Chapter Three: Disturbing discoveries

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

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

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

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

A cheer and applause arose amongst the crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*

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

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

The serving maid lifted the little lid on the bowl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*

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

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

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

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

Now he understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She drew her hand back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barad stepped between Forwed and the girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forward tried but failed to stifle a laugh.

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

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

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

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

"I intended no such thing," Legolas protested.

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

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

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

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

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

Barad glared at his lord.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I would appreciate that," Tureden replied.

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

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

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

*~*~*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Berior made a quiet little cough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It did not seem relevant," Forwed replied.

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

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

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

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

His expression did not change a bit.

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

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

Legolas watched him go.

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

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

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

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

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

Legolas's eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*

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

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

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

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

It was worth the risk of an immediate search.

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

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

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

The hawk rose into the sky and flew north.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nocked his bow again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tulus could not restrain a gasp.

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

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

"Elbereth Gilthoniel," Glilavan whispered.

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

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

"Hold!" Fuilin called in a commanding voice.

At the same moment, a bark silenced the growls.

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

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

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

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

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

*~*~*

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

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