Handir approached Legolas, his head cocked to one side as he walked, until he was close enough to stretch out one hand and place it over his brother's heart.
"And I am already proud of you - to see you fight, to see your light, to know that you are chosen by Yavanna and by your own Silvan people. You are an extraordinary elf and by your side, I cannot help but shine…"
Legolas could no longer hold his own tears and he did not try, instead walking into his brother and embracing him fiercely.
"By the Valar, muttered Rinion with a scowl as he turned to the drinks table and poured himself a glass of wine, but Thranduil watched him from the side, sure of what he could see, for the scowl had become a smile no sooner he had turned from them and the King wondered for a moment, if his frozen son, was slowly thawing out.
"Have a care brother, this is their last opportunity, I do not think they will be kind."
Legolas laughed, "I am used to that, brother. It will not bother me."
Handir held his gaze for a while, knowing it was true for he had seen it in the Council, that cool, detached expression as others referred to him in less than endearing terms.
"Keep a cool head," continued Handir as they walked back to the Council Hall, behind the King and his small party of dignitaries. "Do not let them anger you for that is when the mistakes come. Stay calm, analyse, speak with strength and move, do not stay in one place for too long - and no fidgeting with your hands…"
"Alright," chuckled Legolas, for his brother was making him more nervous.
The Councillors stood as the king entered, and then waited for him to sit before they, too, took their chairs, their conversation slowly petering out.
"My Lords, my Ladies. It is time for petitioners to speak before the vote is taken. Who seeks the floor?"
"I do!" called Barathon from the public area as he strode forward and then stood inside the circle.
Bowing to the king and then to his father, he faced Legolas and began to speak.
"I do not agree with the creation of a Silvan Warlord, and I do not second Lord Legolas as the one to fulfil that role - and, I would like to tell you why. Legolas, son of Thranduil king and Lassiel of the Woodland Realm," he began with a flurry of his hand. "While his Sindarin blood is noble, his Silvan blood is not, indeed Lassiel was - renowned - for her proclivities, shall we say."
There were hushed whispers as the councillors chanced a fleeting glance at the king and then at Legolas.
"His upbringing will have been less than ideal and his nobility highly questionable," continued Barathon. "Add to this his age - seven hundred and forty-four - and the fact that he has been a warrior for less than two years. I have never, my Lords, never heard of such an unsuitable background for a position of responsibility.
But there is more, for you see I was present for the trial of Legolas, and I voted against their ruling to invest him as a lieutenant. I saw his performance, and there was nothing to merit that promotion."
Barathon flinched when Captain Turion entered the circle, confident and completely calm, yet there was something in the way he moved, in the way he strode forward to face him that seemed almost - aggressive.
"Lord Barathon. You speak lies," he said into Barathon's face, before he moved away and then continued to speak as he walked around the circle.
"A quick word about Barathon's claims - he says these lies for he himself was left humiliated, wide-eyed and mouth agape when Legolas bested him in a, shall we say, extremely brief spar," he paused, allowing himself a smirk at a now red-faced ex-commander.
"This warrior was once a Captain," began Turion, "until he shamed himself before the entire Inner Circle. I could go into detail of course, but I do not believe that necessary, indeed I would not have mentioned your humiliation, had you not insulted the army I serve, the king I serve and the warrior I respect amongst most others. You have always shown your aversion to Legolas, 'tis nothing new and your motives are still a mystery to me for this hatred is surely more than jealousy.
However, should you decide not to disclose the root of your hatred, I will say simply that your opinion means nothing to me, for you do not have my respect, nor that of the Inner Circle," said Turion finally, his eyes lingering on Barathon before he turned and nodded his thanks to Sedren.
Barathon, alone once more inside the circle, scoffed. "My argument stands, he does not deserve the rank of lieutenant, just as he does not deserve to be the Silvan Warlord. I agree with my father, Lord Bandorion in this - his loyalty must be questioned. He will turn the Silvans against us until we have war!"
No one else seemed to be forthcoming, and so Barathon left the circle, nodding at Silor as he walked in the opposite direction.
"I am Silor, a warrior who was, until recently, aspiring to the rank of Lieutenant. I had the misfortune of serving with Lord Legolas on our journey to Imladris. All my hopes and dreams were dashed the day our paths crossed. And why? you may ask. Well I will tell you. I gave that warrior a direct order, and for my efforts I was thrown to the ground but that is not all," he added with a theatrical wave of his hand, "that elf - is not natural…"
There was a collective gasp and Legolas resisted the urge to close his eyes in dread. This elf had seen his eyes in spite of Ram en' Ondo's best efforts …
It was Mithrandir that promptly walked into the circle to face Silor, his staff clicking over the cool stone slowly, calculatingly.
"Not natural, Silor?" he asked challengingly.
"There is a demon inside him, I have seen it for his eyes fill with green light and shine so bright they can no longer be seen!"
"Silor, calm yourself, warrior," said Mithrandir in a tone that Legolas would never have expected from the generally good-natured wizard, for it was patronising and sardonic.
"Calm myself? You did not see it, I did!"
"What you saw," said Mithrandir, raising his voice to cut off any further outburst, "is simply what happens to any listener when they are - listening - do not let your own absurd superstitions get the better of you, Silor, there is nothing unnatural about that."
"That was no ordinary pulse of light, Mithrandir, I tell you it is frightening, nothing good can induce such negative emotions, and I am not the only one to have seen it! They saw it too," he said, pointing at those members of The Company that had been there at the time.
"Well, they obviously do not agree with you that he is not natural, they are his very good friends, as you may know. For my part I have said all that needs to be said on that point - you exaggerate a perfectly normal physical response," said the Wizard finally, and then left the circle.
"And what of his insubordination?" called Silor, holding his ground. "Is that now to be condoned?" asked Silor incredulously.
The heavy clank of boots over stone heralded the arrival of an elf, a heavy one - Ram en' Ondo.
"Silor - you may remember me. When you saw his eyes and called him "demon of Morgoth?"
There were giggles and snorts from some of the councillors and the audience beyond, but Ram en' Ondo pushed forwards.
"And then, in your panic, you ran for him - what would you have done if I had not stepped in front of him? To protect him?"
"I would have hauled his backside to Lieutenant Galadan!"
"And that is what you did, isn't it? You physically dragged him across half the camp and then complained bitterly to your tutor lieutenant, completely ignoring the warning you were being given, and amidst the squabbling - we were ambushed," said Ram en' Ondo, his voice rising with every word he said. "Your prejudice, your disdain for the Silvan warriors was above even the safety of your prince!" he shouted. We lost four warriors in that battle, and would have lost more had Legolas not fallen back to protect the injured. He was lost for two days! Until Lord Elladan found him and brought him back, broken but alive. Who?" seethed Ram en Ondo, "is the demon of Morgoth?"
Silence stretched on as the council thought on Ram en's words, and as the mighty warrior left the circle, Lieutenant Galada
n took his place.
"I second Ram en Ondo's account," said Galadan, waiting for the giggles to subside again, for 'Wall of Stone' was not a widespread name.
"I struggled to get that caravan back to safety, together with Lord Legolas and Galdithion - otherwise known as Rhawthir," he ventured, and laughter exploded, before quickly dying down as Sedren frowned. "I fought with him, pushed myself to exhaustion with him and believe me - there is nothing evil about him, there is nothing disloyal - Lieutenant Legolas showed his skill as a commander to me that day and I had no need to listen to the Inner Circle's judgement, for I already knew I fought beside the greatest warrior this land has ever seen."
Galadan's eyes lingered on Legolas for a moment, watching as the Silvan nodded solemnly at him, not in arrogance but in gratitude for his words.
Silor shot one, last irate glare at Legolas, before turning on his heel and leaving the circle.
Thranduil shot a questioning glance at Elladan, for he would not have heard the details of that ill-fated journey.
"Are there any others that would speak?" asked Sedren.
Everyone was sure that Bandorion would have one final attempt at persuading the Council, but to their shock, he remained seated and Handir's brow furrowed for it did not make sense. Surely he had not admitted defeat?
"It is time to vote. Please stand and state 'aye' or 'nay'.
Legolas took a deep breath as one by one, the Councillors stood and spoke, and with every 'aye' it became harder for him to hide his emotions, and when it was over and the count was seventeen in favour and three against, Sedren made the declaration.
"The Permanent Council has spoken. Greenwood the Great shall reinstate the figure of the Warlord, a role that is to be carried out by Lord Legolas Thranduilion, pending further negotiations with the Silvan Council. Let it be known!"
Suddenly, all eyes were upon him, he could feel them waiting for him to speak, only this time, for the first time, they did not look upon him in disdain but in respect.
He stood and moved into the circle, heart pumping furiously as his mind struggled to centre itself.
"I beg forgiveness, my Lords, for I am no statesman, like my brother," he began softly, timidly. "I am a humble elf, an illegitimate child, the son of a king and brother of princes. I am Silvan and I am Sindarin, and in my heart so too, am I Avarin," he said, his eyes now trained on the councillors around him.
"I do not seek to offend you, although I know that is the case nonetheless and I wonder, if we cannot work this out?" he paused here, for words were suddenly flowing, words he could not be sure would be appropriate - but they were all he had and so he said them anyway, his voice rising in volume as his heart took the reigns and stamped upon them all the emotions that now ran wild, unfiltered, unchecked.
"You see my blood is, indeed, mixed, yet in this mixture is the essence of both a Silvan and Sindarin soul. I cannot be one without the other - what I am trying to say, my Lords, is that I cannot betray my people without betraying myself. Above all things, I am a warrior. 'Tis how I was born, with an image so clear in my mind, a goal I never once questioned," he explained, his voice gaining momentum and strength and the councillors around him sat forward, their eyes gleaming in anticipation and rising interest.
"I will strive to make this land great once more, if you will let me, that we be rid of evil, make safe our lands and our crops, return our sense of pride in what we once were, what we will be again. One nation of many colours, varied and exotic, fascinating and just, where everyone wishes to dwell for here, they will say, live the Silvan Wood-elves, the Avarin mystics and the mighty Sindar!"
A clamorous roar of deeply felt pride and exhilaration resounded through the hall as everyone stood as one, and then moved forward to congratulate a stunned Legolas, who soon disappeared amongst the throng of elves.
Thranduil smiled, before turning to Mithrandir and then Glorfindel, and nodding slowly at them both, a silent thank you that the Maia and the Commander understood, and returned with a wise smile of their own.
The crowd, now larger and louder as they chattered excitedly, smiled and laughed in utter relief, it seemed, because it was finally over, the Greenwood had been given another chance for a better, more just society, one they all wanted, and thus, the circle tightened - a circle of hopeful fraternity, and for the first time in his life, Legolas felt that he belonged, that he was finally accepted, that he served a purpose, and never again would he let go of that feeling.
"Why did you not speak? spat Barathon angrily as he turned on his father. "All is lost and that bastard has secured his claim!" he raged, unaware in his anger, that his father's mood had turned passing strange. Draugole, however, had not missed it and his face paled dramatically of a sudden.
"Calm yourself, Barathon. It was no longer the time. Our objections were clearly not seconded - there is no more we can do within the Permanent Council…"
"So we just sit back and let him win? He who sent her away and with her, turned my father into the bitter, ruthless elf he is today?" raged the Sinda.
Draugole closed his eyes in dread, for this conversation was way overdue, he realised. It had gone undressed and had festered and now, Bandorion seemed lost.
"You will be quiet!" roared Bandorion. "What do you know of my heart? What do you know of sacrifice?! You know nothing!" he shouted, turning to face his son.
"I know enough, have seen enough - suffered enough…."
"You do not know the meaning of the word…" said Bandorion calmly now as he looked into his son's eyes, "to suffer, to really suffer…" he trailed off and then stared into the distance, as if he remembered, as if he saw things from long ago and Barathon seemed to realise it was useless to continue.
"You yield and he has won…" said Barathon in defeat, his own anger slowly draining away and with it, came the sudden realisation that something was wrong with his father.
"No," came the soft answer. "I do not yield, for to do so implies I have something to lose - and I do not. It is all lost, has been since the day she left. Whatever I do now can take nothing from me save my life, and that - to me - is worthless…"
"Bandorion," said Draugole warningly, but he was pointedly ignored.
Barathon frowned deeply and turned to his father in askance. "What is it you are thinking, father?" he asked worriedly.
"He came back to haunt me," whispered Bandorion, "a ghost from the past, a reminder of my pain, my loss, my shame…. I must have peace, Barathon; I must fix the mistake I made, the mistake that took my glorious queen from my side…"
"Father…" there was a warning in Barathon's voice too now, warning and dread for there was no mistaking the meaning of his father's words and he turned his desperate face to Draugole, as if he could, perhaps, pull his father back from the precipice.
"Son - forgive me - forgive my selfish heart, for not making room for you, for it was so full of her," he whispered, his eyes bright and brimming with the pain of centuries of pent up grief - unrequited love.
"Don't?" came Barathon's soft, vulnerable voice, but Bandorion simply stared back at his son with a soft yet sad smile.
"I am already dead, Barathon…. "
"Lassion!"
The guards stood straighter, taller, wishing perhaps that the clamour of voices in the Council Hall would cease, for someone was shouting.
"Lassion!"
They looked at each other, before one ran forward to find the king.
"Lassion!" came the booming voice, deep and angry, wrathful.
"What is that?" asked Thranduil as Mithrandir and Glorfindel came to join him.
"Lassion!" came the voice, louder now and the noise in the Council Hall subsided until it became nothing, all eyes facing the entrance as a guard rushed to the king, too late to warn him now.
"Lassion!"
There were gasps and panicked faces as the imposing figure of Bandorion, brother of Oropher, stood in the doorway, two mighty spears in his hand.
Thranduil's eyes wi
dened in shock at the sight of his uncle, for he had never seen him like this; wild and unleashed, the warrior he had once been yet his control had gone for his eyes were mad and his mind absent - only his heart spoke, it seemed, and Thranduil reached for the pommel of his sword.
"Lassion! Come to me!" he said from afar.
Those still standing around Legolas quickly moved back, all except The Company, who stood before him, shielding him as they watched, reaching for their weapons and slowly, menacingly, drawing them with a screech that promised bloody retribution should they touch Legolas.
Thranduil watched his enraged uncle, ready to call the guard but his eyes momentarily caught sight of a frantic Barathon and Draugole, the darker Sinda desperately clutching at Barathon's sleeve to stop him from rushing to his father's side.
"I demand Baudh Gwaith," he thundered and the councillors gasped in horror at his words. Baugh Gwaith - the people's judgement.
"No" answered the king, his face drawn back into a snarl. "You will not touch my son."
"You cannot refuse, 'tis Sindarin law between warriors. I demand he face me, that the Valar may decide who is just and right."
"I said no," repeated Thranduil but Bandorion was walking forwards. "Only he," gestured Bandorion towards Legolas with his spears, "can refuse and should he, I will stand down, but when he hears what I will tell him believe me, he will not…"
Thranduil's heart hammered in his chest, for Bandorion would surely bait his son until his pride and honour were roused and he would not stand down for although he did not know Legolas well, he knew what Rinion would do… his head whipped to Legolas, standing together with the Company, desperately seeking his son's eyes, but the Silvan would not look at him, instead his own, strange green eyes bored challengingly into the mad, shaking face of Bandorion.
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