A/N: Gods! I only now have realized that the html editor on this site stripped out my markers in the last chapter. No wonder some of you were lost! Those markers (now indicated as a string of x's) denote the end of a section. Without them... well you were sliding into the brains of orcs, Thranduil, and again Thranduil, only later in the day. How confusing! Hopefully that is now remedied in the last chapter as well as this one.

And now I must THANK YOU! Since you've given me my magic number here is the reward. New chapter. It's all yours. I'll put the next one out in a week. And as requested, I've enabled Anonymous Reviews. (I'm really very sorry about that. I actually don't recall monkeying with the feature, but it's possible, in a moment of gloom, after an especially nasty review, I might have done it. I'm sorry I made things difficult for some.)

Dark Forest
By Anarithilien

Part II: In Realms Beyond
Chapter Twenty-Four: Wounds

He could hear someone moan. The heart-wrenching noise lay on the cusp of a sob, and he felt sorrow for the other's agony. It was unfair that there could be so much hurt in this world. He knew that because he was in pain too.

Such a noise is disturbing to one who suffers. But then he realized the sound came from him and he felt shame for it. He was a dwarf; he was not supposed to show his hurt. Further, he could not understand what had caused him to cry out.

He heard a noise, someone moving nearby.

"Legolas...?" he whispered though the word barely passed his lips. He struggled to open his eyes. It was all he had strength for.

A blurred shadow hovered over him. His eyelids were heavy and he barely could see. "I am sorry for that," said a voice apologetically. It was not Legolas.

Voices spoke. None of them made any sense. A pause came. A hand brushed the hair back from his brow. "The blow to his head was severe," someone said. He was surprised he could make sense of those words.

"And the other injuries?" another questioned. This voice was deep and resonated with power.

"There are lacerations and bruising, but the injury to his head is the most serious of his hurts," the first voice replied. "Whatever happened, it was a strong blow that caused this. Dwarves have very thick bones."

"You know that he spoke, do you not?" the second pointed out. "Just now."

"He does that," the former said. "He has said little."

"He spoke the name of Legolas. That is more than just a light awakening to me. Has anyone been able to question him?" the second voice asked.

"He has been too ill for that, my lord. There is bleeding and swelling within and we must let it subside before we press him."

Words. There were words and nothing made sense to him. There was a pounding in his head. Nausea lay beneath all his senses.

He was being prodded. "Tell me about Legolas," the second voice urged beyond the noise.

Gimli struggled to regain his ability to speak. Someone was speaking of his friend. "Leg,,,?" His voice was barely what could be called noise.

"Please, my lord. He needs his rest."

The pulsing had grown too loud. He felt ill. Again there were words but he could not follow them. A ringing sound grew in his ears and for a time there was no time.

There was darkness. And then...

The branchlike hand striking out...

The look of fear in Legolas' eyes...

The wall washing away...

The horse nudging him and snorting breath into his face...

The look of fear in Legolas' eyes...

The taste of mud in his mouth...

The sudden fear invoked by the boom of thunder as he spun around to the sound...

The Lothlorien leaves beneath him...

Legolas assuring him all would be well...

The look of fear in Legolas' eyes...

Eyes.

A branch.

Water.

Fear.

He awoke to his own cry.

A cool hand brushed over his brow, soothing him. "Peace."

Worry crept into his heart. He would know of his friend if he could. But all he could manage was a moan of pain. Again. His head felt like it might burst, so great was the hurt. The hand felt so comforting and he let coolness work over him as he slipped once again into unconsciousness. All was still there.

xxxxxx

Thranduil was not sure if he was furious or frustrated. Perhaps both. He had been standing by, waiting. The elves of Lothlorien had been tending this creature for five days and they had yet to get one coherent sentence from him.

"You think there is more to be done."

The voice came from behind. He should have heard the other coming. He had sensed that he was being observed, but he had missed the approach of steps.

He pivoted to find Haldir, watching him.

"You must not put the blame on the healers. Mortals recover very slowly."

"I begin to doubt he recovers at all," Thranduil replied in a surly tone.

"The healers have other opinions," the Lothlorien guard said. "I do not doubt them, nor do I doubt Gimli. He is not weak. Whatever his current state, you must be certain he fights to regain his health."

Thranduil snorted. "How strange to hear you speak so of a dwarf," he murmured. He could sense the elf's detachment and it added to his ire. "He speaks and none attempt to learn what he might say."

"He has been heard, Lord Thranduil. But his utterances are always the same. There is just not enough strength in him to tell us more. Nor is there coherence. Until Gimli fully awakens, I would doubt anything he says. But that will change," Haldir replied, his words sounding sincere. Then his eyes shifted and the whole of his appearance changed. Concern marked his features. "I am certain he worries for your son. They would not be parted easily."

"And why is it we do not search for my son?" Thranduil snapped, not willing to be consoled.

"We have sent our best trackers," Haldir replied, formality returning to his voice. "There is no trail to follow. The rain was long in coming and very heavy; all signs of where the dwarf tread have been lost to us."

"Can you make no guesses based upon other clues? He rode a Rohan steed; send trackers into that land!" Thranduil demanded, knowing he was becoming irrational but not caring.

"Rohan is vast. Where would you have us look, my lord?" Haldir asked, not backing down to the ferocity of Thranduil's demand.

"These injuries the dwarf suffered came from a brutal beating. Someone inflicted them upon him!"

"I doubt they were inflicted by men of the Mark."

"Someone did this!" Thranduil exclaimed.

"Orcs, wild men, wargs, trolls... there are many possibilities, my lord. Do not be quick to blame one group when there are others far more likely," Haldir advised.

"The dwarf rode a horse! Start at that!"

"We have," Haldir answered in infuriating calm. "Messengers have been sent to the new king of that land to inquire of the animal."

"They have not returned yet?"

"Patience would be counseled, Lord."

"Each day is one too long! How can I remain calm when my son might be in need?" Thranduil exclaimed.

"I would think you would be more tolerant of your worries," Haldir replied, his stoic demeanor riling the king even more.

Thranduil rounded on the elf, not liking the direction of his comment. "Being lord of a dark wood does not exclude me from concern."

"For hundred of years your people have fought evil and your son has been at the heart of that battle. Did you not worry for him then?" Haldir asked, coming to his point in a very succinct and personal way.

Shocked at the elf's forward nature, Thranduil wondered if there was challenge in the words. They were an affront, whatever was meant by them. He came to wonder anew for rumors. "My son is precious to me and that is all you need know," the king said in a low growl, feeling for all his might as if he had been set up to disclose more than he felt comfortable relaying. Thinking back, it might be that the Lothlorien messenger who had come to his tent did hunt out gossip. He desired a shift in the conversation immediately. "Tell me why I am here! You summon me to your woods with dire news of a dwarf associated with my son and then we do nothing!"

"It was thought perhaps you might know where to look."

"I --?" Thranduil asked, unsure what to say to this. Shame took him suddenly. It spoke volumes that he did not have a clue as to how to respond to this point.

"But since you do not," Haldir went on, apparently seeing Thranduil's humiliation in his single word reply, "we must wait. We understand you suffer, King Thranduil, but we do not sit idly. The dwarf is being attended and trackers do seek your son out. We have sent word to King Eomer. And we wait."

"It seems nothing is accomplished!" Thranduil railed, donning irritation to mask his pitiful show as a father.

"My lord, you do not need me to tell you of patience. Progress comes. The dwarf, though still unconscious, shows signs of improvement. We had not thought it so a few days ago. My trackers, though finding nothing, narrow down the field of search the more they look. And I expect an answer from Rohan is forthcoming. We also send trackers into the mountains and to the fringes of Fangorn. Something will come of our search," Haldir said with a gentle nod of the head. "Soon too, the Lady will come. And when that happens, her powers will aid us as well."

Thranduil scoffed, hurt and no longer caring at the propriety of his words or actions. His ego was bruised by the evidence of his ineptitude. "Power? Do you mean that which she summons with her Ring? I thought that grew diminished now that the One Ring was destroyed."

Haldir quirked his brow at the king. "Are you not already familiar with the power of rings?"

Thranduil's brow furrowed with the elf's words. What was Haldir saying to him? He looked down, crossing his hands and assuring himself nothing of his feelings were visible.

Haldir continued, "What you guess is not true; with the One Ring gone, Nenya is restored to what had been its original intent."

Irritated still, the king retorted with a snipe. He knew he was tramping into dangerous territory but he couldn't help himself. "I am sure the Lady enjoys the exotic pleasures Nenya adds to her parlor tricks! She always enjoyed being in a prominent light. It must be of great aid to her."

Haldir's nostrils flared and for the first time Thranduil thought he saw something of a fiery reaction from the elf. "Mind your words, my lord. You are a guest here and it does not do to besmirch your hostess, even if she is unseen."

Without thinking, Thranduil gave a smarting answer. "I am guest to Celeborn, for he is cousin to me and the Lord of these lands. The Lady is... his wife. Were she gone, and with her her magical Ring, he would still be the king."

Stiffly, Haldir replied. "The land is equally governed, as would your wood be were your queen yet alive." It was a glancing blow, and Thranduil, in gazing into the elf's eyes, could see that it was meant that way. In a low voice, the other went on. "It does not do to slander her, Lord."

Thranduil was not sure if he should lash out or quietly swallow the insult. He dipped his head. He was not used to being challenged. He felt demeaned, and it did not please him. At the same time, an inner voice told him he deserved the treatment he received. He was worthy of little else. Yet he did not outwardly show how he felt. He knew enough to keep that quiet. Instead, he righted his posture, standing tall as he said, "My apologies. I am upset for the sake of my son. I do not mean insult."

As was typical of the Silvans, Haldir did not press his lead. Resuming his calm appearance, he said, "To address your earlier comment, the Ring of the Lady is powerful yet, though the reason for its creation grows nil; the time of the elves grows dim. The power of Nenya wavers in its strength for that reason alone."

"And what is it you think Galadriel will be able to do with these waning powers once she returns?" the king asked, and though he had not meant it, he could not entirely keep the vitriol from his voice. Catching the quality of his emotion, he felt sure his shame was becoming visible. His Passion must be apparent now. He tried to stymie the effect it had on him.

"She has healing skills. She may be able to lift the dwarf's stasis, and she may be able to use her mirror to help find your son," Haldir offered, then turned his gaze upon the king, piercing him with the coldness of hostility. "We also believe she and Lord Celeborn were among the last to see the elf and dwarf pair; she may know Legolas' whereabouts without resorting to other means, something you would know were you in closer communication with him. Had you not betrayed his trust, you might not be in this situation."

The wound was thrust. This was not rumor speaking; it was fact. And this stab was the worst of all. Haldir had seen through him and found his most vulnerable place. Thranduil turned away. He could not speak. He did not know how the warden knew what had come between Legolas and him, but it did not matter. For now he felt only the pain of renewed injury. An old wound had been reopened.

Scars carry memories. How much easier it would be if he could have brushed aside the pain of remembrance like one forgets the source of a minor bruise. But this memory bore heavy hurt. He wanted to remember none of it but instead he remembered all. His mind took him back to the day of the messenger. The other messenger who had come to him from Imladris. Was it not strange that all news delivered to him of his son came through a servant of the other realms? That thought only added to his guilt.

Haldir did not wait for a dismissal; he turned and parted ways leaving Thranduil alone on their path without another word. The injury was there and Thranduil bled alone. The Mirkwood king stood surrounded only by trees and the sounds of the forest, It was just as it had been that day when his servant had approached him, and like the recollection of dreams he allowed his mind to journey into the past.

"My lord," Galion had said as he approached the king. It was almost a year past. The king knew his eyes betrayed his pain and that Galion saw it.

This road in the woods was one he oft took when his heart felt the weight of his sins. He did not look for forgiveness here. In fact, like pressing into a wound, he used his guilt to dig even deeper into his pain. Like a scourge, this hurt was self-inflicted and he wanted it; it strengthened his resolve to abstain from his worst vices, to refuse his Passion.

His friend placed a hand upon Thranduil's forearm. "I am sorry to disturb you here," he added, obviously knowing this was a personal time for the king.

Thranduil smiled weakly. "I was likely as not to be come upon here. It was safe to assume I would not be given chance to wallow in my sorrows for long. It is just as well you come, for I fear my soul cannot take much more of my anguish." Galion was one of the few Thranduil could confide such a thing to. Of all his servants, this elf was dear to him and had known much of Thranduil's past, far more than even Legolas. He did not judge.

Changing the subject, his brow quirked in question. The seneschal rarely left the walls of the stronghold, even though the grounds of the settlement area were safe. "What brings you personally to me? Is there something that requires my immediate attention?"

Galion's sympathetic expression hardened as soft feelings of compassion turned to the business of the kingdom. "I had thought you might not pay heed if I had sent the guard to fetch you alone. A messenger has come from Imladris. He brings word of--" He paused, the implication stated with the name left unsaid. Continuing, he said, "I thought you might want to know immediately."

Thranduil's heart leapt. "Ill news, Galion?" he asked, grabbing for the arm of his friend. He had already put too much upon himself this day. He did not know if he had the strength to hear what he most feared.

"I know no more than this. Will you come back to the palace for this?"

Thranduil gazed about him. He had been walking the paths, strolling the grounds near where Legolas kept his home. He knew his son was not there, his person missing for weeks already. But Thranduil knew his whereabouts. The presence of this messenger merely confirmed that his son had left for the council in Rivendell.

Thranduil's chest hurt. He dreaded what was to come in the message for whatever was said it was surely bad news. He wanted to be someplace where the hurt would be lessened by familiarity. And he knew temptation existed in the stone cold walls of the palace, It was another reason to stay away.

"Bring the messenger here," he answered.

His friend's expression showed surprise, but it also told him he was understood. His eyes looked out to the edge of the forest and then turning back to Thranduil's gaze, it was clear misery on the king's behalf was acknowledged and felt.

Thranduil nodded and the servant was gone. He was left alone to mull the possibilities that might come of the message. He did his best to prepare his heart.

"Your highness," the lead guard in the contingent said in what felt like only a minute later. "Lord Elrond sends tidings from Imladris. We bring his messenger to stand before you."

Thranduil's eyes dragged over the group before him. He sighted Galion and found courage in the familiar face. The king's aide then nodded to the visitor so that he might step forward. The messenger dropped to one knee, dipping his head in a show of respect as he crossed one hand to his heart.

Thranduil's gazed at the herald. The elf had remained in his bowed position. "Come with me," he ordered, knowing that in saying this not only would the messenger follow, but so too would the guards.

He walked straight along the path to the place where he knew they would have most privacy. The flet he chose was securely kept, further from most others and, though modest in scale, well-made with moveable walls that could seal off voices from uninvited ears. The talan's owner apparently appreciated respectful silence. But then when you have lived within walls for most of your life it is hard to give up exclusivity. Such was the case here, for this was Legolas' home.

They climbed the stairs leading upward and then entered the flet. There were no locks or barring gates at the threshold. This was a feature in the homes of the Silvans that Legolas had adopted into his building and Thranduil appreciated the invitation to trespass. It proved possession meant little to the elf, and his trust was great. Legolas did not know this of him, but Thranduil was quite familiar with the younger elf's home; the king oft came here when his loneliness and mourning got the better of him. Even if he did not think Legolas would appreciate a father's succor within his belongings, it was the Silvan way. Thranduil mused at how different his son was from him.

The walls were already closed, a sign that Legolas had planned his departure. This was another reason Thranduil had not fretted long about his son's disappearance, at least not in terms of something dire befalling him. Legolas had known he was leaving.

And despite their estrangement, Thranduil knew almost immediately that his son had parted the realm and also where he had gone. Those under the king's employ observed Legolas' actions. Even if they had not been watching, Thranduil could have surmised his moves. No coincidence was the timing. When word from Elrond had been sent requesting a meeting of council, Legolas had been there. Further he had heard Thranduil's comments in response to the invitation. Although Legolas did not speak to him on the matter (Legolas rarely spoke to Thranduil on anything unless asked to report) it was clear that his son had not accepted the king's shame as reason for decline.

It was unfortunate that his son could not see then that he had been trying to reform his ways. He did not realize how humiliated Thranduil had been or how shaken he was by his failure to keep the creature, Gollum. It had not been his intent to let the leaders of the other elven realms down. But then the dark state of his wood proved failure was all he was capable of. They should have guessed what would come of the task.

So it was somewhat with pride that Thranduil actually regarded Legolas' decision to attend Elrond's council, even if it was done without the king's permission. Legolas was a crown prince. Nothing could renounce that, and in many respects his decision was sounder than that of the king. Thranduil respected it. He sanctioned it, in fact, in written notice so dictated to Galion after the fact. He was glad Legolas had done what he could not.

But now standing in his son's abandoned flet, knowing wan news was about to be delivered to him, he regretted Legolas' stalwart character. Before all things, he wanted his son back, and the only good fortune he knew he had was that eternity lay before them that he might try to win his son's love back within that time, despite his mistakes.

"I assume Lord Elrond's message is to be verbally given," he said in the direction of the messenger when they were all within the space.

"I carry both written word and spoken," the servant said in answer.

Thranduil held out his hand. "Give me first the written."

And the note was then passed from the courier's pouch to Galion's hand and then to the king's. He broke the seal, ignoring the subtle shake of his hands.

Lord Thranduil, Elrond's long cursive strokes spelled out.

You will pardon the succinct nature of this note but I dare not communicate much in written form. Thranduil completely understood the logic in this statement. He would have thought Elrond foolish had he written anything of substance in the letter. The times were too dangerous to risk real news getting into enemy hands by communiqué.

I send this to express my gratitude for sharing news of your realm. Thranduil considered this sentence. Although he had worked to hide it even in his own realm, there were probably some who knew of the estrangement between Legolas and him, and it could be construed that Elrond really was writing to let Thranduil know his son was in their care. Knowing this would cause embarrassment and humiliation, he was letting the king know, in subtext, that Legolas disobeyed his orders. If so, it was an insult and Thranduil resented it. He was still commander of his own affairs; he did not need Elrond to report his son's actions. But then reading the next sentence, he thought perhaps his reaction was created through his own guilt. He was putting too much into the words. The message went on, I also wish to pass my sympathies on for the losses taken in the escape of the prisoner in your care. I regret that your people had to suffer because of the task put to you. Despite the tragedy, you and those in your realm excel in these matters where others do not. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies that you had to endure this on the behalf of others less fit. My deepest condolences are expressed.

The king inhaled deeply as he read the next statement. I have asked that the servant you had sent -- Legolas, the elf lord need not name him -- remain to undertake an even greater task. This was the news Thranduil feared though at least he knew Legolas was still alive. A message from him follows. Know that we will do our utmost to protect him in this but also know that his mission is dangerous. As he puts it, what he does may have an effect that goes beyond the work he does in his homeland. As you well know, his desire is great to end the darkness that mires this world and he is willing to sacrifice himself for that cause. It is an admirable trait you have fostered in your subject. Though the tribute is great, were I you I should be proud.

Thranduil felt tears coming to his eyes. Legolas' self-sacrifice was the last thing he wanted.

As always, you have my thanks and deepest respect. And then there was Elrond's seal marking the page and standing for his signature. Somehow that bit of formality, something that Thranduil would normally respect on any other occasion, seemed distasteful and cheap in this missive. This news was grim; it merited a personal signature.

He looked up to the messenger. "The other letter," he said, demanding the note he knew this elf carried.

"Do you not wish to hear Lord Elrond's words first?" the servant asked.

"The letter," Thranduil replied doing his best to hold onto his patience.

The note was passed over to him. He couldn't help noticing how unembellished the cord sealing it appeared. There was no mark to indicate the sender.

My dear Lord Thranduil, the letter formally began. Of course Legolas had not addressed him as 'Father.' It had been long years since he had been called such, and even if he did on usual occasions, the times were wrong for expressions of familiarity. Still, the king immediately recognized the penmanship as belonging to his son.

Lord Elrond has requested that I send you message telling of my condition, and more specifically he wishes I tell you my reasons for taking on this new mission. I comply by sending you this message, though in truth it is false; I have no message I wish to share. I expect you understand the meaning behind those words. Thranduil felt the sting in that and his chest tightened. To an enemy observer, the significance of those sentences might be read as some subtle message, a caveat of hidden meaning, but Thranduil knew they meant exactly what they said.

What I do now is dangerous and I do not expect I will survive. Nonetheless, I feel it best I try. There could be no doubt these were Legolas' words and he could almost hear the remainder of the argument. Legolas would say what occurs in Mirkwood is just a small sample of the shadow that falls beyond. He would say that if Thranduil would not give him the means to fight in his own lands, he might do better to fight the enemy where such would be granted. Like it or not, Legolas was determined to confront the Shadow.

Should I pass, please do me favor of distributing my effects among the captains with whom I have served. They are most loyal to me and would appreciate these items, meager as they are. How strange that Thranduil should be reading these words while he stood in the midst of such belongings.

We will meet again, here or in Aman, of that I am certain. Until then, I remain forever faithful to the realm.

And that was it. No signature attached, no words of endearment expressed, no sorrow contained within. The note ended flat, and Thranduil felt the blow Legolas had meant to strike in that absence.

He wheeled around, not daring to face anyone in this moment, fearful that his agony would be visible to any who might observe him. He tried to control the sound of his voice, holding back the quaver that threatened to spill into the air. "Did he send oral message?" Thranduil asked.

"Lord Elrond wishes you to know --" the messenger began.

Thranduil quickly spun to face the elf. Almost desperately he said, "Nay, not Elrond. The other. My son. Did he send word?"

The messenger looked momentarily confused, and Thranduil understood then that he had not known Legolas was prince to this realm. The elf had thought him a servant, just like himself. But the messenger quickly corrected his expression, drawing his eyes down and shaking his head to denote the negative to the king's question. "Only the letter, my lord."

Thranduil had not even realized he had been holding his breath until he released it. Sighting a small stool on which to sit, he crossed over to it, dropping down and noting how weak he suddenly felt. He lowered his head into his open palms, needing a moment to let the wave of emotions ride over him.

It was so hard to do this alone and he longed then for the source of his power returned. Donning it, he would have felt the surge of renewed surety and strength. But since that day when he had used Legolas in the worst way possible with the drugging and failed union, he knew he dared not do that again. That power had been responsible for the betrayal Thranduil had pursued. It called to him now, begging him to go there again. He could not do that. He fought off the urge.

"Tell me Elrond's words," he said raggedly, not bothering to look up.

"A quest is in the making. Representatives from all the free peoples unite in this endeavor."

"What do they attempt?" Thranduil asked, glancing at the elf.

"I am not told, though Lord Elrond said I might tell you they set out to usurp that which empowers the Dark Lord," the messenger answered.

No other clue was needed than that. The Ring! Thranduil's head shot up. They have possession of It? He had been in the company of the creature, Gollum, and he knew about the precious thing the creature had once owned. And now, as Thranduil pieced the string of messages together he saw that Legolas allied himself with the one holding It. Grave danger indeed!

"Where do they go?" he asked, finding strength to rise and round on the messenger.

"I know not."

"Who is in the company?"

"I am not to say."

"How many do they take?"

"It was thought best I not know the full of their guild."

"Then what do you know?" Thranduil screamed, completely vexed and feeling certain Legolas was in danger just by keeping companionship with this group, whoever they were.

"I was told that I must assure you the company is strong. Lord Elrond begs you to have faith and to continue in your fight here. He says that the one who carries the greatest part of this task is one who is resistant to the will of Darkness. He will not be easily corrupted or go astray."

Thranduil grabbed the messenger by both arms. Beseechingly he said, "Tell me this one -- this one who carries the greatest part of the task -- is not an elf."

The messenger blinked at Thranduil as if not comprehending him. He did not speak.

Thranduil shook him. "Tell me it is not an elf that does this!" It was not beyond Legolas to volunteer for the hardest of tasks and he dreaded the notion that his son carried the most powerful Ring of all. Legolas was strong, but even he had his weaknesses. The One Ring would exploit him. It would destroy him.

Pity crept into the messenger's eyes, and Thranduil could tell he was not supposed to speak of such things. Yet with a soft voice the elf said, "It is not an elf."

Thranduil sighed, releasing the elf. He turned away. "Thank you," he said.

But still it hurt. Legolas was gone. He might well die. This was without doubt the most dangerous thing his son had ever undertaken. And there had not even been a farewell. No forgiveness had been granted nor would there be in this age. Thranduil's mistakes would remain as they were.

He turned and looked upon Legolas' space. His son truly had little. And yet the abode was rich for the spirit that lived within it. His son was pure of heart, and that was not something he had that Thranduil did not. His heart had been corrupted long ago and as a result, his son likely would never communicate with him again in this land. Their bond was severed and Thranduil would not know what came until war's end.

And all of this had come because he had served under Celeborn and Galadriel in Hollin.

He came back to himself then, standing in the middle of the path where he and Haldir had exchanged terse words and inflicted wounds. And he knew he was in a land where he felt little but contempt. If he wished it, he could trace his downfall starting with his associations made through and for his cousin. He had come under influence in Eregion -- Hollin -- and the blame lay with Celeborn and Galadriel -- Celeborn because he had left him susceptible to the will of his wife, and Galadriel... because she had used him. He regretted his time with them more than anything else in his life for that had been the beginning of his decline.

TBC