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.