Chapter 5: Despicable acts

Unable to see through the white haze of pain that the cut caused, Legolas reacted on instinct, stepping to the side of the form lunging towards him. It was enough. He felt and heard the swish of a sword narrowly missing his shoulder. Struggling to gather himself, he took a deep breath and pressed his off hand against his chest, clutching the edges of his tunic together, as if that might also close the wound.

Something lurched by him.

"You little orc!" Demil snarled. "Get off me!" He grunted several times, each time louder than the last.

As his vision cleared, Legolas saw Demil staggering side to side, bent over at the waist. He shook his head to make sure he was seeing properly. Anastor had jumped on Demil's back! He had one arm wrapped around his neck. The other punched Demil hard in the kidneys. Demil twisted his body about to try to throw off his attacker and avoid bearing extra weight on his injured leg, stabbing behind himself with the knife he had taken from Anastor.

Anastor was forced to let go and jump away, but not before he kicked Demil hard over the cut on his leg.

Demil cursed again and swung wildly at Anastor, chasing him down with his sword.

Legolas gritted his teeth, righted himself, and followed after Demil, sword raised for a high attack, intending to cleave Demil's right shoulder.

Just as his blow was about to land, Demil abandoned his pursuit of Anastor, turned, and blocked the attack, driving Legolas's sword down with his own. He raised the knife in his off hand. Legolas stepped back, out of range and hefted his sword again. Before he could attack, his attention was drawn over Demil's shoulder to a running figure, charging straight at them.

Demil's brows drew together and he spun around, sword raised and deflected the blow Dannenion aimed at his head.

Legolas blinked. Where had Dannenion come from? He looked across the plain for Tulus and found him only a few dozen paces away, fighting with three men. He was slowly being forced back and was obviously tiring. Several dead or injured bodies were scattered between Tulus and where he and Dannenion had first engaged the men.

Legolas looked at Dannenion. For the moment, he was holding his own with Demil, their fight resembling the sparring matches Legolas had watched between his father and uncles.

Dannenion loosed a curse as Demil landed a deep cut on his shoulder.

This was not a sparring match.

Legolas hefted his sword and, coming up behind Demil, swung it at his body at the same time Dannenion aimed a thrust at his neck. Voiding Dannenion's attack, Demil blocked Legolas's with the knife in his off hand.

Legolas and Dannenion pressed Demil together, driving him backwards with simultaneous lunges.

Demil danced back and knocked Legolas's sword off guard with an upswing. With his downswing, he aimed at Dannenion's sword arm, obviously again counting on Legolas to not take advantage of his exposed body.

Dannenion stepped back, in an effort to void Demil's attack, but Demil lunged forward, following him, and brought his sword down across Dannenion's mid forearm. Dannenion screamed and fell to his knees while Demil allowed his momentum to turn him towards Legolas.

"Shadow take you!" Anastor yelled over his father's groans as Legolas brought his sword back into position to meet Demil's next attack.

Wood creaked.

Legloas and Demil both half turned in response to the sound.

Anastor stood to the side of them, the bow he had taken from Balchthor at full draw and an arrow aimed at Demil's chest.

Eyes widening, Legolas took several panicked steps back, away from Demil. He would not have trusted himself to properly target Demil from this distance with his own bow. He knew Anastor did not have such skill. Moreover, he wielded a completely unfamiliar and, given the poor quality of the man's sword, undoubtedly poorly tuned bow. At such a close range, Anastor's arrow would not have time to straighten out and fly true. Legolas had no desire to be its victim.

Demil also backpeddled quickly and as he did, he swung his sword, arm fully extended, at where the arrow rested against the bow and Anastor's bow hand.

Anastor released the arrow just as Demil's sword came down upon it. The arrow was driven downward by the force of the sword, burying itself into the ground to its fletchings. It, however, did not deflect Demil's swing in the slightest. The sword carried through, hitting the lower arm of Anastor's bow and missing his hand by no more than the width of the blade. The bow was still under tension, releasing from full draw. When the blade struck it, the bow snapped and shattered, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. Anastor and Demil both dodged sharply away to avoid being struck.

Even as he turned, Demil raised his sword, looking sidelong at Anastor, calculating his next attack, aimed at Anastor's neck. Demil's body was fully exposed, not even protected by the knife he still bore in his off hand. He was clearly confident that Legolas was either too injured, too far away and slow, or too unwilling to take advantage of the opportunity he was offering.

Legolas drew a deep breath. This had to end. Exhaling, he took a long step forward and checked Demil's lunge towards Anastor by driving his sword under Demil's armpit, between his ribs, and burying it to the hilt.

Demil's eyes widened and his body jerked, twisting the blade in his side. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped him.

Blood poured from the wound, covering Legolas's hands. The hilt of the sword, slick with blood, pulled free as Demil fell forward, eyes already glazed.

In his peripheral vision, Legolas saw Anastor watch as Demil fell. Then he rushed towards his father.

Dannenion was clutching his right arm between his left arm and his body, but, at Anastor's approach, he pointed across the plain, towards where Tulus fought the men. Legolas could not tear his gaze from Demil to look where Dannenion pointed.

*~*~*

Thranduil ground his teeth together as he and his guards sped past another patch of crushed grass. The horses were growing tired. They sensed their riders' urgency and had given their all to satisfy it, but they were nearly spent. He and his guards rode full out between the stronghold and the edge of the forest, expecting to be able to obtain fresh horses from the border patrol. They reached the location of the First Year's drill well before dawn for their efforts. The patrol had been ready for them--horses standing ready, Legolas and Anastor's weapons gathered and quickly transferred to Conuion--all at the first mark of the trail Tulus had laid for them.

They had debated only briefly before deciding to trust it.

Thranduil had to trust Tulus at the moment. Tulus was the best chance Legolas had.

Fresh horses, burdened by one elf each--not two, as the horses Legolas's captors rode had been--bought Thranduil still more time. He had hoped to catch Legolas when the ruined mannish settlement came into view, but it was abandoned. Thranduil had not allowed the guards much time to search it or the horses much time to rest. Four sets of elven foot prints and two sets of horse tracks left that settlement going in one direction--east. Three more sets of elven tracks returned to the forest. If one of the latter sets of tracks was Legolas's, then Thranduil would be relieved. But he was nothing if not practical and it stood to reason that Legolas and Anastor were the two elves being dragged behind the horse whose tracks they currently followed. One of the other sets of tracks going in this direction belonged to Tulus, as evidenced by the fact that he continued to mark the trail. Who the second horse and other set of elven tracks belonged to, Thranduil could not imagine. It galled him badly that three sets of tracks--he guessed Manadhien and her servants--returned to the forest, un-pursued, but Conuion flatly refused to reduce the number of guards accompanying him in order to send Pendurion and Belloth after them. Thranduil did not want to waste time arguing the point. Manadhien, Fuilin and his brothers would get theirs once Thranduil retrieved his son.

Retrieving Legolas--not the blood in the drag marks--not laying hands on Manadhien--had to remain his focus for the time being.

"I hear the sounds of a battle," Conuion whispered, slowing his horse to quiet its hooves. The horse gratefully complied, its sides heaving for breath as Conuion searched the horizon.

Thranduil and the other guards slowed to a stop as well, looking back at Conuion as he fell behind. Conuion pointed due east at the same moment Thranduil also heard a noise--metal striking metal. He turned where Conuion pointed, searching.

"There! I am certain I see movement there," Conuion exclaimed, urging his horse forward again.
 
Thranduil did the same, whispering a promise to the exhausted animal that they would soon stop.

Conuion was correct. Several figures were fighting on the horizon. Thranduil's eyes stayed on them as he charged forward. From this distance, all he could make out was that one figure fought at least three others. He drew an arrow from his quiver as he rode. None of the figures was Legolas. They all had dark hair. The group of three were men, it appeared. They were heavier of build and not nearly so skilled as the one they fought. He was not a man. He was an elf. And he fought left handed. Tulus, possibly? Fighting with his off hand, given that he was known to have a wounded right arm.

Thranduil's heart seized. If that was Tulus, where was Legolas?

The clanging of swords and grunts of exertion now echoed clearly on the plain, but, suddenly, Thranduil heard swords from another location--one slightly closer and to the north. His gaze darted in that direction, again searching the tall grass. Conuion turned north, signaling Galuauth to follow him. Galuauth fit an arrow against his bowstring and drew. Conuion pulled his sword from its scabbard.

Finally, Thranduil spotted what they had seen--Legolas, Anastor and a third elf...was that Dannenion? They were fighting a fourth person. Defeating him. The fourth person was on the ground and falling forward.

The third elf -- it was Dannenion! -- was also on his knees, but was pointing back towards Tulus and the men. Anastor ran to his father's side, took his bow, and loosed one arrow from his quiver and then a second in quick succession, dropping two of the men surrounding Tulus, just as the third fell to Tulus's sword. Tulus turned, looking for more enemies and when he saw none, he allowed his sword to sag downwards and drag the ground for a moment. Then he scanned westward and jogged towards Legolas. Legolas was still standing over the person he, Anastor and Dannenion had been fighting, staring down at him.

Conuion and Galuauth relaxed, but Galuauth held his arrow against his bowstring as they thundered across the plain, closing the distance to Legolas.

Legolas did not turn at their approach, but Dannenion and Anastor did. Anastor drew his bow again. Dannenion hefted himself up, leaning heavily on his son, and lifting a sword in his left hand.

Thranduil and his guards raised their bows, but Dannenion and Anastor lowered their weapons the moment they recognized who approached. Dannenion made a point of dropping his to the ground and holding the open hand that had held it out to the side. Anastor looked at his father oddly for a moment, but nothing, it seemed, could dull his joy at seeing Thranduil and his guards. He was grinning at them broadly and with obvious relief.  

"Explain your presence here," Thranduil demanded of Dannenion, as soon as he was close enough to be heard.

Legolas did not even turn at the sound of Thranduil's voice. He was still staring at the dead...elf! That was no man, face down on the plain. His form was too slender. Tulus was now at Legolas's side, encouraging him to walk away a few steps and sit down.

"If you think that you can command me to leave my son to the mercy of the likes of them," Dannenion gestured at the dead elf with his chin, "then you are mistaken."

So that elf was one of Manadhien's servants, Thranduil thought as he slowed his horse and jumped off him as soon as doing so was reasonable. He glanced at the elf again, unable to see his face to determine which servant, but he now saw that he had been killed with a mannish sword. Thranduil frowned. He had only seen Legolas, Anastor and Dannenion around the man. A sick feeling began to stir his gut and he dismissed Dannenion from his mind, focusing on his son. Conuion and Galuauth would see to Dannenion. They dismounted and ran straight to him.

Tulus was now dragging Legolas insistently away from the dead elf, much more forcefully than Thranduil liked to see his son handled, nearly pulling him off his feet. Tulus put his arm around Legolas's back to prevent him from stumbling and then he left it there. To support him.

Frowning, Thranduil walked towards them swiftly, calling to his son. He was surprised by how breathless his own voice sounded.

That finally got Legolas's attention. He raised his head and half turned towards Thranduil as Tulus guided him away from the body of the elf.

Tulus looked over his shoulder, directly at Thranduil, his emotions plainly written on his face. Worry was the chief one, but when he focused on Thranduil, Tulus's expression clearly issued a warning.

Thranduil closed the distance between them in three long strides. As he did, Legolas turned fully towards him, but let his gaze drop back to the ground. Thranduil's breath rushed from his lungs. The front of Legolas's tunic was soaked in blood. Tunic and undershirt were slashed open. And, most frightening by far, so was Legolas's chest. Blood still oozed from the gaping wound that ran the height of his ribcage.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!," Thranduil breathed, grasping Legolas by the shoulders. Legolas did not look up or acknowledge his father at all. Thranduil scanned him swiftly. In addition to the wound on his chest, his face was bruised, his arms were bruised, cut and the skin torn away in several places, and his wrists were raw. Despite all those injuries, there was too much blood on his hands to have seeped from the cuts on his wrists and arms, or even the one on his chest.

"Sit down, Legolas," Tulus was ordering him.

Legolas's legs gave out and he slid to the ground with his guard's help.

Thranduil looked from Legolas's glazed expression to the dead elf, killed by the mannish sword. Then his gaze darted back to Tulus. "Did Legolas...?" was all he managed to say.

Tulus nodded up at him, his expression begging for silence.

Thranduil closed his eyes. Sinking to his knees next to Legolas, he pulled him into an embrace. At first, Legolas did not move. Thranduil pulled him closer, tight against him, cradling his head against his shoulder with one hand. Finally, Legolas loosed a long breath and his arms reached around Thranduil, returning the embrace. After a moment, the fabric of Thranduil's tunic twisted in Legolas's grasp. Thranduil's heart twisted in much the same manner. He looked over Legolas's shoulder at Demil. Oropher had led his family east so that no one in it would ever have contemplate such evil, much less.... He could scarcely acknowledge that his son had been forced to.... He could not even bring himself to think it.

Tulus let them be for several breathes before placing a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "My lord, his wound," he said softly. "I have not even looked at it yet."

Thranduil nodded, tightened his grasp on Legolas quickly, and then released him.

Legolas's hands fell limply away from Thranduil as Tulus guided him back to lean against him.

"I need to take this off," Tulus whispered, quickly unfastening the lacings of Legolas's tunic and undershirt and stripping them off him.

Legolas did not respond. Nor did he move when Tulus mopped, ineffectively, at the blood on his chest with the shirt. Doing so did not clean it enough to properly inspect the wound.

Tulus's brow knit and he unfastened the waterskin and the sheath of his knife from his belt. He drew the knife, thrust it into the ground next to them and placed the sheath against Legolas's lips. That finally elicited a response. An oddly strong response, it seemed to Thranduil. Legolas sat up sharply, pushing himself up to stand, his hand reaching to his waist for his own knife, which, fortunately, was not there. Tulus caught his shoulders and pulled him firmly back in place. "I have to clean that wound, Legolas. I need to pour water over it and that is going to sting. Probably a good deal. Then I am certain it will need at least some stitches. You want to bite this, trust me," he concluded, again holding up the leather sheath.

Eyes on the sheath, Legolas drew a deep breath and made an obvious effort to relax. When Tulus again held the sheath to his lips, Legolas bit down on it. He tensed and sucked in a sharp breath as Tulus used water from his waterskin to flush out the wound.

Thranduil had seen many wounds in his life, far too many on himself. He found this wound on Legolas a bit too difficult to look at. He turned away as Tulus worked and his gaze fell on the captain of his Guard. "Conuion," Thranduil called, "get over here." Tulus was wounded and needed treated himself. Conuion could let Galuauth manage Dannenion. His attention was needed to help Legolas.

"How bad is it, Tulus?" Conuion replied, not moving.

"Not fatal," Tulus responded quickly, wiping away bloodied water with Legolas's shirt to better see the wound itself. "Not so deep as to cut muscle, at least not too badly. But it is fully through the skin for two hand's widths. That will need stitched and then I can wrap it."

"Then wait, Thranduil," Conuion answered.

Thranduil's brows drew together severely and he turned to glare at Conuion. When he did, he gasped. Conuion and Galuauth both knelt over Dannenion, who they had laid flat on his back. They were binding his arm.... No, the stump of his arm! They had his shirt wrapped around the stump of his right arm and were twisting a belt as tightly as possible to staunch the blood flow. Anastor was standing over them, eyes wide with fear.

Thranduil made an effort to gather himself and take in the entire scene before him. Legolas's wounds were not life threatening. Tulus was right. They would, in fact, heal easily and leave no long term damage. Tulus's right arm and shoulder were wounded, as had been described to Thranduil. In addition to those injuries, his left arm was deeply cut, obviously by a blade, both above his elbow and and across the top of his forearm. Deeply enough that Thranduil saw Tulus's little finger and the finger next to it did not move as he cleaned Legolas's wound. The tendon that controlled them was clearly severed.

Thranduil turned to study Anastor. He had unusual cuts around his mouth and his face was as badly bruised as Legolas's. Also like Legolas, his wrists and arms were raw. And he bore a cut at least as bad as Tulus's across his right forearm. Even from several paces away, Thranduil could see bone in the deepest part of the gash.

But Dannenion's injury was by far the worse--his right arm, from below the elbow, was severed. Thranduil involuntarily searched the ground and swallowed hard when he saw the arm and a sword from the training program near it. Dannenion must have taken that sword, along with the horse, when he went after Anastor.

Widening his focus, Thranduil counted the bodies of nine men, fallen between where Tulus and Anastor had finished them and a place nearly a hundred paces away. At least twice that distance again was a tent. Dannenion and Tulus must have managed to get the children out of the tent and this far away on the plain before the men noticed their escape. He frowned. That did not make much sense. Why not kill the men rather than trying to retrieve the children by stealth? Tulus and Dannenion could have easily drawn them away and killed nine men.  

"Tulus, what happened here?" Thranduil asked, turning back to his son's guard, still cleaning the deepest parts of Legolas's wound. Legolas no longer looked stunned. He was was now clearly uncomfortable. His son's pain made Thranduil's anger surface and he was suddenly reminded that Tulus was well over a dozen paces from Legolas when he first saw him. "What happened here? he repeated, this time more angrily.

Tulus shook his head. "I do not know, my lord," he answered, without looking up from Legolas's wound. He obviously assumed Thranduil specifically wanted an explanation of how Legolas was injured.

Fury burned through the shock of finding his son in such a state and Thranduil grabbed Tulus's least injured arm roughly. "How is it that you do not know?" he demanded, allowing his voice to rise. "How is it that you were that far away," he pointed onto the plain, where the men's bodies laid, with his free hand, "when my son is this seriously injured? How is it that I find him here to begin with?"

Tulus frowned, wringing water tinged with blood from the shirt. He only looked at Thranduil wordlessly, clearly at a loss to answer any of those questions.

Legolas, on the other hand, responded without hesitation. His hand flew up to grab Thranduil's wrist and pull his arm down, away from Tulus. He held it down, in a painful grasp, as he answered. "Tulus was so far away because he and Dannenion were trying to hold those men back while Anastor and I were supposed to escape on Dannenion's horse. None of us knew..." his voice failed and his gaze drifted to Demil.

"Leave it, Legolas," Tulus whispered.

Legolas looked back at his father, looking every bit as angry as Thranduil had felt moments before. "And as for why we are here, if that is anyone's fault other than Demil's, it is mine. Mine alone. I made the choice to surrender and, after I did, Tulus had no other option but to do the same. It was my decision, adar, and not one that Tulus had any opportunity to influence, since he was already fighting one of the elves that attacked us, in an effort to give me time to escape and to help Anastor, who the elves grabbed first. Tulus did his duty. Again. Leave him be."

"Mind your tone, Legolas," Tulus whispered, reaching to remove Legolas's hand from Thranduil's wrist.

"He is fine, Tulus," Thranduil replied in a quiet voice, gaze still locked with Legolas's until Tulus succeeded in pulling Legolas's hand away.

Then Legolas looked down again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He leaned back, propped up on his left arm and squirmed a bit, trying to find a posture that did not hurt. "I apologize for my tone, adar," he said quietly.

Thranduil shook his head and leaned forward to place a kiss on Legolas's forehead. "You are fine," he repeated. "Or at least you will be, and that is all that matters." He stood, looking down at Tulus. "You will need a good amount of cloth to bind that wound, he said, nodding towards Legolas's chest. "And we will need more still for your own wounds, and Anastor's."

That made Legolas sit back up straight with a grimace and search for Anastor.

"I am going to see what supplies I can find," Thranduil continued.

"A needle, my lord," Tulus reminded him, as Thranduil took a step away.

Legolas grabbed at his father again, this time catching his calf. "You cannot go alone. We do not know where Fuilin or the other two elves are. And we do not know if that is all the men or if more will come."

Tulus reached up, grasped Thranduil's sleeve and pulled him back down to a crouching position. "He is right, my lord. I do not know where Demil came from..."

"He said Fuilin sent him after Dannenion, to make sure Dannenion would not be able to take us from the men," Legolas supplied. "When Demil does not return, Fuilin may look for him and that would certainly bring him here as well." He looked at Thranduil. "Did you see the ruins of the mannish settlement they camped in?"

Thranduil nodded. "We followed your trail there, but it was abandoned when we searched it."

"If Fuilin is not there, he could be anywhere, including near here," Legolas replied.

"And we started out with only three men and do not know where the rest came from," Tulus added. "We cannot know for certain that we have eliminated all the threats here."

"Belloth, start trying to round up some of these horses," Conuion ordered, referring to the men's horses, now scattered across the plain, grazing. Conuion and Galuauth were now looking over Anastor's wounds. "I want us out of here quickly." He glanced up at Tulus. "Will we find anything useful in that tent?" he asked, pointing at it with his thumb.

"I do not know," Tulus responded.

"Anastor and I escaped from the tent before Tulus and Dannenion arrived," Legolas quickly intervened, in response to Conuion's frown. "We met Tulus and Dannenion on the plain."

"We had been watching the tent, waiting for the third man inside it to come into view, so we could eliminate them all at once," Tulus explained. "But Legolas and Anastor got themselves out." He turned to Legolas. "You killed the man inside? We know there was one. We saw him."

"Anastor killed him," Legolas said.

"But Legolas fought Demil," Anastor said with a tone of awe. "He did really well."

Legolas looked down at the mention of Demil, closing his eyes.

"Legolas fought him every bit as well as Adar did," Anastor continued. "And it was Legolas that finished him after Demil..." Anastor looked back at his father's arm, not able to find words for that.

Dannenion stirred, trying to sit up and managing to prop himself up, facing Thranduil, on his uninjured arm. "Legolas did not intend to, my lord, I am sure," he rasped. "He had been trying to disarm him. I was able to get several glimpses of their fight before I finally managed to disengage from the men. Legolas was not trying to kill him. In the end... well, he does not have the experience to know how serious a wound...he probably thought...intended to hit Demil's shoulder and simply hit him lower than he planned."

"Thank you, Dannenion," Legolas said quietly. "But I cannot claim it was an accident. I knew exactly what sort of wound I was inflicting."

"The right sort," Anastor interjected, now arguing, brows furrowed. "One to end the fight. Demil himself said it would have to end that way. It is his fault, if it is anyone's. None of us wanted to be here but him."

"You are absolutely and entirely correct, Anastor," Thranduil assured him. "Is there anything in that tent that might interest us? Help us to treat your adar?" he asked, trying to turn the subject back to information that would remove them from this place as quickly as possible. Away from topics that so clearly brought Legolas pain.

Anastor shrugged. "The men all had packs, but we never saw what was in them or had time to search them. They would have clothes we could rip into bandages, surely. And food and more water, probably. I am starving."

"Get them some food and water, Pendurion," Thranduil ordered. They had at least brought rations with them when they left the stronghold. They could do that much. "I am going to search that tent."

Conuion gestured for Galuauth to follow him.

"Look for gold coins too," Anastor called after him. "The man might not have given all he had to Fuilin."

Thranduil stumbled to a halt, turned and stared back at Anastor.

Anastor only nodded his head encouragingly.

As he resumed his march to the men's camp, Thranduil's left hand balled into a fist as his right reached to draw his sword. He hoped Fuilin was hiding in that tent. Or more men. Anything. He needed something to slake his anger.

*~*~*

"We are approaching the mannish settlement. Be alert," Conuion announced.

That news was enough to draw Legolas out of his somewhat dazed introspection and into the present. He looked ahead of them through the descending darkness and indeed could just glimpse the tallest of the ruins. The sound of arrows sliding from quivers whispered in Legolas's ears. He was not carrying his bow. His injuries did not allow him to use it. So he loosened his sword in his scabbard, grateful that Conuion had taken the time to retrieve his weapons from the border when they passed it. He hoped he never saw that mannish sword again.

In an effort to turn his thoughts away from that subject, Legolas focused on his surroundings and was somewhat surprised to see that Conuion had allowed Thranduil to ride at the front of their group. Of course, Conuion rode on one side of him and Galuauth on the other. Just behind them, Dannenion shared a horse with Pendurion, which was apparently a wise choice, despite Dannenion's earlier protests that he could ride alone. Slouched back against Pendurion as he was, Dannenion had obviously either fallen asleep or unconscious from his wound. Anastor rode next to him on one of the horses they had taken from the men. Tulus, riding another of the men's horses, was in his place by Legolas's side. Legolas managed to smile at him when he saw his guard's concerned expression aimed at him. Then he glanced behind them. Belloth brought up the rear, still leading the rest of the men's horses.

The sight of him made Legolas snort in laughter despite himself.

Belloth had a herd of horses tethered and following him! Thranduil must have made the guards catch every last one of the men's horses. Legolas had not bothered to pay attention to his father's orders to the guards as they had readied to leave the men's camp. He knew his father had gone to inspect the man's tent. And he saw Pendurion and Belloth luring the horses. He was riding one of them himself, strange tack and all, since his father had insisted there might be some use for the leather, if for nothing else, to sell in Esgaroth. Legolas wondered what else they had stripped from the tent and the men's bodies before Thranduil ordered them burned. Obviously, they found something of worth--several of the horses bore bundles made out of tied up lengths of tent canvas. Well, good for his father. The men were perfectly willing to take from him, after all.

Legolas looked back at Thranduil. Demil's elaborate sword and scabbard were bound to his pack. Legolas stared at them several moments before remembering that he was supposed to be on guard for Demil's brothers. And their swords.

A wood thrush called from a hundred or so paces in front of them.

Everyone searched for it.

As he expected, since there were no wood thrushes in the middle of an open plain, Legolas saw an elf rise from the grass in the distance. His heart raced and continued to do so even after Legolas saw the elf was waving at them and he recognized him as Lanthir. He took a long, slow breath in an effort to master himself as Conuion signaled for Lanthir to join them.

"What are you doing here?" Conuion and Thranduil asked Lanthir, in unison, when he reached them. He fell into step between their horses.

"Keeping watch," Lanthir answered. "We have camped for the night in the mannish settlement, hoping to find more of Manadhien's servants."

"We?" Conuion and Thranduil asked, again speaking over one another.

"More of Manadhien's servants?" Legolas thought and he urged his horse to a faster pace to close the distance between himself and Lanthir.

Lanthir, meanwhile, seemed to catch on to his captain and king's impatience. "Maidhien came and told the queen that her father left, against your orders, my lord..." he began, intending to relate the entire story quickly.

Thranduil's eyes flew open wide. "Please tell me that I am not going to find Lindomiel in those ruins," he said.

Legolas held his breath, waiting for Lanthir's answer.

The guard quickly shook his head. "No, my lord. She remains in the stronghold..."

Legolas released his breath and so did Thranduil.

"...but she questioned Eregeth and Dolwon and she persuaded Dolwon to reveal the location of this settlement. He said Manadhien's servants occasionally met with enemies here, so the queen ordered us--Ferinil, Heledir, and myself--to come look for them. To arrest them and try to find out more about Legolas's whereabouts if we could."

"You would not know Manadhien or her servants, other than Demil," Conuion observed.

"No sir," Lanthir replied. "So she asked Lord Celonhael to come with us," he said, gesturing towards the settlement. Celonhael was now in plain view, striding quickly towards them, eyes fixed on Legolas.

Legolas stopped listening and took another long, slow breath, this time trying not to...well, he was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but, trying not to become too emotional. Fear had fueled him and kept him focused while he was with the elves and men; numbness had claimed him for most of the long day's ride since he had escaped; but now, seeing Celonhael, somehow it finally registered that this nightmare was over and exhaustion, such as he had never known, pressed onto him, stealing even his ability to maintain control over himself. He drew another, shuddering breath as he slid down from his horse to greet his uncle.

"You found them," Celonhael said, passing Thranduil with no more acknowledgment than a nod. "Thank the Valar." He stopped, standing just in front of Legolas, looking him up and down slowly, his expression more and more grief stricken as he did.

Celonhael was not seeing them at their worst as he took in the bandages on Legolas's arms and the bruises that marred his face. Legolas was at least wearing a clean shirt--a spare that his father had in his pack. It completely concealed the worst of his injuries, now also swathed in bandages. Anastor, Dannenion and Tulus were all wearing clean shirts as well that they had taken from the men's packs. At least none of them was covered in blood. Of course, Legolas did not doubt his uncle could figure out why they all needed fresh clothes.

Legolas glanced at Anastor as he dismounted and his breath caught. Anastor looked awful. Given his uncle's expression, Legolas was sure that he looked no better.

Celonhael placed his hands lightly on Legolas's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. "Tell me what injuries I will aggravate if..." He lifted a hand and made as if to embrace him.

Legolas knew it would hurt, but he did not care. He stepped into his uncle's arms and put his own around his waist hugging him as he did when he was a child. Celonhael returned the embrace gingerly. After a moment, Legolas felt Celonhael lift an arm and take a small step to the side. Anastor also wrapped his arms around Celonhael.

A faint smile found its way to Legolas's lips. Celonhael was always the adult all his cousins felt completely free to speak to, confess to, look to for advice...or comfort. Even Anastor and Noruil had come to recognize and appreciate his compassion.

"Oh Anastor, what has happened to your adar?" Celonhael whispered.

Over Celonhael's shoulder, Legolas saw Dannenion, leaning heavily on Pendurion, walking into the camp, to be propped up near the fire against a hastily made pile of packs.

"Pendurion says he will survive," was all Anastor answered, voice muffled against Celonhael's shoulder. He voice broke over the words.

"Yes," Celonhael said, with the assurance of one who had fought since the First Battle, "he will, certainly. But he should not have suffered it and you should not have seen it." Then he added in a whisper, "I pray that is the worst you have seen, but I fear that it is not."

Legolas thought it was possible that seeing his father so gravely wounded was, for Anastor, the worst of their experiences--even worse than Balchthor's intentions, since he was not successful in carrying them out. Dannenion's injury would certainly be the worst Legolas had seen as well, if only...

Celonhael pulled them a bit closer, whispering something in a comforting tone.

Shifting slightly to relieve the pressure on his wound, Legolas did not really focus on his uncle's words. Instead, he was seeing Demil's blood, as he had so many times already throughout their ride towards the forest. Celonhael was, indeed, the uncle they had always confessed to. Whenever he and his cousins had done anything particularly bad, something that would truly earn their parents' wrath, they always went to Celonhael first, counting on him to remain calm and then to help them tell Thranduil, Aradunnon and Golwon. Celonhael had rarely lost his temper with them and, even on the rare occasions when he did, he always quickly controlled himself.

Even so, Legolas could not imagine how he would tell Celonhael what he had done. Uncle Celonhael was so gentle and kind. What would he think!? Even his father, who had seen and done exactly the same deed, was shocked when he realized what Legolas had done. Legolas found himself suddenly very relieved that his father had seen it, so no confession was required there.

"You arrested Fuilin and Mauril?" Thranduil's voice boomed, pulling Legolas immediately back to the present again and away from thoughts of Demil. "Where are they?" he demanded, his voice dropping dangerously low.

As one, Legolas and Anastor tore away from Celonhael to hear that answer from whomever the king was speaking to. It was Heledir. He had followed Celonhael out of the settlement. He was now pointing and explaining that they had found Fuilin and Mauril returning to the forest as they were crossing the plain in search of the settlement. Legolas looked in the direction he indicated and saw two solid posts in the stockade where Fuilin and another elf were bound.

Legolas heard Anastor's knife slide out of its sheath and turned towards him in time to see him run to the stockade.

Legolas ran after him.

 He caught up to him towering over Fuilin. "No, Anastor!" he yelled, grabbing him by the wrist as he held his knife in Fuilin's face. Legolas stepped between them and bodily pushed Anastor back.

"Out of my way!" Anastor shouted. "You had yours. This one is mine." He pushed against Legolas, tearing at the wound on his chest.

"Some help!" Legolas called, looking at the King's Guard over Anastor's shoulder as he grappled with him. They--all eight of them--had followed Legolas and Anastor and were now standing in a semi-circle around them. Watching. So was Thranduil. And Celonhael. "Now!" Legolas demanded.

With a frown, Conuion stepped forward and obeyed. He grasped Anastor's shoulders and pulled him back a step.

Legolas put both hands on Anastor's chest. "The king will judge them. Not us," he said, fixing Anastor with a stern glare.

Anastor nodded, but not to show compliance. "Will he?" he asked. He took a step to the side, to have an unobstructed view of Fuilin, but he was still held in place by Conuion's grasp on his shoulders and Legolas's hands on his chest. "Very well, but let us speed him on his way to justice, slung over the back of one of those horses," he thrust a finger behind himself, in the general direction of the mannish horses. "Or perhaps dragged behind one." He burst past Legolas. Legolas spun and grabbed his wrist again, but Anastor did not seem to notice. Instead he raised his free hand. "But I do not think the king will begrudge me just little justice of my own." With that, he back handed Fuilin with all his might and stood over him, breathing hard, waiting for him to turn to face him again.

"Enough, Anastor," Legolas cried, pushing Anastor back again. "He is defenseless. Are you better than them or as evil as them?" he whispered.

Behind him, Fuilin laughed. From the corner of his eye, Legolas saw a black look claim his father.

"It is easy for you to say," Anastor retorted, glaring over Legolas's shoulder at Fuilin. "You had your revenge. You got Demil. I want mine. Fuilin is mine. One for you. One for me. It is fair."

Legolas shook his head. "You do not want that, Anastor. Trust me," he said in a low voice, meant only for Anastor.

Anastor looked away, nodding, with an odd expression that Legolas could not read.

Meanwhile, confusion erupted around them.

"What does Anastor mean, Thranduil?" Celonhael was whispering, a look of horror on his face.

"Where is Demil?" Fuilin demanded.

"Where is my brother?" the other elf--Mauril, apparently--shouted. Legolas felt someone kick his calf. Hard. Hard enough to buckle his leg. He would have fallen had he not been holding on to Anastor's shoulders, holding him back.

Conuion took a step towards the prisoners, but stopped when Tulus drew his sword and held it against Mauril's throat. "Touch him again and I will take great pleasure in doing what I should have done long ago." He paused and pressed his sword more firmly into soft flesh, drawing a line of blood. Then he kicked Mauril's outstretched leg. "Do it. Give me reason," he snarled.

"Tulus, step back," Legolas ordered.

Tulus did not move.

"Tulus, step back," he repeated.

Tulus loosed a long breath and lowered his sword. He remained towering over Mauril and Fuilin.

"Where is my brother?" Fuilin asked again, looking at Legolas.

"Dead," Legolas answered. "We burned his body along with those of the men."

Fuilin laughed, shaking his head. "You expect me to believe that you killed my brother? You barely know how to hold a sword. You are barely old enough to manage to draw one...."

"And Demil was killing elves three Ages of this world ago in the Blessed Realm. Yes, he reminded me," Legolas answered back, his voice cold. "In a pathetic attempt to frighten me. It did not work. The evidence is before your eyes. I am here. Demil is not."

"You are lying. You could not possibly best my brother," Fuilin insisted, this time not sounding quite as certain.

"Legolas never lies," Anastor intervened. "And your brother was not particularly skilled with a sword. The Second Years in the Training Program are taught to look for consistent mistakes that an opponent makes. Your brother consistently assumed Legolas would not take advantage of the opportunity to make a killing blow. That was a mistake." He paused and leaned into Fuilin's face. "Legolas lured him into believing that and then put a sword straight through him. Demil was a fool. Just as you are a fool. He deserved what he got." Anastor straightened and shoved his knife back in his sheath. "We will see what the king judges you deserve." With that, he turned and walked away.

"You are the fool, Anastor. Just like your father. If you cannot be taught that, perhaps your sister can be," Fuilin called after him.

Anastor spun around, reaching again for his knife.

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he debated with himself if he would stop Anastor this time. If he had a sister and anyone threatened her.... But Anastor was forestalled by Thranduil.

The king stepped forward, drawing his own sword. He pressed the tip of it against the center of Fuilin's chest.

Legolas stopped breathing and his gaze fixed on his father's blade.

"You dare to threaten my daughter?" he asked, voice low. "My foster son's betrothed wife? You will never touch her, or any other member of my family, ever again."

Thranduil began to lean forward on the hilt of his sword.

"My lord, I beg you," Celonhael intervened in a quiet voice. "Think about what you want Legolas to see. In addition to everything else he has been forced to see. And do."

Thranduil turned a withering glare on Celonhael and then glanced at Legolas.

So many emotions raced through him at the moment that Legolas could not even identify them all himself. He could not imagine what his face must be showing. Whatever it was, Thranduil froze. With obvious difficulty, he took a small step back and dragged his sword to the side.

"Now or later, Celonhael," he muttered. "The end will be the same. But I concede, later might serve us all better." He looked back at Fuilin and leveled his sword at his face. "Keep your tongue still, lest I still it permanently, here and now." He turned his back and walked away.

Fuilin remained silent.

Anastor glared at him a moment longer and then followed Thranduil.

Legolas's gaze passed from Anastor, to Thranduil and finally to Fuilin. Celonhael stepped between them, put his arm around Legolas's shoulders, and led him silently back towards the fire.

*~*~*

Anastor stormed to the fire and kicked the largest log in it--one of the stockade posts, from the shape of it. Sparks rose into the air. Cowardly dogs. He cast a glance at Fuilin, now talking quietly to whoever the other elf was. That was more than he and Legolas had been allowed to do. Anastor tore his gaze away from them. Legolas would only stop him again if he went back over to them. It was only then that he noticed his father, sitting next to the fire. He was awake! Relief washed over him and he made to kneel next to him. To ask him how he felt or if he wanted anything. But then another question occurred to him and he stopped himself, staring down at his father instead.

"How are you involved in all this, adar?" he demanded, hands on his hips as he stood over his father. "How do these elves know you? And me and Maidhien?"

Dannenion made a face, although not with his typical dramatics, and looked away. "It is none of your concern."

Anastor leaned forward and took a step to the side to remain in his father's field of vision. "None of my concern! I have had a knife held to my throat. I rode like a sack over Demil's horse. I have been sold as a slave. I have been dragged behind a horse. I have been threatened with...I do not even want to speculate what that man intended to do. I had to kill a man and fight an elf to escape. And you are going to try to tell me that it is not my concern?" Anastor shook his head. "No. It is definitely my concern. Tell me why you knew where this settlement is when the king did not. Tell me why those elves called me by name when they took us and said they intended to make you pay for being a traitor. How could you be a traitor to them? That implies you know them. How do you know people of that sort? They are...." he struggled for a description.

"They are consumed by the Shadow, Anastor," Thranduil said quietly, coming to join him at the fire. Legolas and Celonhael were with him.

Anastor nodded and looked back at his father. "Exactly! They are just like orcs. That is exactly what I was thinking when I listened to them baiting Legolas about how they intended to make Thranduil suffer. They enjoy causing misery. It is...despicable. How could you possibly know them so well that they want to hurt you?"

Dannenion closed his eyes and his head hung so low that his chin rested on his chest. "Please do not ask me that," he whispered.

"I have the right to know," Anastor replied, his voice raised.

Dannenion remained silent. He remained silent for so long that Legolas took a step towards Anastor, to try to lead him off--to distract him in some way.

Well, Anastor did not intend to go anywhere. He wanted answers! He shrugged off Legolas's hand and was about to tell him to leave him alone, when his father looked up. Tears welled in his eyes. Anastor took a step back in shock.

"I brought this..." Dannenion said, his voice rough. "I caused it..."

"How?" Anastor asked, fear creeping up his spine, making it tingle, until his heart raced with it. He was suddenly more afraid of this answer than he had been at any point with the elves or men.

"Anastor," Thranduil intervened. "You do have the right to these answers. I do not deny that. But this is a complicated topic, this is the worst possible time for you to be forced to confront it, and your adar is badly injured. It would be best if you give him, and yourself, some time to recover and then he can explain it all to you."

Anastor shook his head. "You tell me then. You know. I know that you do. You told Maidhien. I know that because she told me that you told her something about adar and she cannot say what. I know it has something to do with this. It must." He turned to Legolas. "Or you tell me. Tell me what you refused to tell me when Demil and Fuilin had us. Now!"

Legolas's brows drew together. "It is complicated, as adar said..."

"It is not going to be less complicated later! Tell me now!" Anastor insisted, taking a step towards Legolas.

"I conspired with Fuilin and his brothers," Dannenion said.

Anastor spun back around to face him.

"And when I refused to continue to conspire with them, they threatened my family. What they did to you, they did to punish me."

"How did you conspire with them? What does that mean?" Anastor asked.

"Conspiring is plotting, Anastor," Legolas said softly.

Anastor rolled his eyes to look back at Legolas. "I know what conspire means. What does it mean that adar conspired with those elves?"

"I conspired with them to overthrow Thranduil," Dannenion said, without looking up.

Anastor's eyes flew open wide and his jaw dropped. He knew his father did not like Thranduil but.... His father had always been extremely critical of Thranduil.... Antagonistic towards him.... Maidhien called him hateful. To his face. And she knew.... Anastor's gaze darted between Thranduil and his father. His father conspired with those elves to overthrow Thranduil. To overthrow Thranduil. How do you overthrow a king? Kill him? No, his father would never.... Remove him forcibly? There was not much difference between that and...surely his father would not do that either. And besides, the elves that lived around the stronghold would never tolerate that. They loved Thranduil. They would fight for him until the last elf fell. So how do you plot to overthrow a king? Make him leave? Make him want to leave? Suddenly, the pieces fell together and Anastor turned back to Legolas. You sell his son to men to drive him to grief and make him want to leave. That is what you do!

"You refused to help them take Legolas, so to punish you, they took me too?" Anastor asked, fearing to have his guess confirmed.

Dannenion spun towards Thranduil, shaking his head and struggling to stand. Thranduil reached to hold him in place. "No! I swear! I swear before Eru himself--I had nothing to do with this and I had no idea it was going to happen. I swear I would have told you. I would have asked for your help to prevent it. I swear it."

"I believe you, Dannenion," Thranduil assured him quickly.

"Then how did you conspire to overthrow Thranduil with these elves?" Anastor asked, thoroughly confused.

Dannenion sagged against the packs again, his eyes closed. He made no response.

"May I tell him, Dannenion?" Legolas asked quietly.

Dannenion remained silent. Then, after a long moment, he nodded once.

Anastor turned to Legolas, eyebrows raised.

"This began, and should have been over, before either of us was born, Anastor. And your adar has not been a part of it for a long time," Legolas said, with a glance at Thranduil. Anastor looked at him as well. He wore that look he had when he was mad and trying not to show it. Anastor had seen that often enough when getting into trouble with Legolas and his cousins. "You adar and some others..."

"I was one of them," Tulus interjected.

"And your uncle," Dannenion added. His voice sounded a little bitter.

"They were cozened by that elleth that I mentioned to you--Manadhien, do you remember?"

"The one you said has been after your adar for Ages."

Legolas nodded. "She persuaded them that adar was not doing what he should to protect the forest from the Shadow, so he should be removed. Your adar and uncle and Tulus thought they were doing what is best for the forest. They did not know Manadhien's only real goal is to hurt adar. At any rate, they planned to drive adar to abdicate either through threats or through grief by abducting my naneth."

He was right! His father had intended to drive the king to abdicate. He stared at his father, unable to breath. No matter how bad Thranduil was, and Anastor did not think he was really all that bad...a little strict, certainly... but he was not so terrible...

"They were caught, confessed and have served their punishments," Legolas continued his story. "But apparently Manadhien has now turned against them too. She and her servants are at fault here..."

"To abduct your naneth?" Anastor interrupted, as that detail finally registered in his mind. "To have her abducted? By Men? That time you told us about? When Dark Men attacked her and your aunt and you and Galithil...and killed your guards...when you were a baby?" Anastor's voice rose with each question. His father could not have been part of that. It was not possible. That would mean he had participated, not refused to participate.... He stared at Legolas, waiting for his answer.

Legolas's jaw worked, clenching. But he finally nodded.

Anastor felt his heart plummet into his stomach and he thought he might be sick. He spun back around to his father. "You? You conspired to do this?" he asked, while sweeping a hand across his various injuries. "To two ellyth? To Lindomiel? And you wanted men to... Do you know what those men said they would do to us? If they had ellyth!" Anastor fell silent and looked side long at Legolas. "I remember you saying your naneth was hurt. It is not possible that...."

"She was injured by an arrow," Legolas said quickly. "Adar found her soon afterwards."

"And you were there? You and Galithil? You saw it? You remember it?"

Legolas sighed. "Yes," he admitted.

"You did that?" Anastor asked, again yelling at his father.

Dannenion's eyes were tightly shut. "I did that," he whispered.

Anastor stared down at him. "You are despicable!" he spat. He turned his back to his father and looked at Legolas. "I cannot imagine how you could even speak to me, much less be my friend all these years, knowing what my family did," he said. Then he stalked away.