondor and Rhun. Cream and such extravagant spices were not something they ever had in the Woodland Realm, and butter, purchased from Dale, was too precious to waste on sauces, so Legolas knew there was no point in asking his mother to secure these recipes, no matter how much he might like to see them prepared for his own table.

But this meat! Well, it made him understand the need for the sauces and spices. Every bite of meat served to him thus far in Dale had seemed very bland. His mother said it was because it came from farmed animals, like the cows and pigs in the fields, that ate only grass and grains. Legolas accepted that explanation at breakfast, while eating the sausage, but now he found he just could not dismiss from his mind the image of that mysterious rat sign that he saw in town.

It was a ridiculous thought. Men would not eat rats. Not with all those farms. Surely they provided plenty of food. And Fengel would never serve such a thing at a feast. Every nobleman and his family in Dale was in attendance. Still....

A cheer and applause arose amongst the crowd.

Legolas looked up, interrupted from his speculation over whether rat would be a lighter meat, like quail and pheasant, or a redder meat, like deer or...whatever this meat was on his plate.

The serving maids had appeared again and this time they each carried an absolutely enormous platter with some sort of stuffed fowl. Like the previous four courses of the meal, the platter at the High Table was placed directly in front of Lindomiel, who was the honored guest of the feast.

She made appropriately appreciative comments, again, as the servants began to carve the fowl.

Legolas was surprised that the last course--already a meat course--was not the main course of the feast. He was equally impressed by the size of these fowls, what ever they might be. They were much larger than the geese he had seen while riding through the countryside. Perhaps they were turkey. Turkey was occasionally served at feasts in the forest, though it was never this fat. When the serving maid turned the plate to better carve the meat, Legolas had a difficult time not gasping at the sight before him.

The bird had not two legs and wings, but eight of each! It looked more like some grotesque, roast spider than it did a bird.

"Nana," he said, unconsciously speaking Sindarin in his surprise, "what in all of Arda...what manner of bird is that?"

"I would have to ask to be certain," she whispered in reply, "but I imagine it is a goose stuffed with a turkey, which has been stuffed with a duck or chicken, which has been stuffed with a pheasant or quail. The pheasant or quail is likely stuffed with either pigeon or sausage. We will see when they finish carving it."

Legolas stared at the plate the maid at their table was preparing. She was cutting portions that would allow everyone to have a slice of each bird. "What is wrong with taking one of those birds and simply stuffing it with apples and sage?" he whispered.

"Indeed," Galithil agreed. "Why would you that? Stuff birds into birds."

"It seems a little...well, almost obscene," Berior whispered.

Lindomiel cast a sidelong glance at Legolas and his cousins. "It is a sign of prestige, if I am not mistaken. It demonstrates wealth that all those birds can be served at once. You should enjoy it. You like duck, pheasant and quail. Turkey is a rare treat. And you have never had goose or chicken before. They are quite delicious. I am certain you will appreciate this dish after you try it," she concluded as the maids removed the plates from the previous course and served each of them a portion of the stuffed fowl.

Legolas took the hint and said no more, but he could not help but stare at the various carcasses on the platter as it was carried away.

*~*~*

"You spent quite a while at Tawon's farm this afternoon," Forwed said as a serving maid placed a delicate, covered bowl in front of Lindomiel.

She stifled a sigh. The subtleties in Dale were, without fail, rare treats, always featuring ingredients it was impossible for her to obtain in the Woodland Realm. And Legolas loved sweets. Throughout the meal, she had been looking forward to seeing his reaction to whatever might be served at the end of the feast. She definitely had no desire to discuss matters, such at the wool merchants, whose proper place was the council table, not the banquet table.

The serving maid lifted the little lid on the bowl.

Iced cream! Fengel certainly held absolutely nothing back in the interest of serving a truly spectacular feast! Where he managed to get ice at this time of year, she could not begin to imagine. Forwed's comment forgotten, she began to turn towards Legolas and his cousins.

Forwed recaptured her attention by tapping her wrist with his finger. "I waited in the Hall all afternoon to speak with you, after all," he pressed.

Lindomiel ignored him a moment longer, watching the children as they tentitively sampled the darkly colored, quickly melting little ball in their bowls. It was definitely unlike anything they had ever seen before. She smiled broadly when their faces lit up and they began to exclaim amongst themselves. Then she faced Forwed coolly.

"Tawon's farm was quite large," she replied. "With several different breeds of sheep, one of which I had never seen before. It had wonderfully fine fleece. And he had some very interesting machines for combing wool that I wanted to learn about."

Forwed did not appear to really be interested in Lindomiel's words. Indeed, he was holding his breath, spoon held out to the side and forgotten. He seemed to be poised as if to interrupt her at the first opportunity.

"I was very satisfied with his wool," Lindomiel concluded, "And the manner in which he manages his flock. I have chosen him to supply the Woodland Realm. Lord Fengel and I finalized the details of that arrangement just before we were called to this wonderful feast. What sort of iced cream is this? I have never seen it this color before."

"It is chocolate," he replied dimissively. "And the treaty for hunting rights? You and my father did not conclude those negotiations already, did you?"

"No," Lindomiel answered. "We left that for tomorrow, since it was late when we returned from the sheep farms. What is chocolate? I have never heard of that." She picked up her spoon to try the subtlety herself. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, words muffled slightly by the mouthful of iced cream. "This is delightful. The best iced cream I have ever had. What, precisely, is chocolate? Where do you get it?"

"From Gondor. They get it from somewhere in the south. Perhaps we could discuss the hunting rights now, over dinner?"

Lindomiel found it difficult not to glare at Forwed. "Surely treaties are best negotiated in court," she replied. Then she nodded towards his bowl. "Your ice is melting and you are wasting a delicious subtlety--one that must have taken tremenduous effort to prepare. That might be seen as an insult not only to your staff, but also to your lord father and I am certain you do not want to give that impression. Tell me, where ever did you get the ice to make this?"

"My father stores some of the winter snows deep in the mountain each year. They still melt, but much more slowly there, and we use them to help keep a variety of products fresher for longer. Naturally, the supply is much depleted at this time of year, but he was quite determined to make sure Legolas, Galithil and Berior were served iced cream at this feast..."

"That is so thoughtful of him!" Lindomiel exclaimed, now leaning forward to catch Fengel's eye where he sat on Forwed's opposite side. She intended to thank him.

Forwed interposed himself between Lindomiel and his father. "I have business to attend to with my captains tomorrow," he said with an overly firm tone, "but I had very much hoped to take part in the negotiations for the hunting rights. Their outcome directly affects one of my current responsibilities. It would be best if we discussed that now."

Lindomiel's eyes narrowed. On the one hand, she supposed she should be thankful that he was addressing her rather than dismissing her altogether as he had done so often since their arrival. On the other, if he thought it was a good idea to insist that she negotiate an issue in which he was the beggar and she held every advantage at a time when she was obviously disinclined to do so...well, that confirmed the opinion she had formed of him. Impatient. Concerned only about his own interests, with no thought for anyone else's. Such an attitude would get him nowhere in negotiations with the Woodland Realm.

"If you wish," she finally replied, but not before she enjoyed another spoonful of iced cream. "Honestly, from the Woodland Realm's point of view, the matter is very simple. We will not allow you to bring horses or dogs into the forest to hunt. The king is unwilling to trust mannish control of either animal. Aside from that concern, neither animal would be useful to you due to the restrictions on the area in which you are permitted to hunt. It is too small to accommodate the use of horses or dogs..."

"Precisely the problem," Forwed interrupted. "Which is why we asked for access to a larger area, along with the right to take more boars..."

"But the king will not allow men into a larger area of the forest," Lindomiel interrupted him in turn. If he intended to add rude behavior to unnecessary impatience, he would find that would trigger the end of her willingness to overlook his shortcomings. "As for the request to take more boars, he will allow you to increase the number of boars you take by ten per year. That is all he will agree to. And in exchange for that, he expects an additional ten coins or an equivalent decrease in the payments Dale demands for winter wheat." She kept her expression carefully neutral, but the terms she had just named were ludicrous and she knew it. The question that interested her was: would Forwed know it?

Forwed openly sputtered, his spoon clattering to his plate. "You cannot be serious. That is utterly absurd. Ten additional boars is barely a noticeable increase. And I am sure we are not paying a coin per boar for the game that we take now. Why would we pay that amount for the additional boars?"

Not a coin per boar, but he could not name how much Dale did pay, it seemed. She would let him make the next move to see exactly how ignorant he was. She made no reply. She merely picked up her spoon and went back to enjoying her iced cream.

"We asked to discuss hunting rights because the population of Dale--especially its indigent population--has increased to the point that we need more meat to dry to sustain us over winter," Forwed said, voice rising. "My father says that the Elvenking has always been sensitive to the needs of his neighbors, but I am not seeing any proof of that at all."

Lindomiel looked at him levelly while she savored a bite of iced cream. Then she spoke. "Traditionally, in a negotiation, both parties state their initial terms and then discuss them until an acceptable middle ground has been reached. Dale has asked for the right to hunt in a larger area and to take an additional fifty boar per year with dogs and horses. The Woodland Realm has refused the request to use horses and dogs or to hunt in an extended area. That decision is final. We have offered Dale ten additional boars at an additional fee. Apparently, that offer does not satisfy Dale. What is Dale's counter offer?"

Forwed loosed an annoyed puff of air. "We have to have the fifty boar that we asked for. It is the only way we can ensure there is enough dried meat for the winter." He stumbled to a stop with his mouth open and a somewhat panicked expression. In the end, he only shook his head at her.

That was all he could manage? He was hopeless. "I might be able to convince the king to allow you to take twenty-five boars," she finally said, stating the terms that she and Thranduil had agreed she would start with and bargain down from. "I might even be able to convince him to accept half a coin per boar rather than a full coin." She looked at him sidelong, assessing him. Legolas and Berior had made clear to her how displeased he was over the need to await Thranduil's response to his request for timber. It might be interesting to see to what degree she could expect to exploit that sort of impatience. "Indeed, if you accept those terms, I will assume the risk of finalizing the treaty myself. If you insist upon more boars or a lesser payment, I will have to take the treaty back to the king to have him consider it."

Again, it was an insane claim. She was authorized to accept much less.

Forwed stared at Lindomiel for a long moment, looking very much like a deer trapped between a hunter and cliff wall. Lindomiel almost felt sorry for him. Finally, he flopped back in his chair and sighed. "Well," he muttered. "Better that we agree to those terms now rather than wait and possibly hear something worse from Lord Thranduil."

Lindomiel looked quickly down at the bowl in front of her. Not even her years of experience in court allowed her to suppress her shock at his acquiescence. She harbored no delusion this was the end of this discussion. Fengel had to sign the treaty, not Forwed, and he would never agree to such a price for boar. She found herself hoping that she would not be present when Fengel learned that she proposed such terms and persuaded Forwed to agree to them. He would not be pleased. She shrugged slightly. She could easily charm Fengel into forgetting about half a coin for boar and, while Forwed would undoubtedly be stung when he learned how foolish he had been, it was perfectly obvious that relations between the Woodland Realm and Dale would not be the same under his reign as they had been under his father's, regardless of anything that happened tonight. She was perfectly accustomed to differences between the reigns of men and she would manage Forwed as she had managed countless numbers of his ancestors. Forwed was already nearly fifty. He would not be a problem for long. She turned to Fengel, touching his shoulder to draw his attention.

"This iced cream is absolutely wonderful," she said, eliciting a delighted smile. "Thank you so much for including it in the feast. Legolas and his cousins will never be the same after such a treat. I think we should make certain that some is taken to little Beodor in his nursery too. He would surely love it and should not miss out just because he is too young to attend the feast."

"It is time to start the dancing," Fengel replied, pushing his chair back and holding out a hand to her. "If you will honor an old man with the first dance, perhaps after it we can slip away for a few moments to indulge my grandson. I do think that is an excellent idea!"

Lindomiel smiled in response and allowed Fengel to help her arise from the table.

*~*~*

The music of the flute, harp and drum, already playing at a fevered pace, swelled to a rousing pitch, driving the dancers to swirl around the floor faster and faster. Fast enough that Legolas feared he might stumble over the complicated steps of the unfamiliar dance, but elven grace compensated for his lack of knowledge.

As suddenly as it peaked, the music abruptly ended. The crowd on the dance floor erupted into cheers and applause.   

Legolas's partner clutched his arm. "Oh that was so much fun! One of my favorites!" she exclaimed. "And you dance so well!"  
   
Legolas smiled at her politely and led her towards an opening amongst the couples on the crowded dance floor. Some of the men and women around them were still applauding the end of the last song. Many were openly flirting with their current partners, hoping for another dance, apparently. Ignoring the heads that turned to watch him pass, Legolas kept his gaze straight ahead as he escorted his partner towards a table with refreshments at the far side of the Hall.

Now that he had danced through a dozen or so songs, he wished he had paid more attention to his mother's recommendation that he should try to remain at the High Table after the feast, rather than venturing onto the floor. At the time she had said that, he could not imagine why she would suggest such a thing. Why would he not dance at a dance?

Now he understood.

"Of course, the ladies of my age are in terrible straights," the girl on his arm was saying, leaning a little closer against his side. She had been carrying on a happy little monologue the entire time Legolas was leading her off the floor.

He nodded in response to her comment, since she had paused for his reaction. Then he side-stepped to put an appropriate distance between them again and tried to pay enough attention to what she was saying--something about there being a shortage of marriageable men of suitable position and age--to be able to make an intelligent answer if need be, while at the same time calculating as courteous a retreat as possible. Preferably one that would not lead him past the gaggle of girls that was watching his exit from the floor. They were pivoting to keep him in their sights, all the while smiling, batting their eyelashes, tossing their hair, waving their hands, curtsying--in short, behaving absurdly. As often as not, they collapsed against one another in a fit of giggles if they thought they had, even briefly, caught his eye. Worse still, the moment he and his current partner reached a certain point on the floor, they all stalked towards him, like a pack of wolves, hoping to snare him for the next dance.

"I would rather face wolves," he muttered to himself, fortunately in Sindarin.

The girl with him stopped walking and looked up at him with wide eyes, grasping his arm a little tighter when she spotted the other girls approaching them. "I beg your pardon, my lord, was that the elves' language? It is as beautiful as the elves themselves, but I fear I do not understand it. What did you say?"

Legolas looked down at her simpering expression and his whole body tensed when she swayed closer to him, drawing her face near his. "I..." he stammered, mouth open, trying to think of something to say as he took a step backward, away from her. "I was saying that it might be nice to get some air. Dancing is normally done under the stars in my realm. I suppose I am feeling a bit...enclosed," he finally managed. That is a good idea, he thought. If he could manage to escape outside, surely that pack of girls would not follow him. He began to speculate in his mind about how rude it would seem if he disappeared from this dance all together in favor of returning--sneaking, if necessary--back to the rooms they had been given during their stay.

The girl squeezed his arm and her eyes brightened. "That is a wonderful idea. I would love to go with you," she said and promptly began pulling him towards an alcove in the opposite direction of her approaching rivals. For some reason that Legolas could not imagine, she immediately blushed slightly and could no longer meet his gaze. "I fear I must seem very forward," she whispered.

"Not at all," Legolas replied in an automatically chivalrous attempt to sooth whatever had embarrased her. Whatever it was, it did not prevent her from continuing to lead him towards the courtyard. He failed to resist her efforts to drag him off only because he was completely stunned by that turn of events. He had not expected her to accompany him if he left the Hall. Resigning himself to his fate, he tried to take comfort in the fact that one girl had to be preferable to a whole group of them. Once they were outside, surely he could find a way to get rid of her. She would grow bored and miss the dancing, certainly. He relaxed a bit with that hope and followed her towards the alcove. A cool breeze wafted from it. The door at its back obviously opened to the courtyard.

As they walked, Legolas's gaze fell on his cousins. Galithil stood pinned against the refreshment table, surrounded by at least five girls, all gesturing towards the dance floor as the minstrels struck up the next song. One of the girls was trying to capture his hands, presumably to lead him, willing or not, to the floor. That did not work because Galithil was busy using his hands to extract his tunic from the grasp of at least two other girls. He seemed to be making an effort to be gentle about it and that might have been a poor idea, since it did no more to deter them than did the silver ring on his finger.

Berior's situation was little different, save that he appeared quite alarmed. None of the elleth living around Thranduil's Halls had really noticed him as yet, so this much attention had clearly overwhelmed him.

"Perhaps we should invite my cousins to come along with us," Legolas said, steering their march towards Berior.

The girl stopped dead, pulling Legolas to a halt also, since she was still hanging on his arm. Her coquettish, somewhat breathless expression from a moment before was replaced by.... Legolas blinked. She certainly looked angry. Her brows were drawn, her mouth was taut and her posture was rigid. As he stared at her, trying to determine if she was truly angry and, if so, what could have possibly elicited that response, she looked him up and down with narrowed eyes several times. Yes, she was definitely angry. Why was still a mystery. What had he done? Or said?

She drew her hand back.

Legolas's eyes widened as he recognized what that gesture meant. This slip of a girl intended to strike him. He remained stock still, unwilling to lay hands on her, even to defend himself. He braced for the impact of her palm against his cheek, unable to imagine how this had come about or how he should react to it. No elleth had ever threatened to hit him. That was certain. How should one react when a girl makes to slap you for no apparent reason? He definitely prefered wolves to women. At least it was was perfectly obvious how one should respond to a wolf attack.

The girl's arm had just begun its forward swing when a large hand clamped over her wrist.

Loosing an infuriated noise, she spun around to face Legolas's defender. Legolas looked over her shoulder as well.

Barad was pulling her arm down sharply. Sharply enough to make her wince. Her face screwed up in unrestrained anger. "Take your hands off me!" she demanded.

"When you are in control of yourself, my lady," Barad countered in a low voice, not releasing his grip on her wrist. Instead, he used it to pull her closer to him, blocking the view of her to the rest of the room.

"That is the Prince of the Woodland Realm that you were about to attack," another voice said. Forwed came into view, stepping around from behind Barad. "It is bad enough that your foolishness has caught his guard's attention and ours," he continued.

Legolas looked past Forwed in response to that statement. Tureden was indeed swiftly advancing towards them. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Do you want to be at the center of an incident that everyone in Rhovanion will hear about?" Forwed concluded.

"I did nothing wrong," the girl retorted, twisting her arm ineffectually to free her wrist from Barad's grasp. "It was he that suggested...."

"He suggested that he wanted some air to breath," Forwed interrupted. Amusement now lit his eyes. "He is an elf. I doubt he ever wanted anything other than air." His gaze wandered over her, lingering on the neckline of her gown. "As incomprehensible as that seems."

Legolas scowled. He did not completely understand Forwed's expression, but it obviously made the girl uncomfortable. She was already upset. Legolas saw no benefit in making matters worse.

Barad stepped between Forwed and the girl.

"I assure you, Lord Forwed is correct," he said. "Moreover, Lord Legolas certainly does not understand, and likely could not be made to understand, what you think he intended when he mentioned that his cousins might want to join you. Any elf would be utterly horrified if we managed to explain it. It is you that are mistaken here, my lady."

The girl glanced at Legolas, frowning, before looking down at the stone floor, her face turning red.

Despite his continuing confusion, Legolas felt a surge of pity for her.

Barad released her wrist. "Apologize to Lord Legolas and take your leave," he said into her ear.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," the girl said with a curtsy, her gaze still fixed on the ground. Even her neck was now splotched with red. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked quickly away before Legolas could protest that no apology was owed to him.

"What was this about? What did I do?" he asked in a quiet voice, taking a step closer to Barad and Forwed.

Barad shook his head and remained silent, putting out an arm to guide Legolas towards the alcove that he had almost escaped through before...whatever this was had happened.

Legolas intended to have an explanation, but he was happy to oblige Barad's invitation to escape further confrontations. He took a step towards the alcove while looking past Barad to find his cousins. It would be cruel to leave them. Barad's brothers were already escorting them away from the surrounding crowds. Legolas glanced towards the High Table, where his mother had retreated after only a few dances, all of them with Fengel, Barad and his brothers. She was speaking with Fengel, and she had little Beodor bouncing in her lap, but she nodded to Legolas when he made eye-contact. Heat crept across Legolas's cheeks as he wondered how much his mother had seen. "What did I do?" he repeated as he allowed Barad and Forwed to steer him towards the door.

"You did nothing," Barad replied. "She misunderstood your intentions."

"Obviously. And so will good many other women if I never know what I said or did to provoke such a reaction."

Barad looked away and still said nothing. It was Forwed that answered.

"When you said you wanted some air, she assumed you had invited her to...spend some time alone with you," he said, grinning.

Legolas shook his head. "Some time alone with me?" he repeated, still confused. "But, all I said was that I was feeling enclosed. I did not invite her to go anywhere with me."

Forwed looked at him with wide, bright eyes. "You still do not understand what that girl thought?"

Legolas shook his head. "I would prefer you to explain it plainly, so that I can avoid further insulting the noblewomen of your court."

Forward tried but failed to stifle a laugh.

Barad cast him a scathing look and grasped Legolas's arm, pulling him nearly toe-to-toe with him inside the alcove. Then he looked around them.

They were concealed by the curtains of the alcove. Other than Forwed and Barad, only Tureden was nearby. He had almost reached them across the dance floor.

"That girl," Barad whispered, "assumed that you wanted...well, to kiss her. At least, I suppose..."

Legolas's eyes widened. Forwed openly laughed at his reaction. Tureden, now standing directly behind Legolas, was silent. The only indication that he heard anything Barad said was a single raised eyebrow.

"I intended no such thing," Legolas protested.

"Of course I know that," Barad assured him swiftly. "But the people in Dale know little, if anything, about elves except that your lord king protects his forest fiercely...."

Legolas was not really focused on Barad's words. "But, thinking that I wanted...that," he interrupted, "she went with me. She seemed happy to go with me. It was her idea that she should accompany me. She did not become angry until I suggested my cousins should join us. So she cannot have thought I wanted...any such thing. Whatever it was that made her angry had something to do with my cousins joining us." Legolas looked between Barad and Forwed anxiously, waiting for them to come up with some other explanation for the girl's anger.

Barad only nodded. "Precisely," he said. His voice was a little too gentle, as if that answer might make Legolas understand something.

It did not. Legolas only continued to stare at Barad.

"Mercy!" Forwed exclaimed, throwing his arms up and looking at the ceiling. He passed through the open door at the back of the alcove and his laughter echoed in the courtyard on its other side.

Barad glared at his lord.

Legolas waited for some further explanation, but, when Barad's glare faded, he glanced at Legolas before carefully looking anywhere but at him. He gestured for Legolas to precede him through the door.

Legolas turned to Tureden, considering asking him if he understood any of this.

Tureden smirked at him. "From what I have heard, it sounds to me as if the girl was insulted because, while she was willing to kiss you, she thought that you took her for the sort of girl that would not mind kissing you and your cousins. All at once," he explained bluntly.

Legolas's jaw fell open as he processed that explanation.

"Since she is the daughter of a nobleman," Tureden continued, "any man would recognize that she would not be willing behave that way."

If it was possible, Legolas gaped even more. "So, if she had not been the daughter of a nobleman...."

"Then it is entirely possible, especially since you and your cousins are elves...noble elves... that she might have been willing...."

"That is enough!" Legolas interrupted, turning towards the door.

Tureden was at least decent enough not to laugh about it as he and Barad followed Legolas outside.

"You might prefer the warrior's contests to dancing," Barad said as they stepped into the courtyard, where a large number of men, all with bows and swords were scattered about.

A cheer of greeting for Forwed was only just dying down. Men still surrounded him, calling for him to join their various groups. Most of the men sent up an equally loud greeting for Barad. Others stared silently at the elves accompanying him.

"I will send someone for your weapons," Barad said, speaking to Legolas and his cousins, who were just emerging through the curtains of the alcove behind him.

"I would appreciate that," Tureden replied.

Legolas looked over his shoulder at his guard. Barad smiled a knowing smile at him.

"I do not like the idea of you amongst a group of armed and undoubtedly drunk men," Tureden whispered into Legolas's ear as Barad strode towards a boy who was positioning an archery target. He called an order to him to fetch the elves' weapons.

"I think I will be much safer with the armed men than I was dancing," Legolas replied with a dry tone. "At least I will recognize an attack from one of them."

*~*~*

"Is your lady mother always so difficult?" Forwed asked just as the bowstring was slipping over Legolas's fingers.

It was an obvious ploy--an attempt to distract Legolas and cause him to fumble his shot. It would not work. Forwed was an amateur at such tactics compared to some of the Sixth Years that constantly challenged Legolas and lost to him, like Torthil. Legolas's first arrow flew straight to the center of its target. At such a close range, it could hardly be expected to do anything different. Still, the men seemed to find these shots difficult, if their performance was any indicator. Not that Forwed had missed the target, or even its center. But all his shots scattered around the edge of the center ring. Legolas and his cousins easily grouped their arrows in the dead center of their own targets.

Barad and his brothers turned as one towards Forwed and stared at him in response to his comment about Lindomiel. Galithil and Berior each raised an eyebrow as well.

Legolas only drew his second arrow from his quiver. "How do you mean?" he asked as he fit it against his bowstring.

Forwed snorted softly, gaze fixed on the target, one side of his mouth drawn down. "She was very hesitant to discuss Dale's request for extended hunting rights with me tonight. And the terms she finally offered me were insane," he replied as Legolas raised his bow and made to draw it.

Legolas paused in mid-draw and turned his head to look fully at Forwed.

"You suggested that our queen discuss hunting rights with you?" Galithil asked. "Tonight? At the High Table? During a feast?" Each question raised in pitch.

Forwed nodded. "I waited in the Hall all afternoon expecting to discuss it, but you did not finish inspecting sheep farms until immediately before the feast. And then, after returning so late, she insisted upon a bath, of all things. I have meetings with some of my officers tomorrow, so I cannot participate in the negotiations with her then. And you intend to leave the day after tomorrow. So I asked her to speak to me tonight."

Berior shook his head and partially turned from Forwed to hide his laughter.

Legolas relaxed his draw, lowered his bow and faced Forwed. "Did you tell her that you have other obligations tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes," Forwed answered, shrugging. "For what good that did me. She still offered me absurd terms."

"If she knows that you want to take part in those discussions and that you cannot do so tomorrow, she will delay the negotiations, and our departure, until a more convenient time," Legolas reassured him.

Forwed's eyebrows shot up. "She would stay another day? Just so I can participate?" he asked with obvious disbelief.

"If that is acceptable to your lord father," Legolas replied.

"Why would she not tell me that?" Forwed demanded.

"Did you give her the chance?" Legolas asked. He suspected he knew the answer to that already.

Forwed shook his head. "I suppose not," he admitted. He said nothing more. Instead, he seemed to be thinking.

Considering how to re-open the negotiations in hopes of less absurd terms, no doubt. Legolas was looking forward to hearing more about that when he had the opportunity to speak to his mother alone. He re-positioned himself to complete his shot. Then he raised his bow, drew and released swiftly before Forwed could introduce a new, foolish distraction.

"Just so you know," Berior said in a congenial tone of voice, "Our queen never discusses the business of the realm at table. Not our family table and certainly not at the High Table during a feast. She believes the realm's business belongs in the Hall."

Forwed frowned at Berior. "I do not honestly care what she believes are proper table manners," he said. "If she comes here to negotiate something, I have the right to expect she will do it."

Berior made no reply to that. Instead, he stared at Forwed, mouth open slightly.

"You are a fool, Forwed," Barad said quietly from where he and his brothers leaned against one of the stunted trees in the court yard a few paces away.

Forwed spun to face him. "I beg your pardon?" he demanded, taking a step towards Barad.

Legolas drew his third arrow and occupied himself by readying his last shot, considering not taking the best shot he was capable of. Barad was doing a sufficient job of humiliating his lord. Legolas did not really care to contribute further to the process himself by shooting a perfect score again. From the corner of his eye, he could see that his cousins suddenly found their own bows fascinating, given that they were studiously inspecting the carvings on their arms rather than paying attention to Barad and Forwed's argument.

"You are a fool, my lord," Barad repeated. "Does that make it sound better to you? No matter how it is said, that fact that you are a fool does not change."

"How dare you..." Forwed began, striding toward Barad, hands balled into fists.

Barad did not so much as shift the position of his feet. "Lady Lindomiel is a queen," he interrupted. "She is the queen of the largest forest in Middle Earth. The queen of one of the largest realms in Middle Earth. Do you honestly think that she came here to inspect sheep farms?"

That question brought Forwed up short. "Well, that is what she spent all day today doing," he said with obvious confusion.

Barad shook his head. "Because doing so pleased her. It pleased her more than meeting with you and that fact should worry you. She did not travel here to look at sheep. If she wanted samples of our farmers' wool, she would call for them to be brought to her. Or Lord Thranduil would order them sent to the Woodland Realm. No. Lord Thranduil sent his queen--and his sons--to take your measure, since Lord Fengel is near death. You should be concerned about the impression you have given thus far. And you should be grateful for comments like Lord Berior's, which help you learn more about Lady Lindomiel and how to best deal with her. Very soon it will be your responsibility alone to do so."

Forwed studied at Barad in silence for a long moment and then pivoted on his heel to look back at Legolas, Galithil and Berior. "Is that why you are here?" he demanded.

Legolas felt Galithil and Berior's gazes upon him, waiting for him to answer. He sighed and released the arrow he had drawn in order to buy a moment's time to think. He watched until it bit into the target, its point slicing through the line that delineated the target's center.

Forwed's eyes flicked to the arrow and he smiled reflexively. "You will still win, but that shot at least proves you are not perfect," he commented. "From here, it looks like it might even have touched the line. We will have to see when we retrieve the arrows."

Legolas's brows drew together. No wonder the men shot as they did if they could not see that arrow did, in fact, hit the line. At least Forwed was not glaring at him quite as angrily now.

"Naturally, our queen does make an effort to meet each new King of Dale," he replied. "She has done so since Dale first named a king. And if our king sent my cousins and I along with her this time, it was to give us the opportunity to learn more about an ally that he greatly values now that we have reached an age to serve his court. He wants us all to be prepared to represent the Woodland Realm to maintain strong relations between it and Dale."

Next to him, Galithil stifled a snort in response to that politic answer. A quick glance assured him that his cousin's expression was at least appropriately respectful.

Forwed did not seem to notice. "My father has always emphasized to me that the elves are vital allies and I suppose that is true."

Legolas kept his expression carefully neutral. Given his tone of voice--now comparably humble--Forwed seemed to be making an honest effort at diplomacy. It was a poor one, in Legolas's opinion, but he did not feel free to criticize it. After all, he had made his own mistakes while in Dale, not the least of which was insulting that girl.

Barad was far less tolerant. He rolled his eyes and stalked off towards the targets, presumably to judge the shots and retrieve the arrows.

"I cannot deny the forest's value," Forwed continued. "It is certainly true that Dale desperately needs the expanded hunting rights that we have asked for. I hope I can convince your mother to reconsider her terms."  Then Forwed's eyes lit with an idea. "In the spirit of learning about my allies, perhaps you can give me some advice on how I should approach this discussion with your queen," he suggested.

Berior made a quiet little cough.

Legolas nodded to him slightly. Surely Forwed did not think them so stupid that they would so easily betray their own realm! But he only continued to look at the elves hopefully. He seemed to truly expect their help. Legolas looked down. "Can you tell me why, precisely, Dale finds itself in need of expanded hunting rights?" he asked. The answer to that question was relevant, one his mother wanted, and might possibly provide some way he could advise Forwed without injuring the forest's interests.

"The meat will be used for the orphanage I have founded," Forwed replied. "Widows live there too, and they care for the orphans, so I do not have to employ anyone for that task, but I still have to feed the lot of them and that is proving expensive."

Legolas's brows drew together. "I am familiar with the term orphan," he said. "It refers to a child without parents, if I remember correctly. But I do not remember learning the term orphanage. I gather it is somewhere orphans...eat?" Why, he could not fathom.

"If there is a word for 'orphanage' in Sindarin, I do not know it. It is a home where orphans live. So they are not forced to starve or freeze to death while begging in the streets," Forwed explained. "I had an older building near the edge of the city renovated to shelter them."

"I see," Legolas replied, acutely aware of Galithil studying Forwed with wide eyes. So was Berior. Both orphans, they were undoubtedly thinking what Legolas was: why did mannish orphans, and widows, for that matter, need a home provided by their prince in order to avoid living in the streets? Why did their remaining family not take care of them? Legolas did not think it was likely appropriate to ask such questions, so he remained silent.

"A good many men died in the epidemic that Dale suffered two years past," Forwed continued, evidently seeing the elves' confusion. "Obviously, when a father dies and leaves only his wife and children too young to assume responsibility for their family, there is no one to provide for them. If the husband's surviving brothers or the woman's father or brothers have too many mouths to feed in their own families--and that is so often the case--it falls to the nobility to care for them. It is my station in life to look after those who cannot help themselves and I do so gladly."

Provided the game to do so comes from another realm, Legolas thought. And only after serving an obscene amount of food at a feast exclusively for the nobility. His memory drifted back to a conversation he and his father once had regarding the value of feasts versus supplying the warriors. He did not know enough about mannish customs or priorities to make judgments about tonight's feast, he reminded himself. It was certainly very responsible of Forwed to care for the helpless, however it was done. That was the important thing. His opinion of Forwed reluctantly went up a notch.

"Even if it were not my duty," Forwed concluded, "this is a cause dear to my heart. My oldest son died in that epidemic. He was only ten years old."

Legolas could not stifle a gasp. "You have a son that died? At so young an age? That is...simply terrible. I cannot imagine your grief. I am so sorry for your loss."
 
Forwed nodded stiffly, his face a careful mask. "You can see why the orphanage is very important to me. I founded it in memory of my son."

"Did you tell the queen any of this?" Legolas asked.

"It did not seem relevant," Forwed replied.

Legolas pressed his lips together tightly so that no sound would escape them. "It is relevant," he said when he was certain he could do so in a respectful tone of voice. "My advice to you, for when you speak to the queen again about hunting rights, is to make plain why Dale needs more meat. I have no doubt the fact that the meat will go to starving orphans will have an impact on the queen's decision."

"I will keep that in mind," Forwed said and he appeared sincerely grateful.

Legolas nodded, hoping for the sake of Dale's orphans that Forwed would seek the advice of his father's advisors before re-engaging in these negotiations. Or, barring that, that he would leave the negotiations to those advisors entirely.

At that moment, Barad's returned and handed a fist full of arrows to Forwed and another to Legolas. "Lord Legolas's arrows were all inside the line. Again," he declared.
 
All the elves cast a startled glance at Barad.

His expression did not change a bit.

"Hmph!" Forwed exclaimed, taking his arrows just a bit too forcefully. "Well, I think I have had enough of a beating tonight. I will concede defeat and go participate in contests I have a better chance of winning." He turned a cold look on Barad. "In company I better enjoy," he added. Then he bowed to Legolas and his cousins. "If you will excuse me."

"Of course," Legolas agreed, but Forwed did not wait for his answer. He had already marched off towards a group of his officers.

Legolas watched him go.

"Good riddance," one of Barad's brothers muttered under his breath.

Legolas turned towards them. "May I ask a rather bold question?"

Barad smiled at him, but he appeared a little sheepish. "Why did I lie to Forwed about your last shot?" he guessed. "You surely could see the target well enough to know that I did lie. It made no difference. You would have won, regardless. I just like seeing Forwed suffer whenever the opportunity presents itself. That is why I suggested he compete against elves. I knew you would win. Every time."

"May I ask why you dislike him so much?" Legolas pressed.

Barad's expression hardened and so did his brothers'. "If he was married to your sister, you would feel the same way," Barad spat.

Legolas's eyes widened.

Barad took a step closer to speak into Legolas's ear, but even as he did so, he laughed bitterly. "I do not know why I am bothering to try to speak quietly. Everyone in Rhovanion knows that Forwed has sown bastards from the mountain all the way to Gondor. Nuneth is my sister! I do not care who Forwed is. He has no right to treat her that way."

Legolas blinked at him, taken aback by his obvious fury. "I do not understand," he stammered. And he truly did not. He had no idea what the word 'bastard' meant.

"My sister bore him seven children. That four of them died in infancy and one in childhood is not her fault. She did her duty as his wife. But that is not good enough for him. He has lain with more women than I have even met and had an illegitimate son, or daughter, with most of them."

Legolas made a valiant effort not to gape at Barad, but he imagined he was failing badly. Forwed had not made a particularly good impression--not at all--until he mentioned the orphanage. Legolas appreciated Forwed's apparent dedication to his people in that endeavor. But...how could he be sincerely concerned about his people if he betrayed his own wife so terribly? Such behavior was incomprehensible.

Barad was nodding. "You plainly see my complaint."

"I cannot deny that I do," Legolas replied quietly. He did not trust himself to say any more.

*~*~*

A dark mist cloaked Tulus as he picked his way silently over branches covered with a thick, black slime.

Seeing Manadhien's hawk to follow it was easy enough. It might fly well above the heights of the trees, soaring on rising currents of air, but Tulus could still keep it in sight. The trees this far south were bare and withered. They had no leaves to obscure his view of the sky. Unfortunately, that also meant they had no leaves to obscure his enemies' view of him. For now, there was enough light penetrating the sooty haze that laid over the forest floor to keep the orcs in their lairs. That would not last long. Tulus could only hope that it would last long enough.

The wretched hawk made a lazy circle and then another and another over an area of forest a few hundred paces ahead of him.

Tulus stopped and carefully scanned the terrain in front of him before continuing forward, keeping a constant eye on the hawk. Finally, it closed its wings and dropped straight down. It had indeed reached its destination. Watching it disappear into a bramble of dead branches, Tulus assessed his situation. It was still mid-day. Even here, in the shadow of Dol Guldur, the light would hold for a bit yet. And he was within less than an hour travel to the western edge of the forest, if he made for it at a full run. He had a reasonable hope of escape onto the plain if he were discovered, and on the plain, it would be bright daylight for a good while longer.

It was worth the risk of an immediate search.

Two days travel northward, in Dolgailon's village, this hawk had brought news that lit Manadhien's face with far too much satisfaction. More importantly, it had inspired her to send one of the fools loyal to her rushing to the place where she typically met with orcs, carrying a sack of supplies--clothes, a comb, soap. Orcs had no need of those items. They were obviously intended for an elf or a man. Another of her allies. One she was obviously relieved to hear from and eager to help. A group of orcs had picked up that delivery and carried it off south. The spy Tulus sent to follow them returned, injured, but alive. He had not managed to follow them all the way to their destination.

When Manadhien sent that same hawk south with a long message strapped to its leg, Tulus decided to follow it himself. Even if it did not lead to the recipient of the supplies, he would learn one other place the hawk was trained to fly. The more he learned, the better. But now he had the feeling that the hawk had led him to someone important. Only the darkest of Manadhien's allies could possibly live this close to Dol Guldur.

Tulus spent an hour of precious daylight circling the spot where the hawk had descended into the trees, coming around west so that nothing stood between him and his escape route. Then he delved into the black of the forest, abandoning the branches, which offered him no cover, in favor of the tangled roots and fallen trunks and jutting rocks on the ground. He crept forward one step at a time, searching for any sign of orcs or their lairs. He had gone no more than a dozen paces when a screech nearly made him cry out himself in alarm.

The hawk rose into the sky and flew north.

Tulus crouched low between a fungus covered trunk and mossy rock. He held perfectly still.

The hawk flew past him and then sharply turned, circling directly above him. Once. Twice. Its head was cocked to one side, so that it could better see and hear below itself. Tulus held his breath.

After an age of at least six circlings, the hawk resumed its journey northward with a final, loud screech.

Tulus stayed where he was, drawing an arrow from his quiver and nocking it against his bowstring. He stood just enough to level his bow and eyes over the trunk he hid behind, his back against the rock. He searched the forest around him for any orcs or other enemies that the hawk's calls might have alerted to his presence. He saw nothing. Still, he waited, listening. Only after hearing nothing but an occasional drip of water for a good while did he venture away from his hiding place. Glancing upward at the fading sunlight, he hastened as much as he dared, straight towards the place where the hawk had flown up.

He heard voices. Voices, not the guttural grunts of orcs.

Creeping forward a dozen more paces, he came close enough to distinguish words.

"Well, you will stay here and you will be glad to do so," one voice insisted.

Tulus recognized it instantly and his heart began to race with excitement. Fuilin. The conspirator the king most wanted other than Manadhien herself. Thranduil would be very pleased indeed to have Fuilin delivered to him.

Now, the question was: who was Fuilin talking to?

Suppressing the urge to gag, Tulus slipped silently down a rocky ravine and into a foul stream. The rocks and water would conceal evidence of his passage better than any other possible approach and the slight embankment gave him cover. He followed the stream as close as it came to Fuilin's voice, all the while debating with himself whether it was wisest to try to capture Fuilin and his companion alive or simply shoot them. He fingered the fletching of the arrow still in his right hand. Now that he was finally faced with it, could he honestly kill Fuilin?

He nocked his bow again.

Fuilin had continued to speak harshly. "You are no longer subject to the tender mercy of the illustrious king of the Woodland Realm, you know. And again, you should be glad. If you do not want to stay here, you are welcome to return to him and see how warmly he greets you."

Tulus frowned. So the person with Fuilin was a citizen, or at least former citizen, of the forest. He pressed against the edge of the embankment and pushed himself up until he could see through cracks in the rocks. He was close enough to see into Fuilin's camp. There was a rough shelter made of two large slabs of stone that were propped against one another. The back 'wall' of the shelter was constructed from branches leaned against the stones. They were old and rotting. Inside the shelter were several cots and a plank suspended between an old keg and a small rock. On it was a lantern, some cups and bowls. In front of the shelter was a blackened fire pit. Behind it was a large midden. This camp had apparently been in use for a good while.

Tulus's eyes widened. Fuilin's companion had his back to the ravine and he was mostly obscured by the snare of roots between it and the camp, but the quiver on his back was in plain view. It bore the symbol of the realm's warriors. Tulus shook his head. None of the conspirators he had ever known were anything more than village guards. None, save himself, had ever been a warrior. None save himself and....

"No, please do not let it be him," Tulus prayed as he looked about for a better approach that would lend him a full view of both Fuilin and his companion. Even as he did so, the other elf spoke.

"Do not expect me to like sheltering with orcs," he said.

Tulus closed his eyes, his worst fears confirmed by that voice. Glilavan! That explained where the warrior's quiver had come from. It was stolen, undoubtedly, from the warriors escorting Glilavan to Belfalast. Tulus forced himself to not to dwell on their likely fates. Now was not the time for that.

"I oppose the king because of his inability to protect the forest from them," Glilavan continued. "I have no intention of allying myself with them. I cannot believe that she has done this...."

"Be silent," Fuilin snapped. "Or I will give you over to them."

Tulus tensed and readied his bow, rising enough from the ravine to loose an arrow if necessary.

"You will do nothing of the sort," Glilavan replied, sounding confident. "She has few enough true allies now. You cannot afford to lose anyone. Especially me. I still know too much about the way the patrols are ordered...how they function...to not be valuable. You and she know it. Else she would not have bothered to rescue me. After the cost of that rescue, you would be a fool to throw away your gains."

Fuilin took a step forward and seized Glilavan's shirt front, pulling him up from his seated position to a half-crouch. "Do not remind me of the price," he snarled. If Tulus had not been able to see him plainly, he would have sworn Fuilin's voice belonged to an orc. "I lost my brothers for you. And my cousins. You are going to be worth it. One way or another."

Tulus prepared to loose the arrow he had aimed at Fuilin's throat.

Glilavan grasped the arm Fuilin had used to grab him. He leveraged himself up while drawing a knife with his free hand and held it under Fuilin's chin, against his throat. "I can send you to join your brothers if you miss them so terribly," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Tulus could not restrain a gasp.

Both elves spun towards the noise, sending Tulus diving for the bottom of the ravine and a briar of roots and boulders. He remained as still as one of the rocks while listening to footsteps as Fuilin and Glilavan hurriedly searched the area around the stream. Pebbles rolled down around him as they peered over the edge of the embankment just above him. Through the roots, sunlight glinted off an unsheathed sword.

Just as the sword leaned out, over the embankment, and began to poke around amongst the roots, heavy breathing, almost a panting, sounded from the shadows on the other side of the camp. The breathing was accompanied by heavy footsteps.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel," Glilavan whispered.

Tulus could just see his son's feet, planted firmly and shoulders-width apart, above him, at the top of the ravine. Glilavan seemed to crouch slightly and the sword in his hand glinted again as he raised it.

The panting noises turned into a growl in response to Glilavan's words and threatening stance.

"Hold!" Fuilin called in a commanding voice.

At the same moment, a bark silenced the growls.

For an instant, Tulus thought wargs must have emerged from the gloom. Then, shifting just the slightest bit, he saw man-shaped, dark forms. Orcs! Five of them.

Fuilin came into view and forced down Glilavan's sword arm. The panting noises quickened, now sounding almost like laughter. Fuilin began to speak to them and, after a moment, he led them back towards the shelter. Glilavan followed slowly and with obvious reluctance.

Tulus remained hidden and listened to their conversation for a long while. He never heard Glilavan speak again, but he did note the sounds of wood being piled in the fire pit, flint being struck and cooking pots clanking together. Soon an errie light danced over the trunks and rocks. Trying to appreciate the meager comfort of the fire, Tulus contemplated his next move. He would likely be able to take five orcs. He could probably also finish Fuilin, given that he would certainly take him by surprise. But Glilavan. He could not...not his own son. Not even after all he had done.

Moreover, this was a dangerous situation. He had seen five orcs, but that did not mean there were not more. It might be better to fall back and make a surer plan. That camp was set up for long-term use and Fuilin had spoken as if they intended to stay there for some while. There would be better opportunities.

Decision made, Tulus stole as silently as possible out of his hiding place and along the stream bed, staying as low and as close to the side of the embankment as he could manage. He would follow it upstream until it would be safer to emerge and head for the western border. There, he would consider his options.

*~*~*

Naneth/nana -- Mother/mum
Elleth -- female elf

AN: Again, my apologies for the long delay in updating. Real life is just not offering me much in the way of cooperation at the moment. On the upside, there is one more chapter in this story and it is ready to go too. So it ought to be up in a timely manner.

Chapter Four: The unexpected

"The queen!" someone shouted.

Immediately, the call echoed across the Green, along with calls of Legolas and his cousins' names. Those greetings were just as quickly drowned out by loud cheers, as people abandoned their dancing, drinking and contests to press towards the point where the eastern Path spilled onto the Green. Brethil, Anastor, Noruil, Aewen, Maidhien and Eirienil jumped up from a tight, little group sitting on a blanket in their typical place near the broad beech. They waved to Legolas and his cousins and began weaving through the crowds.

Legolas waved back at them and fleetingly thought that it was a bit odd being one of the people they were running to greet rather than being with them himself.

He looked towards the Gates, expecting to see his father emerge through them as he always did when Lindomiel returned from any sort of travel. Thranduil always seemed to know exactly when she would return. Tonight, he was not there. Legolas continued watching the stronghold even as his friends grasped at his horse's headstall and his cloak, practically pulling him down to the ground. Maidhien was subjecting Galithil to the same treatment. Only Eirienil was kind enough to stand back and allow them all a bit of room.

"Was it amazing?" she asked as Legolas slid from his horse. Her tone was distinctly envious.

"Did you enjoy yourselves?" Brethil asked, eyes wide and voice much louder than necessary, even given the rowdy crowd. He was standing almost toe-to-toe with Legolas. There was no need to shout.

"Was it dirty and smelly?" Noruil asked eagerly, his nose wrinkled in anticipation of an affirmative answer.

"They were in a palace, not the sewers," Aewen countered, glaring at Noruil.

Legolas's brow raised involuntarily. How did Aewen even know the word sewer, much less what one was?

"Was the King of Dale's palace as marvelous as our Hall?" she added.

"How was Fengel?" Eirienil asked.

Legolas could not help but grin at them as they crowded around him. "It was a great deal of fun," he answered. "Fengel was much older, but exactly as I remember him as far as his kindness. His palace was indeed very impressive, especially for something built by men. It was much like our Hall." He turned to Noruil. "And, no, it was neither dirty nor smelly."

Galithil ruined that dignified denial with a loud snort that caused Maidhien to giggle and Noruil to smirk at Legolas.

"And the men?" Anastor asked, gravely. "How did they treat you?"

Legolas turned a concerned gaze on his friend. "They were all very courteous," he replied. Then he took a step towards Anastor, so the rest of the populace would not hear him. "Not all men are like the one that you met, Anastor. Most are good people. The men of Dale certainly are."

Anastor said nothing in response to that. He only continued to look at Legolas silently.

"The men did not really warrant concern," Berior interjected with an overly casual tone and a mischievous look. "The women on the other hand--they were the true source of danger. They were...well, it could only be described as overly interested in elves."

Aewen's eyebrows shot up and her head swung around from Berior to Legolas fast enough to make Legolas's breath catch and heart beat, as if he had done something wrong. She took a step to stand directly in front of him and grasped his upper arm to pull him to face her.

Caught completely at unawares, Legolas mutely shook his head in response to her expectant glare, while trying to formulate a more articulate response.

Berior's shoulders shook with repressed laughter.

He had some nerve! Of all of them, he was the most overwhelmed by the attention of the women during that feast. Legolas turned his head to look at Galithil, expecting his support. While Aewen had no real right to be angry with him--even if he had paid attention to one of the women, which he had not--Maidhien had every right to be upset with Galithil if she thought he had.

His cousin's face was indeed contorting into scowl until Maidhien rolled her eyes. She shook her head and whispered something to Galithil that earned her a kiss on the cheek. Then Galithil grinned sidelong at Legolas.

Legolas shot him a warning look, but to no avail.

"It was admittedly quite difficult to fend the women off," Galithil agreed, speaking directly to Aewen. "Of course, I am betrothed, and so had to refuse their attentions. Lucky for Legolas and Berior that they are not. Some of the women were quite fair. I am sure they enjoyed themselves."

Legolas's eyes flew open even wider than they already were and a shocked noise escaped him. "Women!" he repeated firmly. "Not ellyth. Honestly! The two of you should try not to behave foolishly for all the world to see."

That made all his friends laugh outright. It also seemed to mollify Aewen. Her grasp on his arm loosened.

"I never did hear why that one woman slapped you, Legolas," Galithil said, struggling to appear serious. "What did you do to her?"

Aewen's fingers dug into his arm again and his friends' laughter quieted to astonished stares.

"You orc!" Legolas exclaimed, pulling away from Aewen and advancing on his cousin. "You know perfectly well that I did nothing. No one slapped me...."

"I thought I heard Tureden saying that incident had something to do with kissing..." Berior interrupted.

"What?" Aewen blurted loudly.

From somewhere behind Legolas, Tureden loosed a disapproving growl. "Do not involve me in this idiocy," he ordered.

"Oh come, Aewen," Maidhien intervened, arms crossed. "You need a brother to teach you what teasing is. The women in Dale likely did fancy elves, for what little good it did them. But it is perfectly obvious that Berior found their attention the most difficult to manage, since he felt the need to throw the first punch on that topic here. And the only reason Legolas is still the target in this battle is because you keep pushing him back out on the field with the way you are reacting. If you care for him, stop it." Then, she lowered her voice so that only Aewen--and Legolas, since he was right next to her--could hear. "You might also try remembering that you have kissed nearly every warrior in the Training Program at least once. Legolas is not betrothed, nor is he courting anyone in particular. He can kiss anyone he pleases."

Scowling severely, Aewen faced off with Maidhien and drew sharp breath.

Legolas cut her off. "I did not kiss anyone in Dale or anywhere else, nor did I suggest that I should and you all know it." He directed himself to his cousins, but he glanced about himself to be certain that none of the surrounding elves had heard any part of this exchange. Most were busy shouting questions to Lindomiel and listening to her answers. They did not appear to be paying attention to them. Legolas relaxed slightly, but still pivoted a finger from Galithil to Berior. "You two had best govern your tongues. I am certain that with only a little effort I could think of something each of you did that could be cast in an unfavorable light. Perhaps I could relate those stories in adar's presence."

Galithil grinned at Legolas. "You are, as usual, very easy to tease, gwador nin."

Legolas loosed a scoffing laugh and turned his back to him. "Gwador nin," he muttered under his breath. "Only when you are in imminent danger do you pull that out."

Galithil gave him a light shove, which Legolas ignored just as he ignored his cousins. He turned his attention to the crowd in general, scanning it for his father and intending to help his mother field some of the questions being shouted at them. He found himself face to face with Galuon, an unusually solidly built elf, who was his mother's chief baker.

"And how did you find the food in Dale, my lords," he asked.

"Very different, but quite acceptable," Legolas replied, making certain he did not sound too enthusiastic. He knew from long expereince that Galuon suffered from easily wounded pride. "Nonetheless, I do not think I could have survived another day without your seed cakes. I hope there are some left in the kitchen. I intend to look for them tonight."

Galuon smiled, obviously quite pleased with that response. "I made some this evening for tomorrow's breakfast," he said. "They are probably still warm."

"Wonderful!" Legolas replied, sincerely delighted. He did love Galuon's seed cakes.

"And the ale, my lords?" Galion asked, coming up alongside Galuon. "Did you try that?" His eyes were bright with mirth.

"Only a mouthful, out of curiosity. It was dreadful. Mercifully, we knew it would be. The queen was kind enough to warn us about it," Legolas replied. "Unfortunately, the wine was not much better."

Galion laughed and nodded at that.

"What about contests?" Dollion called, bow in hand. He stood amongst several warriors that had emerged from the Oak. "Did you partake in any contests against the men?"

Legolas, Galithil and Berior all grinned at him. "We did," Legolas answered.

Before he could say more, a cheer arose amongst the warriors. "Where is all the gold you won, then? Surely the Woodland Realm must now be wealthy beyond the dreams of dwarves and dragons!" Dollion shouted, with a wink at Legolas.

Legolas laughed and shook his head.

The surrounding crowd began to give way and Legolas automatically turned in the direction it was parting, expecting to finally see his father. He was surprised that the gap in the crowd led not in the direction of the stronghold, but instead to the Green. His father had been waiting for them on the Green? Sure enough, Thranduil promptly appeared, striding towards them swiftly across the thick grass, followed by Hallion, Engwe, Golwon, Isteth and Arthiel.

The moment he had his family in view, Thranduil inspected each of the travelers in turn before settling his gaze on Lindomiel and holding out his hand to her. She she took several steps towards him to take it. Normally, once assured that all his returning family was present and safe, Thranduil focused exclusively on the queen. Tonight, however, while he kissed her hand and drew her against him to kiss her cheek, Thranduil's attention was divided between her and his children.

Legolas and his cousins had all dropped to one knee at the king's approach.

This was certainly not the first time Legolas had knelt to his father, but tonight, after coming home from representing the king in foreign lands, it felt different somehow. More meaningful...weighty, maybe? He did not have long to think about it.

"Come here, ionnath nin," Thranduil ordered, waving them over to him. His voice was much more emotional than he normally allowed it to sound while in the public eye.

"Were you waiting on the Green for us, my lord," Lindomiel asked as Legolas and his cousins each accepted an overly strong embrace from Thranduil. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Thranduil loosed a short laugh, turning his gaze playfully towards the stars. "My wife and sons all travel together to Dale--a journey that kept them away from me for well over a week--and she wonders at the fact that I could not keep myself in the stronghold when news reached me that they were nearly home."

"I missed you also, Thranduil," she whispered into his ear before placing a kiss of her own on his cheek.

One arm around Lindomiel's waist, the other guiding Legolas, Galithil and Berior, he turned them in the direction of the Gates.

"I suppose we will have to do without treats and presents from Dale this visit," Anastor said softly, as he followed the king's family to the stronghold. He was trying to sound stoic--to respect the fact that the lack of the gifts they normally received upon Celonhael's return from any foreign journey was not as great a burden to bear as the reason for their absence.

Even so, Legolas looked over his shoulder at him coolly.

"If I had any gold, I certainly would not waste it on presents for you, Anastor," Galithil answered back.

Anastor made a face at him and glanced at Legolas. Legolas had been defending him more vocally of late, but this time, he said nothing. Anastor should not have drawn attention to Berior's loss.

"We do have candy," Berior said with a flat tone. He paused to pull a small sack from where it was tied to his pack. Without saying anything else, he opened it and distributed small, brown squares to each of their friends.

"What is this?" Noruil asked excitedly, raising the square to his nose to smell it.

"It is called chocolate," Berior replied. "It comes all the way from Harad. Which is in the far south. Farther south than Gondor," he added in response to Noruil's blank stare. "Eat it slowly, because that is all there is."

"We know. We know," Noruil replied, nibbling a corner off his square. "Your adar always says that."

Legolas looked silently at Berior as his friends took small bites of the chocolate and immediately began exclaiming about it. Galithil was looking at Berior somberly too.

"A maid brought it to me as we were leaving," Berior whispered, his gaze on the ground as they resumed walking towards the stronghold. "Fengel apparently ordered some of the chocolate from the iced cream to be set aside for us to take back. The maid asked for my adar to give it to him. She said she always brought him sweets on his last day in Dale and when she was a child she accompanied her mother when she did it. I took them from her and told her to ask for me from now on."

Frowning, Legolas laid a hand on Berior's shoulder and patted it lightly.

*~*~*

"And you should have seen the man juggling!" Berior said excitedly. "Those swords..."

He said something more, but in a low whisper after Thranduil heard what sounded very much like a fist connecting violently with an arm or shoulder. He could not see exactly what had happened. Berior was too thoroughly surrounded by his cousins and friends. Still, Thranduil caught the word 'flaming' and he would have sworn he also heard something about 'swallowing.' He smiled to himself. They had an eye-full on their trip then. That was good. He had visited mannish towns several times before seeing that particular stunt. He would never understand how beings as fragile as men could treat their mortality so cavalierly.

"Have you heard from Dolgailon yet?" Lindomiel asked, a little too loudly.

His smile broadened at her attempt to shield the children's conversation. "I have not," he answered, intentionally saying nothing about the patrols' report that Dolgailon would return tonight. He preferred to listen to Berior's stories. Unfortunately, they seemed to have moved on from discussing the little festival. Pity. He would have liked to hear more about the puppet show that caused Galithil to giggle so uncontrollably. He would have to do a bit of digging on that topic. And warn Tureden and Colloth to be on the look out for flaming knives and swords.

"Tell us more about the food," Noruil demanded, jumping down the steps of the bridge two at a time ahead of Legolas, while still half facing him. "It could not have all been this good," he said, touching his pocket where he stashed three-quarters of the chocolate Berior gave him, wrapped in a handkerchief.

A clean handkerchief, Thranduil hoped. Legolas, Galithil and Berior talked over one another as they described the various dishes they sampled in Dale. Thranduil was familiar enough with mannish food to recognize most of what they mentioned.

"What were the orange things called, Legolas?" Galithil interrupted himself to ask.

"Orange food?" Aewen exclaimed.

"They were carrots, I think. Is that right nana?"

All eyes turned to Lindomiel, where she walked arm-in-arm with Thranduil.

She nodded, not bothering an attempt to voice an answer. She would have been cut off if she had tried. Galithil immediately returned to regaling everyone with the marvels of carrots.

Thranduil could not help but smile again, strongly reminded of another conversation he had with Lindomiel before they were married. "Will the Woodland Realm now be cultivating carrots as we do potatoes?" he asked.

Legolas's gaze immediately snapped to his father. "Could we? It would not be difficult. We saw them growing. Sadron had some in his family plot. They do not take very much space. They are roots, like potatoes, but they grow straight down and you do not even have to dig them. You just pull them up by the green plant part. They really are good." He turned to Lindomiel. "Do you think there is room in the kitchen garden for some, nana. We will plant them."

His cousins all nodded.

Lindomiel frowned.

That made Thranduil laugh out loud. "I obtained potatoes for you, my lady," he said quietly. "Carrots for our children, especially if they are willing to do the work for them, seems a fair trade."

Lindomiel feigned a put-upon expression. "And Galuon is still complaining about the potatoes--the presence of foreign foods in his kitchen. This will be worse. Carrots are far more exotic in appearance than potatoes. He might never recover." Then she smiled at them. "I will ask Fengel to send us some carrot seeds next spring."

"Thank you, nana," Legolas replied, grinning broadly. His cousins echoed him.

Thranduil enjoyed the sight of his son so thoroughly happy. Berior too. He had hoped this trip to Dale would distract them both from their respective griefs and it appeared to have done so, even if temporarily.

"Can we stay in your room tonight, Legolas?" Brethil asked as they passed through the Gates. Anastor and Noruil nodded in agreement with that suggestion. "So you can finish telling us about Dale?"

Aewen and Maidhien immediately looked at Eirienil, the same question in their eyes. Eirienil, in turn, looked at her parents, who looked to Thranduil.

Thranduil glanced at Legolas, Galithil and Berior to confirm they wanted the company. They obviously did. "Assuming you have already obtained your own parents' permission, you may wait for us in the sitting room," Thranduil said, directing himself to his son's friends. "I want to speak to Legolas and his cousins in the Hall for a moment, and then they will join you."

A chorus of 'thank you's' echoed in the antechamber before Eirienil led the way into the family quarters.

"Noruil. Anastor," Thranduil called.

They turned to him with wide, innocent eyes that caused Thranduil to fight not to roll his own.

"The chocolate you have in your pockets will melt if it gets too warm. And you will never get the stain it makes out of whatever cloth it contacts. I recommend you put that chocolate somewhere more cool," he warned them.

Noruil and Anastor both put a hand over their pockets, but they nodded agreeably.

"You have had chocolate, adar?" Legolas asked as Thranduil signaled to Golwon's wife, Isteth, when she passed him.

"I have," he confirmed.

Isteth stopped and turned to face him fully. "My lord?"

Thranduil leaned closer to her. "You are in charge of making sure that there is still wine left for me when I arrive in my own sitting room," he whispered to her with a nod towards Anastor and Noruil, who were disappearing through the door to the family quarters.

"Yes, my lord," she said.

Thranduil smiled his thanks to her and then gestured for those remaining with him--his council, minus Dolgailon, to precede him into the Hall. "Given everyone's fine humor, I trust that your journey was uneventful?" he asked. "Nothing unexpected?"

"Uneventful?" Tureden repeated, his tone dry. "Largely speaking. But nothing unexpected? Of course the unexpected happened. Dale is a mannish town, after all."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Tureden and then turned to Lindomiel with a look that demanded an explanation.

She shrugged as she walked down the center aisle of the Hall, towards the meeting table at the foot of the dais. "I found a wool merchant that I am very satisfied with. And the hunting rights treaty came out much more in our favor than we had hoped," she began.

Behind her, Berior pulled a satchel off his shoulder, flipped it open and pulled two folded parchments from it. He handed them to Lindomiel and she offered them to Thranduil. They bore the seal of the King of Dale.

Thranduil unfolded and scanned the parchments. He glanced over the agreement with the wool merchant, before turning closer attention to the treaty.

"Fengel easily accepted that we would not allow hunting with dogs or horses," Lindomiel explained as he read. "I did not get the impression they expected us to permit that. And he did not contest that we would not expand their hunting area, provided that it proves possible to take additional boar in the current range. He remained firm that they needed fifty boar and he consented to pay ten coins total for them."

"Perfectly fair," Thranduil agreed. Five boars per coin was the established rate Dale paid to take game from the forest. His looked up from his reading and his gaze darted between Legolas, Galithil and Berior when they exchanged a grin.

"That is not all," Lindomiel said. "In addition to the payment of ten coins, Fengel granted us a five coin reduction in the price we pay for the winter wheat, but he will send all the wheat to us unmilled. That is of no consequence, because we already re-mill it when we receive it. It never comes finely enough ground to suit Galuon."

"We will pay five coins less for the wheat? This winter only, surely," Thranduil asked.

Lindomiel shook her head.

"Every winter?" he asked, voice rising in surprise, before Lindomiel could say anything.

"Every winter they take the additional fifty boar," Lindomiel responded.

Thranduil smiled, very pleased. "I am afraid to ask how you managed to convince Fengel to agree to this," he said, tossing the parchment onto the meeting table next to the stack of correspondence that had arrived with the evening courier.

Now Lindomiel joined the children in grinning. "Well, it was hard for Fengel to negotiate down from the price of half a coin per boar that his son, Forwed, agreed to before consulting with his father," she said softly without looking back at the king.

"What price?" Thranduil exclaimed. He could not have heard that correctly.

Galithil laughed. "If you are reacting that way, uncle, imagine how Fengel reacted when he heard it. He was the one that would have had to pay it, after all."

"I believe his exact word were, 'May the Valar preserve us. Thranduil will own all of Dale within a year of my death,'" Legolas added with a sidelong smirk directed at Galithil that only made his cousin laugh harder.

Lindomiel and Berior were doing little better, but at least they were trying to hide their giggling with bowed heads.

"What is going on in Dale?" Thranduil demanded, his tone stern. He pulled out his chair at the head of the table, but waited to see if Lindomiel felt the explanation was worth sitting for.

She pulled out the chair to his right and seated herself. "Fengel's son is not going to be a ruler that we will enjoy working with," she said bluntly.

"Especially if he persists in negotiating treaties at the High Table during feasts," Galithil said under his breath.

"When he is not even informed of the price of the items he is negotiating for," Berior added.

"And does not even have the good sense to communicate the reasons why he wants the items in question," Legolas concluded. He looked at his father very seriously. "The boars are to feed orphans and widows of an epidemic they recently suffered in Dale."   

Thranduil frowned and sat at the table himself, gesturing for the children, Arthiel, Hallion, Golwon and Engwe to sit as well. "Orphans and widows? We did not take advantage of Dale in its need, I trust?"

Lindomiel shook her head. "Fengel was well enough satisfied with the price." She nodded to Berior, who reached back into his satchel. "I think they were anxious to avoid incurring your wrath, since they had additional requests that they only presented to us upon our arrival." She handed Thranduil a third parchment and remained silent as he opened it.

"Timber?" he asked. "White oaks? Five of them? I am not selling Dale five white oak trunks." He bent the parchment over his finger in the place where Forwed had signed it. "Has this Forwed, son of Fengel lost his mind?" he asked, glaring at that signature.

"You cannot lose what you never possessed," Galithil said softly.

Legolas, Berior and even Lindomiel snickered at that comment.

Thranduil's brows knit. He hoped his nephew had managed to refrain from insulting the future king of Dale to his face. "I beg your pardon, Galithil?"

Galithil only shrugged. "He is not particularly intelligent," he replied.

"He is not particularly experienced in court," Legolas countered with a conciliatory tone. "According to Barad, at any rate. But, where he is experienced--in military matters, for example--he seems to do well enough. He was a better archer than any of the other men we competed against...."

"And that is saying very little," Colloth whispered to Lanthir and Tureden, who both smirked.

"And his officers obviously loved him," Legolas continued, ignoring the guards. "Most importantly, he seemed to care about his people..."

"Especially the women amongst them," Galithil interjected.

Legolas fixed his cousin with a forbidding glare, flicking a glance at Lindomiel.

Galithil sobered and looked down.

"I do agree that it would be best for me not to go alone, if at all, to Dale during Forwed's reign," Lindomiel said quietly.

Thranduil's eyes widened and he studied his wife carefully. There had been very few mannish rulers that she willingly barred herself from dealing with.

"Forwed has...beliefs about the place of women that elves would not agree with. True enough," Legolas continued. "But he is devoted to his people--his orphanage and his concern about the public mill prove that. After he gains more experience in court, I am sure his citizens will love him when he is their king."

"Assuming he does not bring them to ruin by emptying their treasury and making enemies of their allies," Tureden said from where he stood behind Legolas's chair.

Legolas rolled his eyes.

Thranduil looked at the guard with raised brows.

"I would be fleeing Dale in anticipation of Fengel's death if I was one of its citizens," Tureden said.

"He has a good deal to learn, but that would be an excessive reaction, I think. He is not as terrible as all that," Legolas answered back.

"If you are being sincere, that frightens me," Tureden retorted.

Thranduil's eyes widened in response to Tureden's implication. It was bad enough the guard was openly disrespecting Dale's heir, but he had more nerve than he had sense to disrespect the Woodland Realm's heir, especially since he was already on thin ground for similar recent behavior. Thranduil drew a sharp breath to reply.

Legolas spoke before his father had a chance. "I beg your pardon, Tureden," he snapped, spinning around in his chair to face him. "Surely I misunderstood you. There is no possibility that you would be publicly questioning my judgment in the same way that you just mocked lord Forwed's. You certainly would not be doing so in the Great Hall in the presence of the King's council."

"It was a joke, my lord. One in poor taste, I will grant you. I apologize," Tureden responded, frowning, but with his gaze on the floor.

Thranduil held his tongue, waiting to see if that apology satisfied his son.

Legolas's posture relaxed, if only only marginally. "Perhaps I am being a bit overly sensitive. If so, I also apologize, Tureden."

"No apology is needed, my lord," Tureden said quietly. "My point about Forwed, in truth, was that you are far more fit to become the king of this realm--and possibly even of Dale--than Forwed is to become the king of his own realm, and you are still a child."

"I am older than Forwed by several years I believe," Legolas observed, looking at Lindomiel for confirmation.

She nodded.

Silence reigned in the Hall as Thranduil considered what, if anything, he intended to say in response to that exchange, or the future of Dale's rule. Tureden and Legolas's ongoing conflict aside, a good many of the observations he had just heard about Forwed would have disturbed him if Celonhael had delivered them. That Legolas and his cousins had witnessed this.... Well, it was not the worst they had seen, he supposed, loosing a long, quiet breath.

"Forwed needs the timber to repair their mill," Berior said in a soft voice, in an attempt to refocus the conversation. "It is practically derelict. They have been using pine to repair it, apparently for years. We made no promises with regards to this timber, obviously. Indeed, we made it clear that it is very unlikely we will send five white oaks. But I do recommend we send him one of the two trunks we have seasoning now, with the warning that it needs to season two more years before it is installed. We just replaced the main shaft of our mill, so it should last several dozen more years. That is plenty of time to season a spare of our own, but Dale's need is immediate. As for timber to replace the paddles on the mill wheel and siding on the mill house, they do not need oak for that. They can use anything. I recommend we send them beech. It is more easily worked than oak and it is plentiful." He paused. "Their request for an ongoing arrangement to maintain the shaft is the largest problem. The shaft really does have to be made from white oak. There is no alternative."

"I am aware of that," Thranduil interrupted. "And I do recognize they need a mill and have no access to oak other than this forest. But finding a tree that is tall, straight and broad enough? It is not a simple task."

"I do understand that, my lord," Berior said. "I have been thinking about this request during our entire journey home and I have an idea. According to adar's ledger entry from the last time we cut oaks for our mill, all the remaining trees that are currently suitable for this purpose also hold telain."

Thranduil flashed a glance at Golwon, who nodded once in confirmation.

"You surely will not want to cut those," Berior continued. "But what about the part of the forest, near the eastern border, north of the Path, that burned this summer? It burned clear. Nothing is left but scorched ground. The village that was in that area has already relocated."

Again, Thranduil looked to Golwon and Golwon nodded.

"What if, rather than allowing the forest to come back naturally, we plant it with white oak saplings? And we ask no one to settle in them? That area should accommodate ten, maybe even a dozen oaks, full grown. With luck, before either we or Dale need another main shaft, some of those trees will have grown tall and broad enough. That oak in the corner of the Queen's garden was a sapling around the time we were born," he said looking at his cousins. "And it is nearly large enough to be cut to make a mill shaft..."

"But it will not be," Lindomiel interrupted. "I planted that oak for easy access to the acorns it produces."

"I know, my lady. I am simply using it as an example of how fast we can expect the oaks we plant to grow sufficiently." He turned back to Thranduil. "If we do this, we can set those trees aside for our own use--both timber and acorns--and for Dale's use, since they would be located where it would be easy enough for the men to retrieve them without really having to enter the forest."

Thranduil remained silent, considering that proposal.

"So, essentially, you are suggesting that the king cede a portion of the forest to Dale," Galithil said quietly into the silence.

Thranduil's gaze snapped to Galithil. Cede part of the forest! That was absurd! But Galithil was smirking at Berior. This was obviously some sort of joke between them.

Berior did not appear to think it was terribly funny.

"Would it be possible for you to hold your mischievous tongue for long enough to allow those of us with work to do to accomplish it?" he said with an overly stern expression.

"It is a reasonable question," Legolas added, with all apparent sincerity. "I thought we had decided against suggesting that the king cede part of the forest when we discussed this with Barad on the way back from the mill,"

Berior turned to Legolas and now he appeared a little desperate. "You, at least, surely can be counted upon to know better than to play out your vengeance on me for my... observations on the Green when serious topics are at hand," he whispered.

Legolas merely raised an eyebrow.

"Enough foolishness," Thranduil intervened, smothering a smile of his own. He rather missed the entertainment Aradunnon brought to morning council and would not mind seeing Galithil take his father's place. But Galithil and Legolas combined? That he would withhold judgment on--it might be too much. "Do those villagers intend to move back to that part of the forest?" he asked Golwon quickly to prevent further distractions.

"I do not believe so, my lord," he answered. "They moved their homes further inside the forest and closer to one of the tributaries of the Forest River."

"Ruscil is never fond of any efforts to manipulate what grows where," Thranduil observed, now looking between Golwon and Arthiel.

"Master Ruscil is even less fond of cutting trees to sell to men," Arthiel replied. "I think he would find this plan far more palatable than cutting trees that grew naturally. At least he will be prepared for their ultimate fates."

"Will you approach him on this matter? With Berior and Golwon?"

"If you wish for me to do so, my lord, of course I will."

"Very well," Thranduil said with a sigh. "I agree this is a good solution. If you have thought this through so thoroughly, Berior, I would wager you have a suggestion regarding what price we place on the sale of these trees."

Berior nodded. "I recommend the price for the agreement and the spare tree we send them now be that they cut us a new mill stone for our own mill from the mountain. We last replaced ours over a hundred years ago. The three before this one lasted little longer than that, so it must be time to replace it."

"I was going to recommend a stone be the price we ask, my lord," Lindomiel agreed. "Indeed, I had intended to approach you next spring regarding the replacement of our stone. Sooner is better."

Thranduil nodded. "Very well. And you both believe it is wise to give them one of the oaks we are currently seasoning? Their need is worth the risk to us?" he asked, looking from Berior to Lindomiel.

"I did not tour their mill," Lindomiel replied. "I was working with Fengel and the wool merchants. Berior, Legolas and Galithil saw the mill."

Thranduil turned back to them.

"Their mill is in dire need, my lord," Berior said. Legolas and Galithil nodded. "And it is unlikely our new shaft will fail, along with the remaining replacement, before we could season a spare. But we could stipulate in this agreement that, if that should happen, the men would have to mill our flour until we could replace our shaft."

"Which would be an extreme inconvenience," Thranduil muttered. "We will send them the oak, but their mill will have to find a way to survive two more years without it," he added in a stronger voice. "The oak we have is not fully seasoned and I will not risk sending it to them before it is and having them ruin it by putting it into use too soon. Berior, you and Hallion work together to compose a reply to Forwed agreeing to give him one of our oaks. In two years, when it is ready. You can give him the beech now, if he wants it immediately. You may also promise him ongoing rights to oak in exchange for millstones. But they must retrieve the timber and deliver the millstones themselves."

"Yes, my lord," both Berior and Hallion replied.

Thranduil sat back in his chair. "Well done, Berior," he added quietly and was rewarded by a smile that reminded him far too much of Celonhael. He looked away quickly lest his expression reveal something Berior might not understand. Or, worse still, something he would understand. Thranduil had no desire to dampen Berior's mood with unnecessary reminders. "Was that the only unexpected incident, then? Or is there more?" he asked.

"That was the only surprise from my point of view," Lindomiel said with a smile. "I imagine Legolas, Galithil and Berior found most everything they saw to be at least somewhat unexpected. I know I did the first time I visited a mannish town."

"True enough, nana," Legolas said, smiling back at her.

Lindomiel stood, bringing everyone to their feet. "If our business is finished, I am going to enjoy a bath," she said with a glance at Thranduil.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow when Galithil and Berior hid a grin, and Legolas a frown, under bowed heads in response to that announcement.

"There is little else I would enjoy better," Galithil said. "Unless it was some decent wine."

"Too right," Berior agreed.

Thranduil drew a breath to agree that they all should retire to the family quarters, but one of the Gate Guards appeared at the doors of the Hall, interrupting him.

"Lord Dolgailon has arrived, my lords," he called.

Arthiel immediately started towards the back of the Hall, without so much as a word to Thranduil or Lindomiel, an expression of utter relief on her face.

Dolgailon obviously shared the details of the information they learned about Manadhien with his wife.

Thranduil was about to order Arthiel to wait for Dolgailon in the Hall, if she could not rein in her expression, but she stopped herself just inside the antechamber, so instead, he turned his attention to Legolas and his cousins. "Dolgailon and I will join the rest of you in the sitting room in a few moments," he said firmly. He had no intention of allowing the children to focus on Manadhien when they should be relating stories of their adventure to their friends.

"I would like to at least greet my brother," Galithil replied with the same stubborn tone he had used his entire life to argue for forbidden privileges. He made no move to follow Golwon, Lindomiel and the guards, who had accepted Thranduil's dismissal. Neither did Legolas or Berior.

"I think I have the right to hear whatever news Dolgailon might have of Manadhien," Legolas said quietly. "I bought that right with my own blood."

"My father's life bought my right to hear what Dolgailon will say," Berior said, folding his arms across his chest.

Thranduil shook his head, ready to insist they leave. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lindomiel frown.

"My lord," the Gate Guard called. He had returned to his post, but was facing inside the stronghold. "Tulus is with Lord Dolgailon."

"Tulus!" Legolas exclaimed, peering through the doors of the Hall and out the Gates. Then he turned to Thranduil. "I am staying," he declared. "I want to speak to Tulus. And hear what he has to say."

"We will discuss both Tulus and Dolgailon's reports in council tomorrow," Thranduil argued. "And if you wish, I will invite Tulus to join us in the sitting room when we are finished speaking. But would you not prefer to spend the evening enjoying the company of your friends rather than enduring news of an elleth that has done nothing but cause you grief?"

"What would your choice be in our place, adar?" Legolas replied, still without moving from in front of his chair.

"I would choose to stay," Thranduil admitted quietly, abandoning the argument. It was one he had no hope of winning, especially now that Tulus was here. That unexpected arrival could not possibly bode well.

Dolgailon, his guard, Galudiron, and Tulus emerged through the Gates. Thranduil gestured to Lindomiel and Golwon to leave while Arthiel embraced her husband in greeting. With a backward glance to the children and Dolgailon, Lindomiel complied.

Dolgailon spent a moment speaking to Arthiel in the antechamber as Galudiron and Tulus lingered by the doors of the Hall. Thranduil could hear him assuring her that he was perfectly well and that his delivery of the horses had gone exactly as planned. Arthiel gave him a hard look in response to that as he asked her to wait for him in the sitting room and promised he would join her as quickly as he could manage.

Thranduil felt a stab of anger that Oropher's grandchildren, rather than enjoying the warmth of their families, were compelled to spend their time dealing with the very kinslayers that Oropher had worked so hard to escape.

After watching his wife disappear through the doors to the family quarters, Dolgailon turned into the Hall, followed by Galudiron and Tulus. They strode quickly up the center aisle and dropped to one knee when they reached the table.

Thranduil stepped forward, gesturing for Dolgailon and the guards to stand. He embraced his brother's son as soon as he did. "Welcome home, Dolgailon. I am very relieved to see you back safely."

Dolgailon smiled at him as he stood back, but his attention was quickly claimed by his brother, cousins and finally Hallion and Engwe, who had also remained in the Hall to hear Dolgailon's report. They all greeted Galudiron and Tulus as well. Tulus's very reserved responses did nothing to dispel Thranduil's concern over his presence.

"What news from the southern realm?" Thranduil asked once everyone had been seated around the table.

Dolgailon snorted softly at that apparently innocuous question. "Selwon, Nindir and Pellion were genuinely thrilled by the delivery of the horses. They send their thanks." Dolgailon extracted a stack of letters from his tunic pocket and placed them next to the correspondence already on the table. "Leithor sends his appreciation as well, along with his complaints that his village did not receive a mare. And Maethorness. Well, as one might expect, given her normal personality, she sends nothing but complaints. Ones I expect you can ignore. I will leave you to read them as you will. Over all, the gift of these horses was very well received and generated the responses we expected."

Saying that, Dolgailon fell silent.

Thranduil waited for him to continue.

"What about Manadhien and your village?" Galithil demanded when his brother remained quiet for too long.

Dolgailon's jaw clenched. "It is much worse than we expected," he said quietly.

Thranduil drew a long, calming breath. "How so?"

Dolgailon looked at him levelly. "Seregon, the head of the village guard, do you remember him?"

Thranduil nodded. So did Legolas and Galithil.

"He led a group of villagers to see me." Dolgailon glanced at Galithil. "One of them was your friend, Galasserch. He sends you his greetings." He turned back to Thranduil. "Others were elves that once advised my adar. I know them all well." He paused to draw Thranduil's full attention.

Thranduil leaned forward slightly. Dolgailon already had his full attention.

"They crept into my talan through the balcony to meet with me," Dolgailon continued. "They were afraid to be seen speaking with me publicly. In their own words, they did not want to be seen as a traitorous mob by displaying too much loyalty to the king or his family."

Thranduil's jaw dropped. Everyone else at the table, even Hallion, exclaimed in disbelief at that.

"That is not even the worst of it. They told me that over the last years, Moralfien has systematically driven away every one of the elves that served my adar--by means of simple discourtesy at times, but more often by informing them that their counsel was no longer needed. Many have left the village entirely, but none have any influence there. They told me that some of them sent complaints, either to you or to me, about her. I have never received any such complaint. Have you?"

"I have not," Thranduil replied quietly. If Manadhien was able to control correspondence coming out of the southern realm...
 
"It gets still worse. Seregon told me that village guards with a long history of loyalty to me, or my adar or the king--like himself--are regularly asked to take the more distant or southern patrols. I might argue that was wise, since those guards are likely the most experienced and can best manage those patrols. But Seregon said that they have suffered an unusually high incidence of injury of late. In contrast, newer guards--ones who have recently moved to the village, presumably from Lorien, as Pauron did after Amroth left--they seem to almost never encounter orcs on their patrols. Seregon said to me that, if he did not know it was impossible, he would believe that Moralfien commanded orcs and ordered them to only target elves loyal to the king."

"Of course, we know that Manadhien is indeed allied with orcs," Engwe muttered as Legolas, Galithil and Berior whispered amongst themselves.

Thranduil spoke over them all. "How did you respond to that statement?" he asked.

"I said nothing, of course. I would have trusted Seregon with the information we have about Manadhien, but there was no way for me to speak with him privately. And telling everyone that was present--that is obviously too great a risk. So I assured them that I would speak to Moralfien and ensure her loyalty to you."

"And how did your conversation with her go?" Thranduil asked. As if he did not already know the answer to that question.

Dolgailon's expression grew hard and he glanced at Legolas. "I arrived in time to hear her relating to the villagers that Legolas had killed two elves and you had executed two others."

From the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw Legolas draw himself up in his chair.
 
"I was able to gather from the patrols on my way home that Pelin, Lagril, Fuilin and Mauril attacked Legolas on the Green and a hunt ensued," Dolgailon continued. "But be certain those details were not part of Manadhien's report to the village. I was able to manage it so that, in the end, the villagers understood what happened and why. But if I had not been there, the way she portrayed that news could have been very damaging. I spoke to her about that and about the horses. She made up absurd lies to explain away both incidents."

"And how did you respond to that?"

"Honestly, my lord, I did not respond at all. I could not do so without revealing too much, so I admonished her, again, that I expected her unfailing loyalty to you and to me and she promised to give it. Another lie, obviously. To be frank, what disturbed me more than anything else--more than hearing her slander you and Legolas; more than hearing that she is actively putting elves in the paths of orcs--was her ability to look me in the face and lie completely convincingly. If I did not know exactly how she got the coins to buy those horses, I would have believed the story she told me. At the time, even knowing it was a lie, I considered it believable, when, in fact, it was absurd and any reasonable person ought to recognize it as such. I cannot imagine how she can lie so compellingly."

"What witchcraft does she weave?" Tulus whispered under his breath.

"Indeed," Legolas and Dolgailon agreed as one.

Thranduil looked between them. Tulus's words were a quote. He was repeating what Legolas had asked Glilavan after he had attacked him. Thranduil had thought nothing of those words then. Glilavan was ensorcelled by hatred fed by grief, nothing more.

Or was he? How could Dolgailon be thusly deceived?

"Was it some sort of unnatural craft?" Thranduil asked quietly, looking intently at Dolgailon.

His young nephew startled at the very suggestion. "How could it be?" he asked.

"She has Ages of experience lying, my lord," Hallion intervened. "Surely, it is nothing more than that."

"Every person who has ever testified against her in this Hall claimed that she possessed powerful speech," Thranduil reminded him.

"She has a way of making the unthinkable seem justified," Tulus said, looking at Thranduil.

He nodded. "That is what you testified about her."

"Are you suggesting she can..." Dolgailon frowned, struggling for words. "That she has...she uses some sort of spell to bend people to her will?"

"Could it be?" Thranduil asked. "Of all of us here, you and Tulus have the most experience with her."

Dolgailon turned an alarmed look on Tulus.

Tulus looked down. "I would like to believe that is true," he said. "It would excuse, if even slightly, how my son and I fell in with her. But I cannot claim to know it to be true. She did convince me that insane plans were reasonable. If she used sorcery to do so, I cannot say. I would not recognize such artifices. I have absolutely no experience with them. None that I can be certain of, at any rate."

Thranduil gazed steadily at Dolgailon.

He shook his head. "Nor would I recognize them, my lord. I do not know how she did it, but I believed her story of how she obtained that gold, even as I reminded myself that it was not true."

"Sounds like sorcery," Legolas whispered.

"She was in Ost-in-Edhil," Engwe said. "She was one of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. You said yourself, Thranduil, that she sat at table with Annatar."

"The Gwaith-i-Mirdain! Annatar! You are not suggesting that Manadhien has a Ring of Power!" Hallion exclaimed with a scoffing tone.

"A Ring of Power? Of course not," Engwe replied calmly. "We all have our suspicions of where those lie and it is certainly not with her. But a lesser ring? There were many rings of power made in Ost-in-Edhil, as I understand it. They might not have been as powerful as the Nine, Seven or Three, but they are none of them to be trifled with."

Dolgailon knocked his knuckles on the table for attention. "Sorcery or no, she is dangerous and that is the important matter at hand. I cannot leave her unsupervised in that village, my lord. I cannot leave the elves that long trusted my adar, and now trust me, to her mercy. Not after hearing what Seregon and the other elves told me."

"We agreed that we must capture all her servants, Dolgailon," Thranduil began.

"And that is why I was very glad to meet Tulus on the way home," Dolgailon interrupted him. He looked towards the guard.

Tulus openly cringed to have attention shifted so abruptly to him. "I was coming north. To speak with you personally, my lord. I know where Fuilin is hiding. I can take you...or Dolgailon...or anyone you wish to him," he said without looking at the king.

Thranduil's brows drew together sharply. Tulus's demeanor was clearly not as victorious as it should be when delivering that news. He waited for the guard to continue speaking, knowing there must be more.

Tulus finally looked up and met Thranduil's gaze. "Glilavan was with Fuilin when I found him. He escaped. And returned to the forest."

Thranduil's hands clenched around the arms of his chair where they were resting.

"What?" Galithil exclaimed.

"I told you exiling him was a dangerous gamble," Berior said bitterly. "One we lost. We should have..."

"Silence, Berior," Legolas and Hallion demanded as one. As he spoke, Legolas reached out to lay a hand on Tulus's shoulder.

Tulus closed his eyes. "I cannot.... I was prepared to confront Fuilin. To bring you his body. But with Glilavan there...there is no way I could...not without a fight ensuing...and I cannot..."

Thranduil waved him silent. "I understand, Tulus. I would never ask that of you. I will manage it. With an outcome we can both accept, unless Glilavan forces me otherwise."

Tulus only nodded without opening his eyes.

Thranduil loosed a long sigh. "Do you have a suggestion, Dolgailon? Since you said that you will not allow Manadhien to continue ruling your village? Even if we capture or kill Fuilin and Glilavan, there might still be two more servants, the brothers of Lagril and Pelin, that Tureden mentioned. Did you hear about them yet? We still have to find and identify them."

"Manadhien has two elves in the village with her now," Dolgailon replied. "Elves I have never seen in that village. They are very loyal to her. She claims they are from Lorien. Perhaps they are these two unknown servants."

"We must be sure of that," Thranduil said.

"I can go with Tulus to get a look at them," Tureden suggested.

Legolas nodded. "He is the only one of us that would recognize them."

"And if he can confirm they are Lagril and Pelin's brothers, we are finished with this," Dolgailon said, jumping on that idea. "Someone can go get Fuilin and Glilavan. Tureden, Galudiron, Tulus and I can arrest Manadhien and her servants in the village and we are done. But if they are not her unknown servants, I must stay in that village. No matter how difficult it will make it for me to command the warriors. I cannot leave it in her hands."

Thranduil frowned. "If these two elves are not the servants we are seeking and this is not over, your return to that village will drive her away, Dolgailon. There is no reason for her to stay in the village if you take her little realm away from her."

Dolgailon said nothing in reply. He returned Thranduil's gaze stubbornly.

Thranduil's frown deepened. "If you stay in the village, she will first make an effort to remove you. If, Valar forbid, she is successful, you have accomplished nothing to help your village and you have deprived this realm of its Troop Commander. If she is not successful, she will leave the village, making keeping track of her and her servants much more difficult, if not impossible. You cannot go back, Dolgailon."

"I have no choice, my lord. I cannot allow her to send elves to their deaths at the hands of orcs. I cannot allow her to poison the newcomers to this forest against its king. And I cannot allow her to poison the elves that have lived in this forest for Ages against its king."

"There has to be another solution," Thranduil insisted.

"I could go to the village and keep an eye on her," Galithil said.

"No!" Legolas exclaimed the moment Galithil spoke.

"No!" Dolgailon echoed him.

"My presence would at least make her hesitant to openly criticize the king," Galithil continued, ignoring them both. "It did before, when Legolas and I were in the village to speak to the dwarves. That would at least serve to make life more comfortable for those loyal to the king. And I might be able to make it more difficult for her to hide her dealings with the Enemy."

"I will not consider that proposal, Galithil," Thranduil replied, at least doing him the courtesy of waiting until he finished speaking. "You are not of age, so you may not make this choice without my permission. And I am hesitant to allow Dolgailon, an experienced warrior, to go near Manadhien. I am certainly not sending you."

"Fuilin told me that her intention was to target Galithil after me," Legolas interjected, causing Galithil to shoot him a scathing look.

"My lord, just listen to me," Galithil pleaded. "We need someone who can support those elves in the south that are loyal to you, who understands the threat Manadhien is, but whose presence will not drive her away. I am the perfect person. I could go to the village and tell her that you sent me to learn to govern it. From her. She would be flattered. More importantly, she would be compelled to stay to teach me and I would have a hand in everything she does, by necessity, as I supposedly learned from her, so I could help control this situation until we are ready to arrest her, whenever that might be."

"Unless she sells you to men," Legolas said. "Galithil, this is insane."

Galithil made a face at him. "I will be in the village with Colloth. Tulus and six other spies will still be watching the village. She will not sell me to men."

"I could not go with you, Galithil," Colloth said. "I would recognize Manadhien."

"Then Lanthir or Galuauth can go with me."

"They could go if I were considering sending you, which I am not," Thranduil said. His tone was final.

"I could go with him also," Dolgailon said softly. "As his older brother and guardian, to supervise him, ostensibly, but I would tell Manadhien that my duties as Troop Commander prevent me from teaching him myself. I could say we admire her leadership and want her to teach him. I have told her before that I do admire her ability to manage such a large village, so it would be believable. Of course, I would truly be there to keep Galithil safe and help him control her. But, if Manadhien thinks she is being entrusted to teach Galithil, she will likely stay. If for no other reason than to take advantage of the opportunity to plot against both of us at once...."

"Which is why I am not considering this. It is even worse then sending you alone..." Thranduil interrupted, now angry. How could Dolgailon think it was acceptable to subject his younger brother to such danger!

"Manadhien will not succeed in injuring me or Galithil with my guard, Galithil's guard and Tulus's spies all watching us," Dolgailon insisted. "Between Galithil and I, we can definitely keep her under control to the extent that she can be controlled. It would give us time to determine if we have identified all of her servants or not. If we have, I would be in place to help arrest her. If not, we can keep the village safe until we do. I think Galithil's plan has merit. Especially since we have no other plan."

"No." Thranduil replied flatly. "I will not endanger Galithil in this manner. He is still a child."

"My lord," Galithil said quietly.

Thranduil could not deny that he admired how reasonable Galithil had managed to keep his tone.

"You said, when you assigned Legolas and I guards, that you would have asked us then if we were willing to be bait to draw out Dannenion and Dolwon, if only we had been capable of defending ourselves. I am now capable of defending myself. Any officer in the Training Program will tell you that I am better skilled with a sword than Legolas, and he defended himself against Manadhien's servants. You allowed him to help hunt for them because it was his place to do so under the circumstances. This is my adar's village we are speaking of now. It is my business. Mine after Dolgailon, of course. I am willing to be bait to keep Manadhien in place and in check while we search for her servants. Unless you have another plan that will keep the village safe and keep her from fleeing, you must at least consider mine."

Thranduil's jaw clenched. "As long as I remain king of this realm, lord Galithil, I will decide what I must consider."

"Then, as king, my lord, what is your plan?" Galithil retorted. "You have rejected mine and the village leader's. What alternative do you, or anyone else here, propose?"

Thranduil's teeth ground together. "You are every bit your adar's son, Galithil," he bit out. Then he took a deep breath in an effort to rein himself in. Reason, not force, governed the House of Oropher. He needed a convincing argument to turn Galithil from this course. What would sway him? "You might be forced to stay in that village for a very long time, if Manadhien's servants are not easily found," Thranduil finally said. "And you will likely be doing little more than copying for her. She will never give you any true authority. You might miss years of training. It would greatly delay your entry into the ranks of this realm's warriors. You do not want to make that sacrifice."

Galithil looked down. Legolas cast his cousin sidelong look that made Thranduil's eyebrows rise involuntarily.

"I am willing to do what is necessary to serve that village, my lord," Galithil said quietly, without looking up. "And I do not intend to become a warrior, so I do not view delaying my training as a sacrifice."

Thranduil's eyes widened and darted from Galithil to Legolas. Legolas's eyes were closed. He shook his head once before restraining himself. Legolas had at least suspected this. He was not surprised by it. Thranduil turned back to Galithil. This was not a ploy! He was sincere!

"What did you say?" Dolgailon demanded.

Galithil faced him with obvious reluctance. "I am only attending the training so I am capable of defending myself. And this realm, if necessary," he said. "I intended to serve long enough in a patrol to gain some experience, but only long enough to feel justified in asking you to allow me to lead that village, if you preferred to remain in the stronghold after I come of age. Or, if you return to the village, I intended to ask to serve you there."

Dolgailon's mouth hung open during that speech. "Galithil, you have a duty..."

"To serve this realm," Thranduil interrupted. "There are many ways for him to do so. Including in your village, however you deem best, Dolgailon."

Dolgailon turned to him, stunned and angry.

"We will all respect, not argue over, Galithil's decisions regarding how he can best serve this realm," Thranduil continued, his tone carefully measured.

That elicited even more surprise from Dolgailon and a look of profound gratitude from Galithil.

Thranduil stood, raising everyone else to their feet. "We will continue this discussion tomorrow. After petitions. When we are all more rested and have had time to gather our thoughts." He turned towards the door behind the throne without waiting for further arguments. He knew his brother's family well enough to know the arguments would follow him, will or not.

"Will you consider sending me to the village, my lord?" Galithil asked, immediately satisfying Thranduil's expectations.

"I will consider any reasonable plan to contain the damage Manadhien might do," he replied.

Which meant he would have to think of a better plan quickly.

*~*~*

Naneth/nana -- Mother/mum
Adar/ada -- Father/dad
gwador nin -- My brother (sworn brother, not blood brother)
ionnath nin--my sons
talan/telain -- the houses in trees where the elves lived

AN: This is the end of Foreign Journeys. This series will continue in Fall into Shadow, which will bring some major changes for both Thranduil's family and their enemies. That story needs a bit of work still, so there will be a few weeks break before I start to post it. I hope to start posting it sometime after I finish my Halloween costume.