(A/N:  Dear Ones, I am so sorry for the delay!  My life is such a seething cauldron of high emotions right now that I find it difficult to deal with Legolas’ angst … I would rather write some light and frothy thing, like “Malbeach Goes A-Courting.”  Sadly, I have already done that … and romance is the last thing I want to think about.

That said, please send humongous kudos to my brilliant – and patient! – beta, Nieriel Raina, who, like many of us in the Southeast, is suffering from a surfeit of Tree Sex and its aftermath.  Send tissues and antihistamines.

-- Le Rouret)

29. Justice and Mercy In Like Measure

“Have mercy!” cried Morbel supplicatingly, writhing in the mud and filth.  Behind him stood Nwalmä, his face grim and his black eyes flashing; his halberd was long and sharp, and dripping with blood.  “O Prince of Mirkwood, have mercy!”

Legolas raised his arm to pronounce judgment; but then Morbel twisted and shrank, becoming limbless and flaccid and slimy:  a grey worm, squirming in its own filth.  All round it waited a flock of starlings, looking at it with hungry expressions in their yellow eyes.

“Have mercy, have mercy!” it squeaked, terrified; and Legolas’ heart was wrung, for it was so pitiful.  He made to reach for it, to pluck it from its refuse and put it in a safe place.  But the nightingale pecked at his hand and said:

“Is it yours, O royally allocated judge, to dispense mercy and not justice?  Should not the two be winnowed evenly through the sifter of wisdom that ever expands in the dark threshing-floor of time?”

“But he is so helpless,” Legolas argued; “and is it not an honorable judge’s prerogative to dispense clemency as well as condemnation?”

“When the villain’s clemency toward others more helpless than he is disdained, then in my opinion, no,” said the nightingale; “but I leave it to you, who are so wise and ancient.”

The nightingale’s caustic tone made Legolas doubt himself, and he hesitated, but the starlings did not; in moments they had descended and torn the worm to pieces.  “Justice is best served neat, without a side-helping of either vengeance or naïveté,” said the nightingale, and flew away amidst the speckled feathers.

Legolas opened his eyes; they were dry and sandy.  “Are you not yet finished with me, Aiwendil?” he asked wearily, half-expecting the wizard to be crouched by his side; however he looked up into the worried brown eyes of his friend Gimli.  He managed a smile, though it was lop-sided; Gimli shook his head at this and said:

“Nightmares still, Legolas?”

“No,” said Legolas; “only strange dreams.”  He allowed Gimli to help him to sit up; his back ached and burned, and his skin felt hot.  “Is there aught to eat?” he said, a little plaintively.  “I am so hungered I can feel the front of my stomach flapping flag-like against my spine!”

“There is nothing except a little of that squirrel-broth,” said Gimli apologetically, “that is left over from last night.  There may be water, but it shall be a while ere game returns to this blighted land.”

He called to Tamin, who brought over a cup of broth to his Master; Legolas drank the cold greasy liquid hungrily.  “And you need to have the last of that wizard’s brew, Legolas,” said Gimli, handing the cup back to Tamin to wash up.  “You look like a pink-and-white piebald!”

“O for a mirror!  I would like to laugh,” said Legolas with a smile.  “That is foul stuff, but I must admit it makes me feel much better.”

“I will get it, Master,” said Tamin, and limped away to the fire where sat Vé and Dúrfinwen.  The woman’s back was turned to them, her stubbled head sunk between her shoulders; Vé spoke to her softly, his green eyes gentle and sad.  Legolas looked around absently a moment, then with a horrible sinking heart realized he was trying to find Bandobras.  He closed his eyes and felt the awful tight lump swell in his throat; he tried to swallow it away, but it stuck.  He felt Gimli’s hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” the Dwarf murmured; his voice broke.  “I keep looking for him, too.”

“It was so futile, Gimli,” said Legolas, his voice snagging on a sob.  “He did not have to look.  He knew to look away.  Why did he look?”

“I know not,” said Gimli, roughly ruffling Legolas’ hair.  “I know not.  But he died not in vain, Legolas; you know that.”

“I know.”  Legolas took a deep breath and opened his eyes; they were clouded with tears.  He brushed them away impatiently.  He saw Vé smile at Dúrfinwen, and say something that sounded like a joke; she laughed, her thin shoulders shaking, and Vé looked as pleased as a cat with a vole in its teeth.  “How is she this morn?” he asked under his breath.

“Quiet,” said Gimli.  “The same as she was yesterday and the day before.”

“Damn,” muttered Legolas.

“Indeed,” agreed his friend.  “The sun stops in its tracks when Dúrfinwen does not chatter.”

The two sat together in silence for a moment.  The sun had not risen, but only pinked the eastern sky, which was as mottled as Legolas’ burned skin, with tattered wisps of cloud twining round great clotted lumps of grey, rushed and pushed along by the high freshening wind.  The earth was yet brown and lifeless, but water sprung from the cracks, washing the filth away; there was no more reek, no more slime or grease; and betimes even a bird would be seen fluttering by, careening crazily in the wild zephyr.  Looming to their left was the cold dark mouth of Muhk’s cave, as dead and lifeless as that serpent himself; nor smoke nor reek nor menace of danger emanated from that opening, but it was dismal nonetheless.  Its gloom was enhanced by the sad little pile of stones in front of it, surmounted by a small spear topped with a blue pennant:  Bandobras’ resting-place, a fitting cairn for so valiant a warrior, for Legolas had placed upon the torn and rotting body one of Muhk’s fangs, wrested from the great cold mouth after they had gutted the worm to retrieve the Hobbit’s remains.  Tamin had taken the other fang for himself, wrapping it carefully in rags, and putting it in his bag.

“Théodred has a tooth collection,” he had said.  “I want this for him, to give him a birthday present fitting his pocket-knife.”

“He will like that very much,” Legolas had concurred, and then they piled the Blue Knight’s body high with gold and gems, and then with stones.  Legolas had sung a dirge, tears streaming down his burned face and his form trembling with pain and weariness and grief; then to everyone’s surprise Dúrfinwen had joined in, her low voice soft and sad, her wasted hands lifted to the starry sky.  Neither Tamin nor the Dwarves dared interrupt them; the two eternal voices twisted and wound round each other, trading point and counterpoint like canters; it seemed to Gimli then that Legolas’ voice was like himself, flowing gold and ivory, and Dúrfinwen’s like herself also, hard and dark and glossy like polished wood.  When the song had ended Legolas reached his hand to her, but she dropped her head and walked away.

Tamin brought Legolas his brew, and Isilmë plodded after the boy, lipping at his golden hair and blowing grassy breath in his ear, making him laugh.  But when Legolas had given Tamin the emptied cup and risen with Gimli’s help to his feet, Isilmë’s head lifted, stretched upon the thick stumpy white neck; his ears pricked forward, and his nostrils flared.  “What is it, Isilmë?” asked Tamin anxiously, looking round the brown wet hills for danger; then Isilmë called, and to their delight they heard from far-off an answering bellow.

“Hammer!” cried Legolas happily.   There was then a chorus of high whinnies, and the thunder of hooves; then cresting a low hill, their manes and tails tossing in the wind, came Hammer and his herd.  Hammer espied them across the little vale, and reared up, tossing his mighty head and calling again, deep and brassy like a great trump; then he was down, nipping at one of the pack horse’s flanks, harrying the herd down the vale.  Vé and Dúrfinwen sprang to their feet, and Vé shrank back worriedly, but he needn’t have feared, for Hammer and his herd swept round them in a great curving arc, their hooves churning up the moist earth with a noise like a chorus of deep kettle-drums.  Nostrils flared and ears forward Hammer bore down on his master, crow-hopping in delight; his huge feathered hooves struck the earth until it shook, and he tossed his thick black mane and gave a triumphant whinny.  Then as suddenly as he had begun, Hammer quieted his herd with a snort, and lowering his head upon the muscular neck he stretched out to Legolas’ hand, licking and blowing.

“My dear one!” said Legolas, laughing in relief.  “My dear Hammer!”  He flung his arms round the stallion’s neck, and Hammer snorted into the tangled flossy hair.  “O Hammer,” Legolas whispered, and Hammer’s ear swiveled to hear the prince’s low voice.  “O Hammer, bring you Spark hither; he has lost his small Master, and I fear he might pine.”

Hammer turned to find the pony, but Isilmë had been the swifter; he and Spark stood by the dismal little pile of stones, with Burnt Toast and one of the older pack horses, a big hook-nosed dun, poking round the rocks nearby.  Spark nosed at the pennant, then pawed a little at some of the smaller stones; he whickered unhappily, and stood gazing down at the cairn, head drooping disconsolately.  Isilmë nibbled the pony’s shoulder, and Burnt Toast gave a series of sympathetic grunts.

“O dear!” said Tamin, his voice trembling, and he wrung his hands.  “O dear!  O poor Spark!  O poor, poor Spark!”

“Was that Bandy’s pony?” asked Vé, looking up cautiously at Hammer, who seemed as big as a mountain to him; Vé had heretofore been acquainted only with little hill-ponies, or the light palfreys common round the villages of Men in Eriador.

“It was,” sighed Legolas, hooking one arm round Hammer’s big neck; the stallion whuffed into his hair, then rested his chin on the Elf’s shoulder, his big brown eyes rolling thoughtfully over to Spark.  “I gave Spark to Bandobras when he won his spurs – when he became the Blue Knight of Dol Galenehtar – was that merely five months ago, my Tamin?  Dear me!  How slowly time has dragged by for me!”

“It is on account of all these things happening at once,” said Gimli practically.  “Time passes the slower when naught is going on.”

“I … I remember Spark,” said Dúrfinwen slowly, and they turned to her; she was watching the little clutch of equines mourning round the cairn, her head drooping, her dark eyes pensive.  “I thought perchance you would gift him to Bandy, my lord – I am sorry – “ her voice caught, and she took a deep breath, her eyes glassing over with tears.  “I am sorry I missed his accolades.  I wanted to see them – wanted to see him – Oh!”  She fell to her knees, covering her face with her long thin hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.  Gimli, Vé, and Tamin stood awkwardly looking down at her, but Legolas dropped down beside her, his arm round her shoulder, pressing her head to his chest with his hand.  His face was wet with tears, and his grey eyes reflected the deep grief they all felt.  Tamin crept forward, his small face white.

“Are you going to fade, Dúrfinwen?” he asked plaintively.

Legolas looked shocked, but Dúrfinwen actually laughed through her tears.  “Tamin,” she said, twisting in her lord’s arms to look up at the boy, “you have a talent for putting into question-form the worries that cloud everyone’s minds.”

“If we are worried, why should we not ask?” he argued.  “Are you?”

“I have not yet decided,” said Dúrfinwen tiredly, tucking her face back into Legolas’ shoulder.  “It would be easy – too easy.  I am not sure.  I will have to think on it.”

“Well, take your time, Dúrfinwen,” said Tamin, looking relieved.  “For then perhaps the longer you wait, the less you will want to.”

“Let us speak no more of fading,” said Legolas firmly, taking Dúrfinwen by her shoulders and looking down into her sunken pale face.  “Is there not enough unhappiness engendered by our enemies, that we must manage in our broken hearts?  Should we add sorrow upon sorrow, taking our final refuge in despair and not hope?”

“Despair is easier to believe in,” said Dúrfinwen, and hid her face in his shoulder again.  Legolas’ eyes overflowed with tears, and he put his arms round her and held her tight, as though he feared she would take to flight at any moment.

“My dear one!” he said; his voice trembled.  “Of all the griefs visited upon this sorry band of travelers, yours are the deepest and most profound, and my heart, already moved to piteous sorrow, bows beneath the weight of your burden.  That I had aught to comfort you, who are so comfortless!  Tell me, Dúrfinwen, what possess I that would assuage the weight of misery you bear?  I shall give you all I can, up to half of my possessions; nay, three quarters; anything you want, I shall grant to you, if it give you living hope in any way at all!”

“Anything?” sobbed Dúrfinwen, her voice muffled in his tunic.  “You will give me anything?”

“Yes, anything, Little One,” said Legolas earnestly.

She drew back then, and pushed away from him, her face angry.  “I want my purity back,” she said harshly, and leaping to her feet she fled a ways from them, dropping into a disconsolate heap at the edge of the ridge, her back turned to them, her head sunk into her hands.  Legolas knelt staring after her, his shoulders slumped; there was a shadow of fear on his face.

“Legolas – “ began Gimli, but Legolas shook his head and waved his hand, and the Dwarf fell silent.  The Green Knight rose to his feet, regarded Dúrfinwen’s huddled form contemplatively; there was growing in his eyes a dark anger, and he bit his lip in frustration so hard that they thought he might draw blood.  But he lifted his chin and set his jaw, and said:

“I do not think me we ought to stay in this desolate place any longer.  We are well enough. Let us break camp, and head north-west, to Erebor.”

“At last,” muttered Vé, and he and Tamin went to catch the pack horses.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

The hills fell gently north and east of them, and the ground grew softer and wetter; betimes they descried bits of vine or grass springing from the renewed earth, which the horses eagerly lipped up.  Fresh water flowed in the little dells, sparkling and clean, and they all drank deeply; the second night away from Muhk’s cavern they bathed, letting Dúrfinwen alone in a small dingle away from them, waiting anxiously for her return; none spoke of their apprehension, for the woman had been so quiet and they so fearful on her behalf; they all breathed a sigh of relief when they saw her come back, damp and clean, with the dried blood and dirt washed away, wearing the freshest tunic Tamin could find.  Her hair was growing back and covered her scalp in a fine dark fuzz; when the sun slanted through it, it seemed to reflect a reddish hue.  Her torn ear Vé patched up rather handily with some strips of cloth and wetted meal, and the bruises round her cheeks and eyes were fading green and yellow.  But her collar bones stuck out like clothes bars beneath her thin neck, and her dark eyes were sad and empty.  They watched her carefully, wondering at what point the load of self-loathing takes one’s life; Legolas especially turned his gaze to her, her anguish mirrored the more clearly in her lord’s eyes, for he was so helpless to arrest her descent, and could only watch ineffectively as she weakened beneath her struggles.

The third day dawned bright and cool.  The azure dome of the sky was freckled all over with starlings, chipping and calling out to each other, rising and whirling as a school of fish swimming as one entity; sometimes they descended upon a budding tree, chattering in cheerful cacophony.  The horses found ample fodder in the newly sprouting grasses and shrubs, stripping the greenery bare, and even Spark kicked up his heels in delight when the breeze brought upon them the scent of sun-warmed loam.  Vé and Gimli sang together, Gimli upon Burnt Toast and Vé perched precariously on the dun draft, which he had named Wuóri.  Tamin’s heart was lifted, and he hummed along; even Legolas felt cheerful, but when he looked upon Dúrfinwen slumped on her mare’s back his heart sank anew, and descended into the grip of fear.

They rested beneath the noonday sun on a small tor covered in new grass, and let the horses wander and eat while they compiled a meager meal of leftover goose and boiled grain.  Dúrfinwen ate little, though her lord pressed her, even giving to her surreptitiously his own portion, much to Gimli’s dismay; she ate, and Gimli said naught, knowing that for Legolas her health and safety far outweighed his own.

Vé was nodding as he sat, and the horses drowsed sleepily in the heat of the day, when with a start Hammer’s head flew up, nostrils flared and eyes alert.  The rest of the herd answered their leader’s misgiving, and whickered nervously; Hammer blew, and turned his head round, his eyes rolling.  Legolas rose and went to him.

“What is it, Dear One?” he asked, turning to look where his stallion gazed.  “What do you smell?”  Tamin limped to his Master’s side, and they both sampled the air, straining to hear; Gimli and Vé took out their axes, and Dúrfinwen wearily dropped her head in her hand.

“There,” said Legolas at last, pointing down to the broken and rocky side of the tor; boulders were jumbled round the bottom, and a quantity of shrubs grew crookedly from the edges.  “Did you see it?”

“No,” said Gimli, frowning, but Tamin gasped.

“Yes!” he whispered.  “There – do you see it, Gimli, Vé?  It is moving – “

“Hush!” said Legolas, and drew his sword.  “Tamin, go to Dúrfinwen.”

Tamin nodded and went back to her, drawing his sword; they heard him whisper:  “O take out your rapier, do, Dúrfinwen; I am still not right in my leg, and will not be able to protect you sufficiently if it gives beneath me.  Yes – your rapier – thank you, Dúrfinwen!”

Legolas, Gimli, and Vé crouched upon the upper curve of the tor, staring down at the rocks in shadow below.  There was the flicker of movement, and Vé drew in his breath in a hiss.

“I see him,” he whispered, hefting his axe.

“Carefully,” grunted Gimli.  “It mightn’t be an enemy at all, but some poor soul running away from all the chaos in Esgaroth.”

“It may be,” murmured Vé discontentedly.  “And I might just as easily be an Elf-lord from Gondolin.”

“Shh!” hissed Legolas, and they were silent.

The figure in the shadow of the rock seemed to lurch awkwardly; a limb flailed a bit, and it staggered.  There was the flash of scarlet, and the gleam of silver and black; then the man stumbled into view, and stood gazing up at them.

“Malbeach!” exclaimed Gimli, raising his axe; Legolas however put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm.

“I do not think he has a weapon,” he whispered.

“No matter that,” said Gimli grimly.  “Let us strike him down while we may!”

“O yes; let’s do!” said Vé with fierce eagerness.  “I should like to pay him back for my friends’ deaths – especially Álfar’s.”

“Let us not be precipitate,” said Legolas.  “But let him come to us if he will; he is at great disadvantage, for I perceive he is quite alone.”

Then the Dwarves looked, and saw past Malbeach’s vile face to the bruises and blood, the torn red doublet and tattered cloak.  His belt was devoid of sword or dagger, and he walked barefoot; his feet were filthy and bleeding, and his face pale and streaked with mud and tears.  He stared up at them as though blinded and unseeing; then Hammer behind them snorted, and he started, and blinked; his black eyes cleared, and he recognized them.  But far from affixing upon them his habitual smooth gaze, or speaking in his silky and persuasive voice, he fell to his knees, his face twisted in mortification and misery.

“O Prince of Mirkwood!” he called in a hoarse and broken voice, reaching with twisted and dirty hands to them.  “Legolas son of Thranduil, the fates have brought me to you for just this purpose: strike me down!”

“Strike you!” exclaimed Gimli in surprise.  “Why, I have been waiting for just such a moment!  Legolas, I will gladly do this for you; listen; he asks for just that!  Fates be damned; O let me kill him, my friend; you know that he deserves it!”

“Hold!” said Legolas, though he looked uneasy.  He frowned down at Malbeach and said carefully, “Malbeach, erstwhile Master of Esgaroth, why come you here?  What purpose do you serve, skulking about in the wilderness?  Do you not know that Muhk, that vile worm to whom you swore your servitude, has been slain?  For I perceive it has broken your power; your eyes and voice do not to me seem to have any influence over my cognition.”

“Slay me; will you?” cried Malbeach, wringing his hands and weeping.  “It is just; it is the only vengeance you might give my victims!  O slay me; strike me down!  Wait not upon my trial, but be you my judge and jury and hangman all at once.  Cut me!  Dismember me!  Burn me alive!  It is all I deserve!”  And he cast himself upon the grass, writhing and groaning.  “O I am vile, vile!” he moaned.  “That I had died as an infant; nay, that I had never been conceived!  What infamy lay beneath my mother’s bosom!”

“It’s a trick,” muttered Vé.  “I don’t trust him.  He’s lost his power and his armies, and he’s trying to get us to feel sorry for him.”

“Well, Legolas?” asked Gimli.  “What do you want to do?”

Legolas was torn; many besides his loved ones had suffered greatly on this man’s behalf, and yet in his head could he see his poor Bandobras’ still stunned face ere he had died; yet the sight of the man wallowing in his own ignominy pricked at his heart.  “I hardly wish to cut down an unarmed man, no matter his misdeeds,” he said slowly, watching Malbeach repeatedly strike his head on the ground.  “Nor wish I to silence one of the only mouths that might give us some answers.”  Raising his voice he said:  “Malbeach!  Rise and come to us, if you are a man and not a worm!”

“I am a worm!” Malbeach cried, tearing at his hair.  “A worm, a worm!  O what have I done?  Why have I done these things?  Strike me, I say!  Strike me down!  I deserve not to even breathe!”

“Mahal have mercy!” muttered Gimli.  “Come on, Vé; let us drag this wretch up here before I get a crick in my neck.”

“All right then,” said Vé, discontented.  “But I’d still rather just put an axe in his head.”

“Have patience,” said Legolas mildly.  “That duty I might give to Dúrfinwen.”

Vé made a face, but he and Gimli stumped down the tor, and taking the writhing man by the arms they dragged him up to where Legolas waited.  They dumped Malbeach at the Elf’s feet, and the man lay on the grass and sobbed, pulling his hair and beating his fists upon his own head.  Legolas stood over him, a mixture of anger and pity upon his fair face; then he said firmly:  “Malbeach, get up!”

“No!” moaned Malbeach.  “What presumption had I to ever stand and look you in the eye? O that I dared to plot against you; the vile, the unspeakable thoughts that filled me!  I dursn’t look at you; I have done you such wrong!  And the Dwarves – O the Dwarves! – faithful friends of men for centuries; that I defamed you, that I mocked and slew your brothers – O slay me, slay me!”

“Not so fast!” said Vé.  “We want some answers out of you first.”

“Answers!”  Malbeach raised his head and gazed up at them.  His red-rimmed eyes were bloodshot and glazed; his dark curly hair matted and filthy, and his face torn.  He was not the handsome arrogant man they remembered.  More startling to them though was the change in his eyes:  No longer were they dead and dark, but the color seemed to have returned to them, and the life too; they were brimming with the horrors he had visited upon others, and so filled with loathing and anguish it almost hurt them to look into his face.  Legolas braced himself, and met the man’s gaze; but there was no compulsion, no light-headedness, no wool-gathering; his mind was clear and sharp:  Malbeach’s power was indeed broken, as was the man himself.  “Answers!” repeated Malbeach disbelievingly.  “You know what I have done.  You know why I have done it.  Why torment yourselves anew?  I have plotted to kill and destroy; I have colluded with a servant of Morgoth, with the deepest of evil, to torment and hurt, to burn and pillage, to torture and enslave!  And for what?”  He sobbed, and tore at the ground with his fingernails.  “Pleasure!” he moaned, striking his head on the dirt.  “My own repellent pleasure!  It was all a lie – a lie!  I am empty; I shall never be sated!  O what have I done?  What have I done?”  And he sobbed anew, writhing before them.

Gimli and Legolas exchanged puzzled glances, and Gimli said:  “So … you did not plan to plunder the wealth of the Dwarves and the Elves?  You did not seek gold, gems, coins and crowns and jewels?  You were not enriching yourself?”

“No,” sobbed Malbeach, wiping his eyes with the back of his doublet sleeve; the red dye bled upon his cheek.  “It was Renna – that horrible – O save me!  Renna – O, I loved her – I trusted her – Firar and little Rand – my sons – my sons!”  He gave a horrible groan and clutched his stomach, and retched filth upon the ground.  “For riches – it was never enough for her – I gave her gold – necklaces – rings!  But she wanted more – “

“What is it?” asked Tamin suddenly from behind them.  They turned and beheld Tamin with Dúrfinwen coming upon them curiously, their swords at ready; Tamin gasped in surprise when he saw Malbeach, but Dúrfinwen started, mouth open in panic; her eyes alighted with fear and she stumbled backwards, her whole body trembling as though with palsy.  Her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth and she gaped, pale as death; her hand clenched around the rapier’s hilt, and she gave a terrified moan.  Malbeach heard her, and looking up beheld her standing there; with renewed anguish he reached out to her, sobbing.

“You!” he cried.  “You!  O my heart!  O I cannot stand it – you did not die!  O Anóriel daughter of the kings of Dale, the core of my devilish wife’s envy and wrath!”  He stared up at her, grimacing in agony, and she stood still as stone before him, looking down wide-eyed into the horrified face.  “O forgive me, forgive me!” Malbeach cried, curling into a ball.  “Hide your face from me – do not look at me!  Your eyes, your dear brown eyes; I see them in my nightmares; they haunt me, torture me!  I deserve death – ten times over – a hundred times – a thousand – O slay me, slay me!  O what have I done!”

“Hold,” said Legolas again.  He went to Dúrfinwen, and stood so that she was partially shielded behind him; he held his blade between them and Malbeach, and could feel her shrinking and shaking at his back.  “Malbeach,” he said carefully.  “I command you to disclose to us the meaning behind this.  How did you know her name given centuries past is Anóriel?  And what grudge could your wife Renna have had against her, she whom your wife had never met?  And why did you not do as a proper man would do, and step in to rescue the innocent?”  When Malbeach answered not but sobbed with renewed vigor Legolas said angrily: “Speak!  Speak or I will give unto you a token of what you have done to your victims, the children of men, of Dwarves and Elves all alike!  Speak to the one who with his friends removed the foul influence of your snakelike master!”

“O Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood!” cried Malbeach, dragging himself up to his knees.  He hung his head and put his hands in the dirt, clutching at the earth and making furrows with his fingers; tears streamed down his cheeks and watered the ground where he knelt.  “Renna – wanted to be queen of Dale – she is your cousin – Anóriel – “  Malbeach covered his eyes with his hands and wept, and said:  “She thought – if you took your rightful place as queen – she would never recoup her status – she wanted – wealth – position – eminence – love!  Love!”  Malbeach spit upon his own lap, and dropped his head back so that he faced the sky; but he kept his eyes shut, and just wept and wept, and scraped at the earth with his hands.  “Love,” he groaned.  “I loved her – and Firar and Rand – my sons!”

Dúrfinwen was panting with the effort to control her fear, and shook from head to foot; but squaring her shoulders she stepped forward and said with trembling voice:  “And so she sought to disgrace me, to take my place?”

“Yes, O Princess of the House of Dale,” moaned Malbeach.  “And I slew Girion – for her – and paid off his seneschal Gith to remove Bard from the line – so she could assume the throne – its wealth and eminence – but they are yours now – yours, Anóriel.”  Malbeach opened his eyes and looked at her, his chest heaving with sobs.  “Take my life,” he whispered.  “O please, please, Princess, take my life!  I deserve it – a thousand times, death a thousand times is too good for me!  O my sons, my sons!  Renna!  What have I done?  What have I done?”  And he cast himself to the earth again, lost in his abasement.

The Dwarves stood in bemused silence, and Legolas turned to Dúrfinwen.  “Well, Princess?” he said gravely.  “It is upon you the judgment of the house of Dale rests, so that we are all fairly represented:  Eryn Lasgalen, Erebor, and the children of Men.  What shall we do with this poor wreck of a man?”

“Kill him,” said Gimli promptly.  “We do not know we can trust him or his tears.”

“I think Gimli is right, Master,” said Tamin shakily.  “It would be more prudent to remove him, for we do not even have enough food to last us to Erebor.”

“Well, Anóriel?” asked Legolas.  “What say you?”

Dúrfinwen did not speak, but only stared down at the man who writhed before her; her brown eyes were conflicted.  “I, I do not know,” she stammered.  “We are not the only ones who have suffered - I do not think we alone have the right to decide his fate.”  She took a deep breath.  “He must stand trial,” she said with more confidence.  “Before Dale, before Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor.  He and all who have conspired with him must stand trial, and we shall bring witnesses against them, and the kings of the three kingdoms – “ She paused, suddenly realizing her position.  “The royalty of the three kingdoms,” she began again, but then her shoulders slumped, and she was silent.

“Well,” said Gimli unhappily, “I do not like dragging him along; it seems very wasteful to me.  But if Dúr – I mean, Anóriel – thinks it prudent – “

“Prudence!” Malbeach hissed.  They started back; the man had drawn himself up angrily, and his eyes glittered with hatred.  “Prudence!  What does prudence have to do with justice?  By the heavens!  Muhk was right – what a white-livered lot you all are!”  And he suddenly leapt to his feet, and dashed round them; the horses scattered before him. 

“Get him!” bellowed Gimli, turning to take chase; but Legolas cried:  “Wait!”  For Malbeach had found Legolas’ extra sword, the one that with Irmatenagar had slain Muhk.  He held it before them menacingly, its point quivering with the intensity of his grip.  His black eyes were wild, and he bared his teeth like a cornered beast.

“Enough!” he cried.  “Leave me to my fate.  Trial!  Justice!  There shall be no justice for such a wretch as I!”  And he leapt away from them.  They tried to pursue him, but he was faster than the Dwarves, and with Tamin’s broken leg, and Legolas’ weakness, they could not keep up with him; but he ducked into a rocky alcove, and before their eyes thrust the hilt of the sword into a cleft in the rock; then with a strangled cry he impaled himself upon the blade.

His body jerked spasmodically, and he began to squeal and thrash; blood poured from his wound and mouth and nose.  Legolas staggered down to him first, pale and horrified; he tried to hold Malbeach upright, but the man spit at him, and twisted violently away from him, tearing himself anew; he cried in agony, and fell backward off the blade.  He thrashed in the bloodied dirt, froth bubbling round his lips, shrieking and groaning in pain; Legolas reached for him, but he screamed:  “No!  No!   Let me die!”  So Legolas gestured the others away, and they stood and waited. 

Tamin huddled miserably by his Master’s feet, his eyes like saucers; Vé stood smiling down upon Malbeach with grim satisfaction, and Gimli watched with hooded eyes, expressionless.  Dúrfinwen simply stared, her hands opening and closing like the swift progression of morning glories from sunrise to sunset, her pale face composed.  But Legolas stood mournfully over the man, his heart breaking; for Malbeach clutched at his chest, at the spurting wound there, gasping for breath, groaning and squirming, arcing in anguish and crying aloud with pain.  The sun westered and still they stood, and Malbeach’s struggles grew weaker, and his breath shallower; his black eyes lost their focus and he began to beg for water.  Legolas nodded to Tamin, who fetched a water skin; and Legolas took it, and knelt in the blood and dirt by Malbeach’s side.  He cradled the matted head in his hand, and poured a drink of water into the man’s foaming mouth.  Malbeach looked up at Legolas, his eyes anguished and sorrowful; he mouthed:  “I – am sorry – “  Then he coughed, and began to convulse.  Legolas held him still, and with a last shuddering gurgle, Malbeach died.

Legolas straightened the twisted body, and lay the dirty hands upon the bloody chest.  He rose slowly to his feet, and looked carefully at his companions.  Tamin stood with owlish eyes, scarcely comprehending what he had seen transpire; Vé looked satisfied, Gimli only nodded understandingly. Legolas turned to Dúrfinwen.

“Well, I am sorry to say that, for him, there will be no trial, Anóriel,” he said.

Dúrfinwen lifted her face to his, and her brown eyes flashed with anger.  “My name is Dúrfinwen,” she said firmly, and turned away.